Vencian lay on his back. The makeshift bed beneath him offered just enough warmth to keep the cold at bay.
They stopped traveling for the day as nightfall arrived, setting a camp near the woods just before the mouth of an open field. Since they were moving in a group of twenty, they had taken a less traveled path as they drew closer to enemy territory.
They'd skipped the taverns and inns for obvious reasons, but finding a good spot to set up camp took a bit more effort.
He wanted to keep moving. Every hour they lost was another hour Sebastian could be moved somewhere else or worse. But Jeriko's men needed rest and the horses couldn't go on without a break. He hadn't slept much last night either
He looked up at the round moon hanging just above the horizon. Back on Earth, the moon shifted—crescent, half, gibbous. But here, it never changed shape. Just a constant, glowing disk, waxing and waning in brightness, but always whole.
Quenya wasn't around. They didn't talk much after getting rescued by Jeriko. Not because they didn't get the chance to be alone again but because Quenya was sulking. She didn't like how Vencian almost got captured and she was not able to do anything.
She didn't try to show it, but Vencian could tell. He wasn't so self-centered as to imagine such things without reason.
He looked across. There sat Jeriko scribbling something on a parchment under the light of campfire.
"You haven't completed the song for Cethy yet?" Vencian asked.
Jeriko looked up. His expression was uneasy.
"No. I am not satisfied with it yet." He replied.
From what he remembered, Jeriko had always been awkward around Cethy. A quiet crush. Mutual, from the looks of it.
However, Jeriko being Jeriko decided that he will write a song specially dedicated to Cethy to profess his love.
Obviously no one else knows about it other than Vencian. Jeriko wasn't the type to share his hobby with anyone else.
"How long are you going to keep that poor girl waiting though?"
"I am not sure."
Vencian glanced at him. There was something else behind that answer, but Jeriko kept his face blank. For someone who always spoke his mind, that silence said more than words.
"Hah? What are you not sure about? She is twenty two already. If she wanted to marry someone else, her father would have betrothed her already."
He remembered from Vencian's memories that she, like Jeriko, came from a marquis family in Talos. They'd attended the academy together.
"It's not that. Just kind of complicated."
"Uh huh."
Jeriko gave an irritated look, eyes sharp, like he had a mouthful of words he refused to spit out.
Vencian met his eyes but didn't press further.
Well, that didn't yield any result.
Vencian's motive to poke at this topic of love and engagement was not just for the sake of mischief or small talk, but in hopes Jeriko might slip up and mention Seris. He was still in the dark about his broken engagement.
He doesn't know who Seris is. But the way Jeriko holds his tongue says more than his voice ever could. He's holding back, careful not to stir up talk about her. For a guy who usually barks orders and brushes people off, he's showing a surprisingly soft side here.
Vencian shifted the topic—this time, to someone else entirely.
"What about Moses? He showed interest in someone yet?"
"No. He is still keeping his hands empty. Waiting for a better match."
Moses is the heir to the Vicorra houses. A better match means a better alliance. But given their family situation right now, the chances of anything happening soon is even low.
"Right."
Vencian stood up, stretching his arms behind his back.
"He ain't getting a girl if he keeps acting so rigid."
Then, slipping into a near-perfect impression: "Marriage is a matter of timing and advantage. Emotional attachment is secondary to long-term benefit."
He even added the signature Moses pause and brow-furrow at the end.
When he turned back to Jeriko expecting him to be smiling, he found a rather shocked expression on his face.
The look on Jeriko's face made him pause.
"What?" Vencian asked.
"...haha. You looked exactly like Moses for a second."
He shook his head and he closed his work and lay down mumbling he should get some rest too.
Vencian almost laughed it off, praising his good acting skills.
Sure, Moses and Vencian resemble a lot given the almost identical facial feature they both carried.
But a prickle of unease crept up his spine.
A flicker of light drew his eyes upward. Quenya had returned from wherever she went to sulk. And he could see something different. It was dim but a very obvious bluish-white glow was emanating from her. It dimmed further until it was no longer there.
She didn't say anything other than a simple nod.
Without waiting, he mumbled something about needing the woods and slipped away.
He didn't go far, only enough to be out of sight but still able to watch if someone approached.
Turning to Quenya he asked. "Did my face really change? Did you feel anything like last time?"
"It wasn't as strong as last time but I did feel something."
Vencian fell in a deep thought and chimed in once again.
"I don't correctly recall what I was thinking last time but this time, I tried to think how Moses' would and act like. Can it be related to the transformation that just occurred?"
