That night, Coren's sleep was restless. The weight of the decision loomed over her, relentless and suffocating. Her mind churned, circling back to the prisoner, the vault, and the impossible questions of justice and redemption. When exhaustion finally claimed her, it dragged her into an uneasy sleep that brought no solace.
She was back in the white mental space—the infinite expanse she had visited before. Yet something was different this time. The light was dimmer, softer, and the once-sterile stillness seemed tinged with an unspoken tension.
Turning, Coren saw them. This time, there was no hesitation. She knew their names as surely as she knew her own.
Zeiric and Eterna.
They approached her, their forms stark and vivid against the pale void. Zeiric's figure loomed, a monolith of power and regret, every step carrying the weight of millennia. His presence was overwhelming, oppressive, and yet laced with an undeniable sorrow. Beside him, Eterna shone with a radiant, otherworldly light, its shifting energy like liquid starlight, vast and mesmerizing.
The sight of them struck a match to the volatile emotions Coren had been holding back. Anger surged, raw and unfiltered, rising in her throat before she could stop it.
"You!" she spat, her voice trembling with fury. "You abandoned us! You left us with this chaos—this mess—this burden! You were supposed to protect us, weren't you? To guide humanity, to fix what was broken! And instead, you left us to rot, stranded in this forsaken pocket of nothingness!"
Her words cracked the silence, sharp and relentless. She took a step forward, her chest heaving as the storm inside her erupted.
"Do you even understand what you left behind? Do you know what it's like to live in the ruins of a world that doesn't make sense anymore? To walk streets that crumble beneath your feet, to stumble over remnants of a past so much greater than we'll ever be? We're drowning in the shadow of a legacy we can't even begin to comprehend, and you—" her voice broke, trembling with emotion, "you're the reason for it all!"
Her frustration boiled over, spilling out in jagged, bitter words. "You had the power to save us, and you chose to leave instead. You didn't just abandon us—you abandoned everything."
Zeiric listened in silence, his towering form unmoving, his gaze steady but sorrowful. When she finished, he didn't respond immediately. Instead, he closed his eyes, as though her words had pierced through whatever barriers of strength he had constructed for himself. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, nostalgic, as though he were sifting through memories too painful to fully embrace.
"I know," Zeiric said softly, his tone calm but heavy with regret. "I failed you. I failed all of you." He looked at her, and for the first time, his expression softened—not with pity, but with something more complicated. More human.
"When I think of humanity," he continued, his voice gaining a faint warmth, "I don't see the ruins or the chaos. I see the brilliance of what we were. I see the cities that touched the stars, the art, the music, the dreams that stretched across the galaxy. I see the way we fought—not just for survival, but for each other. For something greater." He paused, his gaze distant, his words slow and deliberate.
"I remember children laughing as they ran through the streets of capital cities, their joy untainted by the burdens of the universe. I remember the light in their eyes as they dreamed of worlds we hadn't even reached yet." He smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "And I remember the hope. The hope that we could be something more than just what we were born into. That hope… it was the best of us."
Coren's anger faltered, but only slightly. "If you remember all that," she said, her voice quieter but still sharp, "then why did you let it fall apart? Why didn't you stop it when you had the power to?"
Zeiric's expression darkened, the nostalgia fading into something heavier. "Because I was blind," he admitted. "Blinded by grief, by rage, by the weight of what I'd lost. I thought I could fix it by force, by power. But power isn't enough. It never was. And in my arrogance, in my desperation to make things right, I only made them worse."
He stepped closer, his towering presence less oppressive now, more sombre. "You think I abandoned you, Coren. And in a way, I did. But it wasn't because I stopped caring. It was because I cared too much—and I didn't know how to carry the weight of it all."
I have said it to you before and I will say it again. "I am sorry, Yet you don't know the true extent of the price I paid to try and overcome my regret of that moment"
"Sorry?" she repeated, her voice cracking. "What good is sorry? You were the strongest being in existence! You could've stopped all of this before it even began!"
Zeiric met her gaze, his expression a mixture of regret and unyielding resolve. "You think I didn't try? I couldn't stop it—not then, and not now."
"Then why are you here?" she snapped, her frustration boiling over again. "Why show up in my dreams if you're just going to tell me it's hopeless? What's the point?"
"To help you avoid the mistake I made," Zeiric said quietly, his voice calm but firm. "The natural order must be upheld. Mother, The prisoner's soul must return to the cycle."
