Light shattered.
Threads snapped.
The Pattern-field beneath them — once shimmering like a woven tapestry of breath and memory — ruptured into shards of drifting brilliance. For a moment, the world became weightless, directionless, soundless.
Then gravity returned in violent fragments.
Lysa hit the ground first — or what felt like ground. She slid across a surface that rippled like cloth and stone at once, threads shifting beneath her palms, radiating faint warmth.
She gasped and sat up.
"Elderon!"
Her voice vanished into white haze.
Keir?Toma?Rida?Mina?Sal?Yun?Anon?
No answer.
She pushed to her feet, scanning the fractured landscape.
The Pattern was broken.
The once-unified field was now a labyrinth of floating surfaces, impossible angles, drifting shards of memory and resonance suspended like islands in an ocean of light. Some floated near, some far, some upside down, reflecting scenes of the past, present, and possibilities Lysa didn't dare interpret.
She felt her breath accelerate.
"Elderon!" she shouted again.
Still nothing.
A tremor rippled through the space — a shudder of panic or warning. Lysa steadied herself and forced her breathing to slow.
Focus. Feel.
She closed her eyes.
Her heartbeat echoed outward, pulsing through the fractured threads. The Pattern responded — faint, flickering, wounded — but it responded. She extended her senses.
Something answered.
Small.Afraid.Flickering like a candle in storm-wind.
She turned sharply.
"That way."
She broke into a run across the shifting platform.
The Pattern beneath her adjusted, tilting her toward a narrow shimmering bridge that extended between shards. She sprinted onto it, arms out for balance, each step sending pulses across the structure.
"Hold on, Elderon," she whispered.
The bridge curved upward.
Then downward.
Then split.
Lysa cursed softly.
A narrow ledge shimmered on the right, drifting closer — barely wide enough to stand on.
She leapt.
The ledge dipped dangerously, nearly tossing her off, but she caught its edge and hauled herself up.
Then she froze.
A shadow moved ahead.
Not the Sovereign.Not a Silenced One.
Keir.
He sat with his back against a fractured wall of light, one leg bent, the other dangling off the shard's edge. He looked up when he felt her presence.
"Lysa."
She ran to him.
"Are you hurt?"
"No," Keir said, though his voice was strained. "But the Pattern threw each of us into different pockets. It feels… alive. And scared."
Lysa exhaled in relief, pulling him into a brief embrace.
"Have you seen Elderon? The others?"
Keir shook his head.
"I only just woke here. But—"
He reached behind him.
A glowing seam cut through the shard's surface — a seam that pulsed with two distinct rhythms.
One was the Pattern.
The other… wasn't.
Lysa pressed her hand against it.
A shock of warmth surged through her arm.
She staggered.
"It's him," she whispered."Elderon."
Keir nodded grimly.
"And the Sovereign."
Lysa pulled back, heart hammering."Then we break through."
Keir rose beside her.
"Together."
Lysa stepped toward the seam—
But something grabbed her wrist.
Not roughly.
Softly.
"Wait."
She turned.
Anon stood at the edge of the shard, reflections shimmering all around him like fractured mirrors. He looked shaken — more deeply than she had ever seen.
"Lysa," he said quietly, "you can't break through that seam."
"Why not?"
He stepped closer.
"Because it leads into a memory."
Lysa frowned. "We've stepped through memories before."
"This one isn't yours," Anon said.
"It's Taren's."
Lysa froze.
A tremble ran through the shard beneath their feet.
Keir's jaw tightened.
"Anon," he said softly, "we don't have a choice."
Anon's gaze softened with sorrow.
"That's what I'm afraid of," he whispered.
Lysa stepped back to the seam.
"If Elderon is inside Taren's memory—"
"—he won't be safe," Anon finished.
"But he will be safer with me."
Anon closed his eyes.
"Then listen."
He placed his hand over hers — guiding her pulse.
"When you cross through this seam, the Pattern will not protect you. Taren's memory may not want you to leave."
Lysa exhaled.
"I'll manage."
He shook his head slightly.
"You don't understand. Taren's memories are not just stories. They are weight. Burden. Echo. Anchors."
He met her eyes.
"And you carry more than one path."
