Location: Solmerea – Vanyress Dominion, Capital City: Halcyros Prime
Time: [Cycle 7 : 09:50 – 13:00 Highlight]
Solmerea wasn't just a planet. It was a living monument.
The skies were layered in gold-and-crimson haze — not pollution, but natural light flux, a byproduct of being the 10th planet closest to the Arc-Heart Core. Twin suns rose and set on opposing orbits, meaning daylight was fluid, often refracting in floating lensfields around cities.
Ren stared in awe as the sky-ship descended.
Below him stretched Halcyros Prime — a capital city suspended across five mirrored lakes, wrapped in skybridges, citadel towers, and massive shimmering glyphs etched into the land like planetary-scale tattoos.
Everything looked clean. Grand. Too perfect.
They landed on one of the royal port platforms, reserved for Guardian-class arrivals.
The moment Ren stepped out behind Lira and Riven—
Blades. Armor. Spells. ALL pointed at his head.
At least twenty Guardians surrounded him.
And these weren't the rookies from Ka'rath'Mar. These were the real deal — cloaks that moved without wind, eyes glowing with command-glyphs, weapons humming with blood-ink runes.
One of them barked: "That's him—the boy with the stolen fragments!"
Another added: "High-risk entity. Detain now."
Ren didn't even breathe. His hand moved toward Vey'stryx.
But Lira stepped in front of him.
Voice calm. Cold. And loaded with General-level weight.
"Stand down," she said.
"I authorized his presence. He is with me."
They hesitated.
One Guardian saluted. "General Auralith… we weren't informed you were alive."
Lira's eyes glinted. "Then update your intel."
They obeyed. Reluctantly.
Ren exhaled.
📍 One Hour Later – Inner City Sanctum, Vanyress Quarters
Riven arranged housing for Ren in one of the smaller noble residences tied to her House — House Cael'Varn, a minor but old bloodline known for tactical excellence.
It had no guards inside. But plenty outside.
Ren knew a gilded cage when he saw one.
And then it happened.
A whisper from Core.
"Something's wrong."
And then… silence.
Ren blinked, tried to call him again.
Nothing.
No sarcasm. No cosmic warnings. No energy ping.
Just static.
Ren didn't panic — he had trained for this. Arix's final lesson had drilled into his head:
"When in doubt? Play dumb. Smile. Walk the streets. Information loves idiots."
So that's what he did.
Location: The Streets of Halcyros Prime
Ren wandered through the lower spires of the city, the public markets stretching across elegant marble archways and glowing light-paths. The buildings were alive with rune-activated windows, hovering signs, and songglass chimes that reacted to magical presence.
He wore a traveler's cloak Riven gave him — dull, anonymous. But his eyes still drew stares.
Locals were… curious.
Not hostile. Just watchful.
He passed a spice vendor.
Old man, multiple rings on his beard, skin that shimmered faintly with glow-dust residue.
"Not from around here, are you?" the man said.
Ren smiled. "That obvious?"
The old man cackled. "You don't walk like royalty. Or like a thief. You're somewhere in between."
Ren: "Guess I'm working on it."
Vendor squinted. "Be careful. Eyes are watching more than faces today. And not just Guardian eyes."
Another corner.
Two women sitting at a rune-table, playing whisper-chess.
Ren caught a piece of their conversation.
"Did you hear the Emperor of Oth'Rel Exarchy visited Vanyress last cycle?"
"Unscheduled."
"You think it's about the cursed Warden?"
"Or the fragments? There's talk someone new carries them."
Ren's skin crawled.
He kept walking.
Everywhere he went, fragments of whispers clung to his cloak.
"He came with her."
"The Lost General."
"They say his blade sings."
"Or screams."
Location: Solmerea – Halcyros Prime, Vanyress Dominion
Time: [Cycle 7 : 13:01 – 14:00 Local Drift]
The wind in the lower markets carried not just spices and perfume-swirled air, but the faint hum of forbidden resonance.
As Ren strolled past a narrow alley between two high-end potion vaults, he felt it — a pulse of wrongness. Like the air rippled behind his teeth.
He turned his head just slightly.
Saw a robed woman kneeling in a shadowed corner.
Her hands glowed with a summoning circle — floating glyphs, woven in flame and smoke. The kind that clings to a soul after casting.
Summoning Magic.
Illegal in Solmerea. Highly punishable. But still used by those bold or broken enough to need answers from beyond.
Ren didn't stop. Didn't confront her.
Just muttered under his breath, "Not my circus," and kept walking.
He turned another corner into the open market. Normal. Bustling. Smiling faces with sharp eyes.
He stepped toward a fruit vendor — reached for a glitterapple — when—
A hand gripped his shoulder.
Tight. Ancient.
Before he could turn, the world whooshed out from under him.
A ripple in the air.
And everything went black.
Location: Unknown Vein-Rift Pocket
Time Displacement Detected – Driftlocked (13:08?)
Ren landed on something soft.
A carpet. Old. Dusty. Probably woven by blind monks two hundred years ago.
The room was dim — lit only by floating orbs of violet fire. Shelves filled with scrolls, obsidian relics, and books bound in scales.
Before him stood the man who pulled him out of reality:
A hunched figure in midnight robes, eyes glowing faint blue under a cracked circlet. His aura didn't pulse like the living — it echoed. Like a memory that refused to fade.
"You shouldn't be walking around like you're not being watched," the man said, voice rough as gravel soaked in ancient wine. "The Guardians have trackers keyed to your resonance, boy."
Ren blinked. "Uh. Who—?"
"I'm Eli'Var Drethyn, last surviving—technically dead—noble of the Ancient Court of Vanyress."