Coren froze. The calm authority in his words made her blood run cold, but it was one word—one unbearable word—that sent her mind reeling.
Mother..
Her body went rigid, her breath catching in her throat. It took her several moments to process what she'd just heard, and when she finally did, her voice came out in a stunned whisper. "What… did you just call me?"
"Mother," Zeiric repeated gently, his gaze unwavering. "You may not remember, but your soul remembers. You are Sylvara, reborn."
The words hung in the air, heavy and impossible. Coren staggered back a step, shaking her head. "No," she said, her voice trembling. "That's… no. I'm not her. I'm me. I don't remember her. I don't even know who she is."
Zeiric's expression softened, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his stoic exterior. "I know," he said, his tone almost tender. "And I don't expect you to remember—none of us do. That's not how the cycle works. But the essence of who you are—the fire in your spirit, the way you face the world—that's her. It's always been her. It's always been you, through all your lives."
Coren's fists clenched at her sides, her mind spinning as she tried to grasp the enormity of his words. The fiery retorts she normally relied on refused to come. Instead, all she could manage was a shaky, "That's… impossible. It doesn't make sense."
Zeiric stepped closer, his presence was as overwhelming as ever, but there was something gentler now, a rare crack in his imposing demeanour. "It doesn't have to make sense right now," he said softly. "But it's the truth. And one day, you'll understand."
"Why would you tell me this now?" she demanded, her voice breaking slightly, frustration and confusion swirling together. "Why drop that on me in the middle of all this?"
"Because," Zeiric said softly, his tone unyielding yet kind, "you need to understand what's at stake—for him and for you. Burning a soul isn't just a judgment on another—it's a mark on your own. The act of extinguishing someone's essence, no matter how twisted it has become, will take something from you, Coren. A piece of your soul will darken in the process. It's a wound that will linger, a choice that may never leave you."
Coren froze, her breath catching. "You're saying… if I do this, I'll… damage myself?"
Zeiric nodded, his gaze steady. "Yes. You are not a creature of destruction, Coren. You are a being of light, of hope. To unmake a soul is to carve away a part of your own. It's not a decision to be made lightly—and it's not one I would wish on anyone."
Her chest tightened as the enormity of the choice pressed down on her. "Then why even give me the option?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and despair.
"Because it is your soul and your choice," Zeiric said firmly, stepping closer. "And because I know you, Coren. I know your soul. You would never abandon someone to a cruel fate—not when you have the power to change it. But you must understand the cost. True judgment requires clarity, not anger or fear."
Coren shook her head, taking a step back as though trying to physically distance herself from his words. "No. That doesn't make sense. That's not—" She stopped herself, her breathing uneven. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, racing between denial and a deep, unsettling sense of truth.
Coren swallowed hard, her gaze darting between Zeiric and Eterna. The Companion's silent, glowing presence radiated a strange sense of calm, as though it were offering reassurance in a language beyond words. For a moment, Coren couldn't speak, her emotions tangled in knots she didn't know how to untie.
Eterna pulsed softly, its light shifting gently in the void. Zeiric stepped closer, his towering presence less intimidating now, more steady and grounding. "A soul is the essence of a person," he said, his voice low but firm. "It holds their core—who they are, their potential, their tendencies. But souls are not static, Coren. They grow, evolve. The cycle refines them, stripping away the darkness, leaving something purer with each turn—eventually."
Coren folded her arms, her scepticism plain. "And you think he can be redeemed?"
"I have to believe that," Zeiric said, his tone resolute but tinged with a quiet sadness. "If I don't, then everything we've fought for—everything we've sacrificed—is meaningless. Redemption must be possible for everyone. But sometimes…" His gaze grew distant, his voice softer. "Sometimes the corruption runs so deep, it's like a festering wound. It must be cut away before the soul can heal. It's not an easy thing to do, but it is necessary."
His words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning. They wound themselves into Coren's thoughts, coiling and tightening, challenging her to confront the weight of their truth.
"So… you're saying I can cleanse his soul?" Coren asked at last, her voice cautious, uncertain, as though testing the idea on her tongue.
Zeiric nodded. "Yes. By stripping away the hatred, the poison, the darkness that has twisted him into what he is, you can return his soul to the cycle. What remains will face the natural order of judgment—just as all souls do."
Coren stared at him, a mixture of disbelief and determination flickering across her face. "How?"