She stiffened.
"What does that mean?"
Anon looked at her with quiet awe.
"I don't know yet. But the Sovereign recognized it."
Keir stepped closer, voice hardening.
"Anon. We're wasting time."
Anon nodded.
"Then remember this: Memories try to keep you."
Lysa inhaled, steadying herself.
"Then I'll break them if I must."
She pressed her hand against the seam—
And the world ripped open.
She fell into another place.
Not a Pattern-field.
Not a shard of light.
A forest.Green.Alive.Early morning dew on leaves.
Birds sang — not with resonance, but with simple melody.
Lysa's breath caught.
She knew this forest.
She'd walked through it once in visions triggered by Taren's echo.
She whispered:
"His childhood…"
A soft humming came from deeper within the trees.
Elderon.
Lysa ran.
Branches brushed her shoulders. Leaves parted for her. The forest did not feel hostile — but it felt watchful.
Finally, she reached a clearing.
And stopped dead.
A boy knelt by a small pool of water, humming quietly — a melody simple, pure, filled with the innocence of someone discovering resonance for the very first time.
Taren.
Not an echo.Not broken.Not burdened.
A young Taren.
No older than Elderon.
His hair fell in soft curls. His hands cupped the water. His eyes glowed faintly with newborn resonance.
Lysa felt tears sting her eyes.
And beside him—
Elderon.
Small, frightened, unsure, mirroring the same shimmering glow.
Taren looked up at Elderson, smiling gently.
"It's okay," the boy said. "It doesn't hurt forever."
Lysa's breath shattered.
Taren reached out and placed a hand on Elderon's shoulder.
"You're not alone."
Elderon sobbed and leaned into him.
Lysa took a step forward—
The forest twisted.
The light dimmed.
Taren's expression flickered.
Lysa froze.
Something was wrong.
This memory—It wasn't soft.It wasn't innocent.It was changing.
The trees shuddered.The ground darkened.The air grew cold.
And Taren stood.
His eyes now older.Sharper.Burdened.
No longer a child.
Elderon backed away.
"Taren?"
The older Taren turned—But his face blurred.His outline flickered.His hand darkened with shadow.
Lysa's heart dropped.
This wasn't a memory anymore.
It was a trap.
A memory fractured by the Sovereign's intrusion.
Taren lifted his blurred hand.
And the voice that emerged was not his.
Not fully.
"Give the echo to me."
Elderon stumbled backward.
The shadow surged across the clearing.
Lysa lunged forward.
"NO!"
The false memory-Taren reached for Elderon—
And the Sovereign's voice spoke through him:
"Return what was stolen."
Lysa slammed into the figure with every ounce of resonance she had.
Light exploded.
Shadow screamed.
The clearing shattered like glass.
Elderon flew into her arms—
And the two of them were hurled backward through the collapsing memory.
Lysa clutched him tight.
"I've got you," she whispered."I've got you."
Light swallowed them—
And the last thing she heard before they burst from the seam—
Was the real Taren's voice, distant and full of sorrow:
"Protect him. Protect the echo. Protect yourself."
They fell back into the Pattern-field.
Keir caught them both.
Lysa gasped for breath.
Elderon sobbed into her chest.
Anon steadied her from the other side.
"You found him," Anon whispered.
Lysa nodded.
"But the Sovereign is breaking Taren's memories."
Keir stiffened.
"Why?"
Lysa looked eastward — toward a horizon that flickered with spreading void.
"Because the echo inside Elderon knows something."
Elderon lifted his tear-streaked face.
"He wants it back."
Lysa pulled him close.
"We won't let him."
Elderon trembled in her arms.
"He's coming."
And as if summoned by those words—
The Pattern-field trembled violently.
Shards of light cracked.Voids spread.Silence seeped in like poison.
Toma, Rida, Sal, Mina, and Yun appeared across separate shards — running toward them.
The Sovereign stepped onto the central platform of the Pattern-field.
He tilted his faceless head.
"The echo is mine."
Lysa rose slowly.
"No," she whispered."It's part of this world. And so is he."
The Sovereign raised his hand—Void spiraled—Reality buckled—
And Chapter 40 waited in the silence between heartbeats.