Ren stared.
"You're… dead?"
"Well," Eli'Var smiled, "mostly."
He hobbled toward a long table covered in celestial charts and resonance maps.
"I've waited decades for the bearer of the Aetherium Core to return. The last drift-cycle was too early. The next, too late. But you? You're right on time."
Ren stepped back. "You know about the Core?"
Eli'Var chuckled. "I know more than the Guardians will ever admit. That's why they buried me."
He waved a hand.
A projection burst in the air — a stellar map of the Verge Ring, but not the version Ren saw in any book.
This one had fractured lines, hidden tunnels, and names of dead empires.
"The Drift doesn't just connect worlds," Eli'Var said.
"It divides them. It's a filtration system — created to manage collapse. Each Drift jump creates echoes — fragments of realities. The Core you carry is from a fallen reality. You, boy… are not just tethered to this timeline."
"You are bleeding across them."
Ren's stomach flipped.
"Wait — so… I could fracture time just by using my Core wrong?"
Eli'Var nodded. "Yes. Or destroy a Vein path. Or open one that should have stayed closed."
He pulled out a scroll. Ancient. Trimmed in silver thread. Sealed with a crest Ren didn't recognize.
"This is your guide."
Ren took it carefully.
"Inside is the Resonant Atlas of Lost Veins — paths erased from official records. Worlds thought destroyed. Some… still breathing beneath time."
"Use this scroll when the road ahead ends. When your compass lies. When Core is gone."
"Because I promise you — he will be gone. There are places even he cannot follow."
Ren looked up.
"…Why help me?"
Eli'Var turned, eyes glowing.
"Because this war? The one no one speaks of?"
He pointed at the map.
"It's already begun. And you — Core-Bearer — are the final weapon."
Before Ren could ask more, the old man stepped back.
Snapped his fingers.
The room imploded.
Location: Halcyros Prime – Alleyway, Same Apple Vendor
Time: [Cycle 7 : 14:01 Local Drift]
Ren blinked — standing right where he was.
Still holding a glitterapple.
Vendor looked up. "You gonna pay for that, or just stand there looking like you saw a ghost orgy?"
Ren tossed a coin. "Keep the change."
And walked away, scroll tucked inside his cloak.
location Vanyress High Palace – East Garden Chamber
Time: [Cycle 7 : 15:05 Local Drift]
The palace was everything Ren expected from the most powerful Dominion on the 10th planet — impossible architecture, gravity-defying spires, soft light falling through glass that wasn't really glass but liquid starlight frozen in shape.
And at the center of it?
Lira.
Wrapped in soft silver robes, lounging on a balcony as a breeze teased her hair.
She turned as he entered, the crystal orb still hovering beside her like a loyal ghost.
"Ren," she smiled. "You look more tense than usual."
"Probably because I got kidnapped by a dead noble who gave me the apocalypse on a scroll."
Lira chuckled. "Solmerea welcomes you, then."
He sat across from her. No war. No fragments. Just two weird friends sitting beneath a sky that glittered too much to be real.
They talked. Really talked.
About the temple. About the stars. About fruit from Ka'rath'Mar that tasted like burnt honey and secrets.
For a moment… everything felt normal.
Until—
The scroll inside Ren's cloak glowed.
Hard.
Ren grabbed it. It pulsed, burned, then disintegrated into a thousand silver motes that floated toward Lira's orb like dust on divine wind.
The crystal began to hum.
Lira stood suddenly. "Ren… what is this?"
"I don't—I didn't do anything!"
The orb pulled in the fragments — one by one — until it turned white-hot.
BOOM.
A soundless flash.
Ren shielded his eyes.
When he looked again—
Lira was glowing.
Not from magic. Not from resonance.
But from freedom.
Her robes had been burned away by arcane heat, replaced by a shimmering royal armor traced in time-threaded gold. Her long hair fell like starlight over shoulders that had once bowed with exile.
Her body was no longer muted by the curse — her presence expanded outward like a wave, majestic and unknowable.
Her eyes were no longer dull — now violet-gold, like the core of a dying star.
Her voice?
A harmonic echo.
"…The curse is gone."
She stumbled. Caught herself. Then laughed.
She laughed. Free. Wild. Happy.
"Ren, you—you did it. I can feel again. Time listens to me again. I'm whole."
Ren smiled, stunned.
"…Guess I'm good at accidentally saving goddesses."
She stepped forward, kissed his cheek gently, then said:
"Thank you."
And he turned, flustered as hell.
"I should give you space. You've got… a lot of glory to catch up on."
He headed for the exit.
The room was soft. Warm.
He reached for the door—
THUNK.
A dagger buried into the stone right beside his head.
Ren spun.
Riven stood across the garden. No smile. No warmth.
Eyes dead. Expression blank.
"…What the fuck—?"
Before he could move—
Four Guardians appeared.
And behind them — Lira.
Not glowing now.
Smirking.
Her posture different. Her aura cold as driftsteel.
"…Lira?" Ren asked, backing up.
She said nothing.
Just looked at him with a tilt of her head — that kind of dark elegance that made your spine itch.
"Contain him," she said.
Ren stepped back.
"Lira, what the hell is going on?!"
No response.
No flicker of emotion.
Just that same cold stare.
He reached for Core in his mind.
Nothing.
He screamed mentally for Frost. Blaze. The sword.
Silence.
Like someone turned them all off.
Intentionally.
"You tricked me?" Ren whispered, stepping further back.
But the Guardians stepped forward.
Riven included.
No hesitation.
The doors sealed.
The lights dimmed.
And Lira — once exiled, once broken, once saved — looked down upon him not as a friend…
But as a Queen.