Zeiric didn't respond right away. Instead, he held her gaze, his expression calm but unyielding, as though weighing whether to say more. Finally, he spoke. "Then let me give you something to think about." The space around changed from endless white to the dark hue of purple.
He gestured around them at the purple expanse of the mental space. "This place, this mental space, isn't just a tool. It's you. It's your soul, laid bare. Everything you are—the essence of who you are—is reflected here. The Fields didn't create it, Coren. You did."
Coren blinked, taken aback by the revelation. She glanced around at the vast emptiness, the purple light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. "This is… my soul?"
Zeiric nodded. "Yes. And everyone has one. Every living and even some unliving beings have a mental space, unique to them. It's their sanctuary, their core, their truth. And within it, they are the ultimate authority. Here, no one is stronger than you. No one knows you better than you know yourself. In your mental space, you are all-powerful. You have only just learnt to open the door"
He paused, his tone darkening slightly. "And that is why forcibly changing someone's soul—rewriting it, cleansing it—is so dangerous. To cleanse the prisoner's soul, you'll have to enter his mental space, his sanctuary. And there, he will be all-powerful. He will be able to manipulate the space to his will, to fight you at every turn. If you cannot overpower him, his soul will remain twisted and corrupted, and the backlash could destroy your own."
Coren's breath caught in her throat. His words reverberated through her, the enormity of what he was asking her to do. "How am I supposed to overpower him?" she asked quietly. "I'm just… me."
Zeiric's expression softened again, and for the first time, there was a faint glimmer of pride in his eyes. "You're not just you, Coren. You're Sylvara's soul, reborn. You have strength you haven't even begun to tap into yet. And your mental space—the purple hue that defines it—it's proof of that strength."
"What does the purple mean?" Coren asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"It's rare," Zeiric admitted, his tone almost nostalgic. "Purple mental spaces represent balance and clarity. They're tied to those who can see beyond themselves, who can hold opposing truths in their mind and still find harmony. It's the colour of Royalty those who are confident in their own righteousness."
He stepped closer, his presence towering but not oppressive. "The prisoner's mental space will be chaotic. It will reflect the corruption in his soul, the rage and hate that have consumed him. You have seen that yourself. But you, Coren… you have clarity. That's your strength. Use it. Use your Field bond with Sol, and don't forget that Lyra and Lex can anchor you, even from outside the space. Together, you can overpower him. You can cleanse his soul."
She wanted to argue, to press him for more guidance, more assurances. But before she could speak, Zeiric stepped back, his figure beginning to fade. Eterna pulsed once more, its glow rippling faintly before retreating with him into the void.
Coren stood alone as the light faded. When she opened her eyes in the waking world, her decision was made. Her eyes snapped open, her chest heaving as though she'd just surfaced from deep water. The dream clung to her, vivid and unshakable, the words echoing in her mind.
She sat up, rubbing her hands over her face. Her heart was pounding, but her thoughts were sharper than they had been in days.
The morning light filtered through the trees as she stepped outside the prefab structure, her mind set. Lyra was already awake, sitting by the fire with the Watcher, who was stirring a pot of luminseed brew. They both looked up as Coren approached.
The Watcher arched an eyebrow. "You look as though you've made a decision."
Coren nodded, her gaze steady. "I have. There's another way—a fourth option. We don't have to let him rot. We don't have to burn his soul. We can cleanse it before returning it to the cycle."
The Watcher leaned back, his expression sceptical. "Cleansing a soul? That's a task of extraordinary difficulty. I'm not even sure it's possible. Or if it is, I don't know how it could be done."
"It is possible," Coren said firmly. "And I know it because… I've seen it. Zeiric told me himself."
Lyra's eyes widened. "You saw him? In another dream?"
Coren nodded, the memory still fresh. "He said that a corrupted soul is like an infected limb. Sometimes you have to remove the corruption so the rest can heal. That's what we have to do. We don't destroy him, but we don't let him stay as he is, either."
The Watcher studied her for a long moment, his sharp gaze searching her face for any sign of doubt. Finally, he sighed, tapping his stick on the ground. "If you truly believe this is possible, then I won't stop you. But I hope you understand the risk. Cleansing a soul isn't just a matter of willpower. It will take everything you have—and perhaps more."
"I understand," Coren said, her voice unwavering. She turned to Lyra, who looked both surprised and hesitant. "Will you help me?"