"Possible. Wanna try again?"
"Yeah."
Saying that Vencian closed his eyes and tried to recall the information about Moses from his memories in as much detail as possible.
He tried for a minute and opened his eyes. Quenya shook her, implying she didn't feel any difference. Neither in Vencian nor in herself.
He tried again, focusing harder this time.
Still nothing.
What am I missing?
He looked at Quenya.
Then it clicked. Whatever the change happening in him, it was not just him. Somehow she is involved too.
"Quenya can you recall what you were thinking both of the time when the change happened?"
She took a breath. Her face was serious.
"I wasn't thinking about anything special," she said. "Just that I wanted to help you."
Vencian raised an eyebrow. "Help me how?"
"I don't know. You looked in pain last night. And it felt like… if I wanted it enough, I could do something too. Not because of the voice. Because I wanted to help you."
He nodded slowly.
"Alright. Let's both focus," he said.
"On what?"
"On Moses. I'll try to copy him using memories. You try to… I don't know. Want it to work. Same as before."
She smiled faintly. "That I can do."
He closed his eyes.
This time, he didn't just recall Moses' tone or the tilt of his head. He tried to inhabit him. The calmness. The slight frown. The quiet calculation behind every word. The steady posture.
Something stirred beneath his skin. A subtle pull, like a thread tugging inside his chest.
He tensed.
A strange yet familiar sense of alignment, like something lining up where it hadn't before.
"Something's happening," Quenya whispered.
Vencian opened his eyes.
There was someone standing in front of him.
His first instinct was to reach for a weapon. But then he saw the familiar face.
Moses.
Or something that looked exactly like him. Right height, same hair, same expression. Eyes steady. Posture formal.
"What the—" Vencian stepped back.
The illusion didn't move.
Quenya blinked, then slowly stepped around it. Her hand passed right through.
"It's not real," she said. "But it's there. We made this."
Vencian frowned. The pull in his chest felt too familiar, like the same force that had made his face change by the river. Is this the power given to us by that voice or something else?
He studied the figure. It didn't react to light or sound. It was perfect, but it didn't breathe. Didn't blink.
"It's not transformation," he said quietly. "It's projection."
The figure flickered once.
Then vanished.
Vencian staggered slightly, like something pulled loose inside him.
A thread in his chest, pulled tight just a moment ago, had suddenly gone slack.
He stared at the spot where the illusion had vanished.
"That was... something else." he said quietly.
Quenya hovered beside him, eyes wide.
"I didn't think we could do that," she said.
"Let's try again," Vencian said.
Quenya hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah. But this time… something different."
He took a step back and steadied his breath.
"Before, I was trying to become Moses. Like stepping into his role. This time I want to try something else."
"Like what?"
"Not another person. Just… me. The old me."
Quenya tilted her head. "Luke?"
He nodded once. "If this works, maybe I can control what the illusion wraps around. Keep it tighter. More stable."
She floated a little closer. "Alright. I'll follow your lead."
He closed his eyes.
Slowly, carefully, he recalled his reflection. Not from this world, but the other one. Luke Marlowe. Darker hair, lighter frame. Eyes tired from too many sleepless nights. A face he hadn't seen properly in weeks, except that one time by the river.
The thread inside him pulled again. Like a muscle stretching after being ignored for too long.
He opened his eyes.
Quenya gasped.
"It worked," she said.
Vencian glanced down at his hands. They looked different. Narrower. Paler. His forearms weren't as strong.
"It worked," he said.
She nodded, though her glow had returned, faint and flickering.
"You look like Luke," she said, voice thinner than before. "But only on the outside."
He stepped forward, testing it. The illusion moved with him. Shadowed right. Reflected light. No delay.
"This one's better. More real."
"It's stronger," Quenya agreed, floating lower now. "But it's also… harder."
Her glow dimmed again.
"Quenya, are you—"
"I'm fine. Just a little… lightheaded. It's like… I'm leaking something."
The illusion flickered.
And vanished.
The thread inside his chest snapped loose.
A sharp ache bloomed behind his right eye. He winced, staggered back a step, and pressed fingers to his temple.
"You okay?" she asked quickly.
"Yeah. Head's pounding. Like a… mild migraine, maybe. Not terrible. Just annoying."
Quenya was already dim. Her posture had dipped to a slow hover near the ground.
"We should stop for now," she said. "You're hurting. I feel like I just ran a long race."
Vencian nodded. "Right. Before someone comes looking."
He exhaled, and started the walk back to camp.