Saren stood at the edge of the Fractured Veil, the torn horizon whispering with winds that didn't belong to this world. Behind him, the shadowy silhouettes of Entropy Sentinels hovered in silence—loyal, watching, lifeless.
His orders were clear.
"Erase the Veil. Collapse the canyon. End the Riftwalkers."
But something inside him twisted—an echo, faint and stubborn, like a half-remembered melody from another life.
The cracked terrain shimmered below as if space were being stretched and rolled like cloth. With each step forward, the ground tried to repel him—not physically, but emotionally. Saren wasn't one to believe in such sentiments. He had long since chosen order, clarity, purpose.
And yet, he paused.
Images surfaced unbidden: A classroom in the Spire. Laughter. Kaelen's voice challenging him to question everything, not just the world—but himself.
He clenched his jaw. "You made me believe. Then you died believing in children."
He knelt and pressed a hand into the fractured soil. It vibrated—not with power, but grief. This land wasn't just broken—it was mourning.
Suddenly, a flicker of movement in the warped distance caught his eye. A silhouette. Luma. Laughing as she threw a rock that floated the wrong way.
Ion, beside her, adjusting her gauntlet and saying something overly dramatic, as usual.
And Cassel—of all people—trying to race a floating leaf.
Saren found himself… smiling. Barely.
He hated how human they looked.
His comm crackled.
A voice. Cold. Calculating.
"Status report, Executor Saren. We await confirmation."
He didn't answer.
Instead, he wandered a little farther into the Veil. The anomalies thickened. In one place, the light itself bent backwards, casting shadows that reached into the sky.
In another, a stone hovered midair, humming softly, rotating as if trapped in an invisible music box.
He touched it.
A memory surged.
"You feel it, don't you?" Kaelen asked years ago.
Young Saren blinked. "Feel what?"
"The harmony. When everything works as it should—when science aligns with life."
Saren frowned. "I feel equations. I don't hear music."
Kaelen smiled. "You will. Someday."
Back in the present, Saren exhaled, long and slow. The Entropy Engine was working—this was its test bed. It fed on imbalance, distortion, decay. It tore at the seams of nature until the universe forgot its own laws.
And yet…
This place didn't scream. It whispered.
Whispered truths Saren had buried under decades of obedience.
He walked deeper, alone. The Sentinels hesitated at the boundary—almost like they sensed he might not return the same.
At a jagged pillar, he found graffiti: crude drawings from the Resistance kids. A spiral labeled "the mind". A stick figure riding a wave with "trust the pulse!" underneath.
He laughed. It was ridiculous. And strangely profound.
He sat.
Pulled out his field recorder.
And spoke:
"Log 723. No update for Command. I need… more data."
"The Veil is not failing. It's adapting. Holding onto physics like a drowning swimmer clutching memory."
"Luma. Ion. They don't know what they're doing—but they're doing something… right."
Night came fast in the Veil. Stars blinked out. Colors shifted.
And then—
A soft voice from the dark.
"Saren."
He turned, startled.
A figure stepped forward, cloaked in distortion, face flickering.
It was Kaelen.
But that couldn't be. Kaelen was dead.
The figure whispered, "Your choice shapes more than fate. It shapes truth."
Then it vanished.
Saren stood frozen, heart racing.
Was it the Veil?
His mind?
Or… something else?
He opened his comm again.
The cold voice returned.
"Report, Executor."
Saren stared at the distant campfire lights of the Riftwalkers.
He pressed the comm.
And lied:
"Target site empty. Resistance already moved on."
A pause.
"Understood. Proceed to eastern flank."
He closed the signal.
And for the first time in years—
Saren turned away from the path he was given.