Lyra hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Of course. I may not understand all of this, but I trust you. If you think this is the right path, then I'm with you."
Coren reached for a nearby Holopad and opened it up. Her voice was calm but resolute, her tone one of someone who had turned a complex idea over in her mind enough times to simplify it for others. She traced a small circle on the Holopad with her finger as she explained.
"It's not just a mental space," she began, her eyes flicking to each of them—Lyra, the Watcher, Lex, and finally Sol, who hovered silently near her shoulder. "It's a door. A representation of the soul itself. Everything that makes us, us exists within that space. It's the soul that defines who we are at our core."
She paused, tapping the circle she'd drawn. "Every fear, every memory, every desire—it's all there. And if someone were to force their way in, they wouldn't just be trespassing. They could rewrite the essence of who you are. Any damage done there… will change you"
The Watcher nodded gravely, his weathered hands clasped around his stick. He spoke slowly, his words measured. "She's right. Mental spaces aren't just tools or landscapes of the mind—they're the very essence of a person's being. It's dangerous territory. To tamper with someone's mental space is to tamper with their soul. Even the smallest misstep could cause irreparable harm, not just to them, but to yourself as well."
He leaned forward, his sharp eyes fixed on Coren. "You understand, don't you, that there's no safe way to practice this? You'd be putting not just yourself, but anyone else involved, at risk."
Coren nodded. "I know. But Zeiric said the prisoner's mental space will be chaotic, corrupted. If I'm not ready—if I don't know how to fight in that space—I'll lose. And if I lose…" She trailed off, the weight of the unspoken consequences clear in her expression.
There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of breathing. Finally, Sol floated forward, his glow steady and resolute. "You can practice in mine," he said simply.
Lyra's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. "What?"
"My mental space," Sol continued, his voice calm but firm. "It's strong enough to withstand anything. Coren could learn to fight there without risking permanent damage to herself or anyone else."
The Watcher arched an eyebrow, his tone sceptical. "And you're certain of this?"
Sol turned to him, his light brightening slightly. "I was born of the Fields. My Soul isn't like a human's or other companions. It's not tied to the same vulnerabilities. It's malleable, durable—and infinite. They can practice without consequence."
Coren glanced at Sol, her brows furrowed. "You're sure?"
Sol nodded. "If you want to learn how to fight in a mental space, Coren, this is the safest way."
The world around them shifted as Sol opened his mental space, pulling the group into its silvery expanse. The transition was seamless, like stepping through a curtain of light. Coren blinked as the new surroundings took shape—a vast, shimmering void where the ground seemed to ripple like liquid mercury beneath her feet. The horizon stretched infinitely in all directions, and the air hummed with a faint, harmonious melody.
"This is… incredible," Lyra murmured, her voice tinged with awe as she stepped forward, her boots leaving faint ripples in the silvery surface.
"It's beautiful," Coren admitted, though there was an unsettling quality to the endless expanse, as though it was both welcoming and alien at the same time.
"Don't get comfortable," Sol warned, his voice echoing softly through the space. "Mental spaces are as much a reflection of their owner as they are tools. Here, you'll need to forget the rules of the physical world. Fighting in a mental space isn't about strength or speed. It's about outthinking your opponent. Every action is a move in a game—a game where the rules change depending on your will and imagination."
Coren nodded, her resolve hardening. "Show me."
The silver expanse shimmered, and suddenly, Sol's glowing form shifted into a humanoid shape, his figure translucent but solid enough to move with purpose. He gestured, and the space around them began to transform.
A towering maze of platforms and floating staircases unfolded, each piece shimmering like polished metal. In one moment, the ground below them twisted into an impossible angle, as if gravity itself had been rewritten. In the next, enormous humanoid bodies rose from the silvery floor, each one glowing faintly with its own aura.
"Remember," Sol said, his voice steady, "this is a battle of will. The physical rules you know don't exist here. Strength means nothing if you cannot adapt."
Coren didn't have time to respond before Sol moved. His form blurred, splitting into two copies of himself, one charging forward while the other flanked her from the side. Coren instinctively raised her hands, trying to focus on the cognitive field, but she faltered as the platforms beneath her began to shift, sending her tumbling.
"Stay focused, Don't try and channel the fields just imagine what you want to happen" Sol's voice echoed from all directions. "Anticipate. Don't react—predict."
The training was relentless.
