The moment Ellie finally stirred beside him, Veyr stepped away from the doorway. Her eyes blinked open slowly — confusion, then panic, then fragile relief when she saw his face.
"It's alright," he said, even though nothing about this felt alright. "You're safe."
Only then did he notice her right hand, curled into a death-grip against her chest. Even unconscious she hadn't loosened it — the Rift healer who'd bandaged her arm admitted they'd had to pry her fingers open with a knife handle to check for broken bones. What they had found inside surprised even them:
A small smooth white stone — the one Rhen had given her days ago during their "will test" at the lake.
She shouldn't still have it. Shouldn't even remember clutching it. But there it was, faintly pulsing now with a Vitra echo. He had seen some of the Riftfolk whisper when they caught sight of it, muttering about "tokens that return awakened."
Ellie rubbed her fingers over the surface as she sat up. "Was I… holding this the whole time?"
"You didn't let go," Veyr said quietly. "Not even when you passed out."
Rhen, lying on the next bed over, made a low noise and sat up slowly. "Where… are we?" His gaze moved to the open doorway. And froze.
Sheer disbelief flickered in his eyes.
"This isn't outside," he muttered. "We're still in the Rift."
Outside
All three stepped out together.
And froze.
It looked like a village. Sunlight, gardens, cottages, smoke, laughter. Impossible.
Worse — it wasn't just alive. The people themselves were… changed. One man carried fishnets, silver scales shimmering along his neck. A girl skipped past with a faint golden glow tracing her forearms. Hands waved. Children laughed.
Something in Ellie's heart twisted. Life in a place built from death?
A tall man approached them calmly. His skin was cracked faintly like stone, and light ran through the cracks like glowing roots.
"I am Colwyn, village head," he said. "You fell through the Rift and lived. That makes you… rare."
Veyr's hand drifted toward the hilt of his remaining blade.
"What is this place?" Ellie whispered.
"A Rift pocket," Colwyn replied. "When creatures die inside it, their energy breaks down. That energy becomes Shadow Wanderers. But sometimes… life grows instead. Mutated. Changed."
Ellie's fingers twitched around her white stone, as if it, too, were listening.
"Can we leave then?" Veyr asked.
Colwyn simply shrugged. "None of us ever have. Or if someone did… they never came back to tell us how."
Ellie
She noticed then the young woman behind him — beautiful in a way that didn't feel entirely human. Skin white as snow. Hair like gold-thread. Eyes the exact shade of stormclouds.
"My daughter, Syra," Colwyn said.
Syra stepped forward, examining them like interesting insects. Her gaze landed last on Ellie's right hand.
"You're carrying a loaded stone," she said softly — and Ellie realized she meant the lake stone. "Usually it's very hard for people to extend their vitra onto objects, even for the people here, yet you managed to as an newly awakend."
Ellie stared down at her palm in shock.
"Stay," Syra said, almost as an order. "If you want to live, you'll need to learn control before it burns you from the inside."
Colwyn nodded. "Everyone here builds a Vitra core eventually. The Rift forces it into you. Some mutate. Some survive. Strength is the only difference."
Veyr held Syra's gaze when she turned to him.
"You resist your own Vitra," she said with a smile that wasn't kind. "I'll break that resistance."
Veyr bristled — but he also knew she was right. His near-failure to use his glyph mid-fall still haunted him. He looked down at his single remaining blade. Useless in this place.
"I need a new weapon," he said.
"I will forge you one," Syra replied. "And I will train you."
Veyr's eyes narrowed. "Then who trains her?" He nodded toward Ellie.
"My father," said Syra. "She needs guidance, not force."
Ellie swallowed, fingers closing once more around her glowing stone.
Veyr looked at her — at the quiet fear and stubborn light in her eyes, and at Rhen, who stood behind them staring uneasily at his own glyph. For a brief moment he saw the future: change, mutation, power… or death.
He exhaled slowly.
"Fine," he said. "We stay."
Syra's smile widened.
"And we grow."