Sol pushed them in ways Coren had never experienced before. The silver world became a kaleidoscope of chaos, shifting with every movement, every thought. The maze transformed into a spiralling battlefield, where the ground beneath them could become a weapon or a trap with no warning.
At one point, Lyra and Coren stood on opposite ends of a massive, shifting grid. The board was littered with mismatched pieces—shapes that flickered and changed, some growing jagged edges, others dissolving into mist. Sol floated above them, his voice steady and instructive. "In a mental space, the owner has absolute control. They can bend it, reshape it, and reform it at will. But as a visitor, you have no such power. Your task is to force your will upon their space—to rewrite it in your image. This is the essence of what you must learn."
Coren and Lyra both tried to focus, reaching out with their minds to change the flickering pieces into something stable. Coren focused on turning one into a simple sphere, but as soon as she succeeded, the piece began to ripple and collapse back into its original, chaotic form. Lyra tried to do the same, attempting to flatten another piece into a smooth disc, only to watch it twist and grow jagged edges seconds later.
The harder they pushed, the more the mental space resisted, its natural state reverting back as though mocking their efforts. Sweat beaded on Coren's brow as she gritted her teeth, summoning everything she had to hold a single shape in place. For a fleeting moment, the piece stilled—then it wavered, twisted, and snapped back to randomness.
"You're struggling because you're over-focused," Sol said, his voice cutting through the frustration. "You're trying to change the pieces themselves. Instead, focus on the space. Bend the rules of the mental space as a whole, and the pieces will follow. Force your will onto the entire system, not just its fragments."
Coren's frustration flared, but she took a deep breath, steadying her thoughts. She tried again, this time widening her focus to encompass the entire board. She could feel the mental space resisting her, like trying to push back the tide with her bare hands. The pieces flickered, some shifting faintly toward order, but the progress was fleeting.
Lyra, on the other side of the board, was having no better luck. "This is impossible," she muttered under her breath, watching one of her newly-formed discs dissolve back into jagged shards.
"It's not impossible," Sol replied. "It's just not easy. The prisoner's mental space will fight you even harder than this. If you can't reshape even this small portion, you'll stand no chance when the time comes."
The lesson continued, a gruelling trial of will and focus. Coren managed a few fleeting victories—a flicker of order in the chaos—but the space's resistance always brought her back to square one. Still, each attempt honed her focus, forcing her to think beyond just brute force. She began to see the patterns in the chaos, the subtle shifts she could exploit. It wasn't much, but it was progress.
In one simulation, Sol split the space into floating platforms, forcing Coren and Lyra to leap between them while dodging attacks. Coren tried to manipulate the platforms, creating barriers and traps that slowed him down.
In another, the environment transformed into a mirrored labyrinth, where every reflection was a potential enemy. Coren had to focus on filtering out distractions, relying on Lyra's support to keep her grounded.
Their movements became sharper, more deliberate. Lyra's analytical mind complemented Coren's adaptability, the two of them working in tandem to outmaneuver Sol's relentless assaults, while also working on forcibly changing the environment to their whims.
By the end of the session, the silver expanse was quiet again. Coren stood in the centre, breathing hard, her hair damp with sweat despite the surreal nature of the space. Lyra stood beside her, her expression tired but determined.
"You're improving," Sol said, his form shimmering back into its usual sphere. "But you still have much to learn. The prisoner's mental space will be far more chaotic than this. It won't follow logic or reason—it will reflect his corruption. Be ready for anything."
Coren wiped sweat from her brow as the silver expanse of Sol's mental space shimmered back into stillness. Her heart still raced from the relentless training, and her mind swirled with thoughts of the prisoner and what awaited them at the mountain.
She glanced at Sol, whose glow remained steady and unwavering despite all the chaos he had orchestrated during the lesson. "If you're this strong, why don't you deal with him?" she asked, a note of frustration in her voice. "You could crush him in an instant."
Sol floated closer, his tone calm but firm. "Because that's not our role," he explained. "Companions exist to guide, to support, to amplify what you are capable of—not to do the work for you. A Companion cannot shape the soul of another, nor can we override your choices. The Fields—and the tasks they require—must be handled by the mortals who walk the physical world."
Coren frowned, folding her arms. "So you're just here to… watch? To let us struggle while you sit back?"
Sol's light dimmed slightly, as if his answer weighed on him. "No, Coren. We're here to ensure you and Lyra have what you need to face what's ahead. That's why we trained in this space. Not just to teach you how to fight in someone else's mental space, but to ensure you can protect your own. A weak mental space leaves you vulnerable—not just to the prisoner, but to any threat that may come in the future."
His words settled heavily in the silence, but Coren gave a slow nod. She couldn't deny the truth in them. She was stronger now—she could feel it in the way her mind had sharpened, in how her thoughts aligned more clearly. The lessons weren't just about the prisoner; they were about survival in a world far more complex than she'd ever imagined.
The training stretched on far longer than Coren or Lyra had anticipated. Days blurred into weeks, and weeks into months. Sol was unrelenting, pushing them to their limits as they learned to reshape mental spaces, sharpen their focus, and deepen their understanding of the Fields. By the time Sol finally declared them ready, both Coren and Lyra felt transformed—not just in their skills, but in their very connection to the world around them.
Their prolonged time within Sol's silver mental space had forged more than just skill; it had strengthened their bond with the Fields themselves. Lex explained it in his usual matter-of-fact tone. "You've spent months immersed in the pure essence of the Fields," he said. "Your souls have been steeped in it, refined in ways few experience. This isn't just training—it's transformation."
The change was undeniable. Coren could feel it in the way the Fields resonated more clearly with her now, like the melodies were no longer distant but woven into her very essence. Lyra felt it too, though she said little of it aloud, focusing instead on refining her precision and discipline.
Through it all, the Watcher remained true to his name. He observed them silently, his presence ever-constant but unobtrusive. Rarely did he speak, save for the occasional words of encouragement or advice, but he ensured they were cared for. The animals were fed, the camp remained stocked, and the two of them were never left to want for anything. He watched over them with a quiet patience that spoke of someone who had seen more than he let on.
The group stood once again before the jagged face of the mountain, its darkened stone seeming to loom larger now, as if aware of what was about to unfold. The air around it was thick, humming faintly with the echoes of the Fields. Coren placed a steadying hand on the surface, feeling the vibrations reverberate through her palm.
Lyra watched her closely, her expression tight with concern. "Are you ready for this?" she asked.
Coren glanced at her, her jaw tightening. "I have to be."
Sol floated nearby, his glow subdued. "Remember what you've learned," he said. "His mental space will be chaotic, but you are stronger than you know."
Taking a deep breath, Coren steadied herself and reached out with the Melody of Perception. The Fields shifted around her, the mountain rippling like water beneath her touch as the world dissolved into the prisoner's mental space.
The inferno erupted to life once more, flames roaring higher and hotter than before. They twisted and coiled like living things, their searing heat pressing against her skin and distorting the air. The prisoner stood at the centre, grinning like a wolf, his eyes alight with malice.
"Well, well," he drawled, his voice carrying a mocking lilt. "The Chosen One returns. Tell me, girl—have you come to free me at last? Or maybe to prove what I already know? That you're just a child playing with powers you can't control?"
Coren stepped forward, her expression unreadable. She didn't flinch as the flames roared louder, snapping at the edges of her awareness.
The prisoner's grin widened as he took a step toward her. "Go on, then. Try to stop me. You don't have the stomach to—"
Before he could finish, Coren flicked her wrist. The flames buckled under her command, twisting violently before collapsing in on themselves. The heat that had been suffocating moments ago dissipated into a sharp, biting cold.
The prisoner's grin faltered, his head snapping to the side as if searching for the source of the disruption. "What… what are you doing?" he snarled, his voice cracking with sudden panic.
Coren didn't answer. She raised her other hand, and the air around her pulsed with raw energy. A single sound hummed through the space—low, resonant, unshakable. Her power surged and she shaped it with precise, calculated movements, bending the fiery chaos into crystalline, frozen stillness.
The prisoner roared in defiance, flames surging back to life around him. He lunged forward, his hands clawing at the space between them, summoning every ounce of chaos he could muster. The ground splintered beneath his feet, cracks racing outward as his power lashed against hers.
But Coren was faster. Stronger.
She used her training and the power of her willpower to weave the mental space with flawless precision. Each strike was deliberate, dismantling the prisoner's attacks with ease. His chaos unravelled under her control, his power flickering like a dying ember.
"You thought this would intimidate me?" she said, her voice steady and cold. She took another step forward, the ground beneath her smoothing into a perfect plane of ice. "This is nothing compared to what I've trained for."
The prisoner's defiance wavered, his movements growing sluggish as her power overtook his. He hurled another desperate burst of energy, but it shattered harmlessly against her control.
"You're weak," Coren said, her tone sharp and unyielding. "You've always been weak—hiding behind false belief in your superiority. And now, there's nothing left for you to hide behind."
With a final movement of her hands, the flames around him collapsed entirely, leaving the space cold and silent. The prisoner dropped to his knees, his expression a mix of disbelief and dawning horror.
"No… no, this isn't possible," he murmured, his voice hollow. "You shouldn't have this kind of power. You can't—"
"She can," Sol's voice echoed through the space, calm and resolute. He hovered at Coren's side, his glow brighter than ever. "You've underestimated her resolve, her training, and her strength. This is what true power and control feel like."
"You're outmatched," she said, her voice unwavering. "This isn't a fight. It's a lesson."
The prisoner roared in frustration, his form shifting and warping as he threw everything he had at her. The flames reignited, twisting into jagged, monstrous shapes that lunged toward her. Coren waved her hand once more. The fire dissolved into harmless embers, and the space fell eerily quiet.
The prisoner staggered, his form shrinking back into something more human. His knees hit the ground, and his breath came in ragged gasps. "You… can't…" he rasped, though his voice lacked conviction. "You can't stop what I am. You're just delaying—"
The air solidified around the prisoner, freezing him in place. His words cut off, his body trembling as her power pressed him to the ground. A position he had been in before.
"It's over," she said simply, stepping closer.
The prisoner looked up at her, his expression a mix of disbelief and resignation. "Do it, then," he spat weakly. "Finish it. Burn me. Prove me right. That we humans are the ultimate predators"
Coren stared down at him, her heart steady as her training surged to the forefront of her mind. She had been taught to control, to guide, to master herself. This wasn't a contest of strength—it was a demonstration of who she had become.
"No," she said firmly. "You don't get to decide what happens next."
The prisoner's eyes widened, but before he could respond, the mental space dissolved, leaving Coren standing once again at the base of the mountain.
She exhaled slowly, her hands steady despite the lingering adrenaline in her veins. Sol hovered at her side, his light calm and reassuring. "Well done," he said simply, his tone carrying quiet pride.
The Watcher stepped forward, his expression grim. "There's one final task," he said. He tapped the mountain with his stick, and a section of the stone shifted, revealing a tablet embedded in its surface.
The tablet shimmered faintly, its surface etched with strange symbols. Coren recognized the same writing she'd seen in the gate and the test chambers.
The Watcher placed his hand on the tablet, his expression solemn. "Zeiric left this here as a seal. The symbols are a song, written in the Fields themselves. They hold the power of the prison. But now, I must add my verse to complete the task."
With a steady hand, the Watcher traced new symbols onto the tablet, his movements deliberate. The air around them seemed to hum with energy, the Fields resonating with the song he inscribed. When he finished, the mountain rumbled, and the ground beneath them shook.
The prisoner's body was expelled from the rock with a sickening crack, his form broken and limp. He hit the ground hard, coughing weakly.
Before Lyra could move to stop it, the Wolfigers, silent until now, descended upon him. Their glowing eyes burned with an animalistic rage as they tore him apart.
"Wait!" Lyra shouted, stepping forward, but Lex blocked her path, his light flaring angrily.
"No," Lex said, his voice colder than Coren had ever heard it. "This is justice."
Lyra froze, stunned by his reaction. "But… he was defenceless," she said, her voice shaking.
Lex's glow dimmed slightly, but his tone remained firm. "Not defenseless. He made his choice long ago. This is the consequence."
The scene was over in moments, leaving only silence and the stains of what had once been a man.
Coren, desperate to break the tension, turned to the Watcher. "What is that tablet?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
The Watcher's expression softened. "It's made of a material known as Songstone," he explained. "It allows one to inscribe the melodies of the Fields directly onto its surface. With enough power, those songs can last forever, anchoring the reality they create."
Coren stared at the tablet, her curiosity grabbed. "Can I learn to use it?"
The Watcher chuckled softly. "That's a vast oversimplification, child. You're not ready for that knowledge—perhaps you never will be. Songstone is a tool of the ancients, and its secrets are not given lightly."
Coren frowned but didn't press further. The day's events weighed too heavily on her to argue. For now, the tablet and its mysteries would have to wait.