The river was wider here, a slow-moving mirror of pale silver beneath the starlit sky. Jack stood at the bow of Veris's peculiar craft—a sleek vessel that skimmed the water without visible propulsion.
Moonlight reflected off its curved hull, constructed of some shimmering alloy that responded to Veris's touch like an extension of her will.
For hours, they had traveled under the cloak of night, leaving the trading post far behind, and with it, the immediate threat of the Crimson Guard.
Lyra sat amidships, sharpening her blade with methodical patience, while Veris remained at the rear, eyes half-closed, guiding the craft with imperceptible movements of her fingers across the etched surface of a crystalline console.
Jack's thoughts churned like the waters beneath them. The pendant around his neck pulsed gently, its glow attuned to the proximity of both Veris and Lyra.
Three harmonics now sang in resonance—an incomplete chord awaiting its next note. But what unsettled him wasn't the matrix's hunger for completion.
It was Veris.
He had not forgotten her earlier revelation—nor the subtle shift in tone when she had spoken of her past. The moment she had removed her cloak, the truth had reshaped her entirely: pointed ears, elongated pupils, and the ethereal presence of an Elf.
Not just any Elf, but one who had masqueraded as a human scholar for years, hiding her lineage behind a carefully constructed persona.
"I keep thinking about what you said back there," Jack murmured without turning.
"Why hide who you are? Why pretend to be someone you're not?"
Veris's voice drifted across the deck, calm as the river. "Because the world would not have listened to a woman. Much less an Elf. They barely tolerated me as a half-blooded man of science."
"You're not half-blooded, though."
"No." A pause. "But the lie served a purpose. A male scholar with Vexari lineage was a novelty—mocked, yes, but sometimes indulged."
"A full-blooded Elven woman? They'd have burned my notes before I ever published a single theorem."
Lyra looked up. "She's not wrong. The Conclave has always feared the Elves. Their innate cultivation, their longevity, their refusal to bend to imperial doctrine."
Veris stepped forward, her eyes fixed on the horizon where the moonlight danced. "There was a time when Elven scholars shared knowledge freely across all races."
"That time ended when the Conclave declared harmonic research subversive. My mother died defending the Archives of Lirae."
Jack turned. "Lirae? That's—"
"One of the seven lost Elven sanctuaries," Veris finished, her voice softer now. "Buried beneath human settlements. Forgotten by design."
The boat dipped as a ripple passed beneath them. Jack looked down. For a brief instant, he thought he saw a pale shape swimming just below the surface—serpentine, translucent.
"What was that?"
Veris didn't answer immediately. Instead, she moved to the console and made a swift gesture. The craft responded by slowing, its surface dimming to match the surrounding waters.
"We're entering the Veiled Stretch," she said. "A section of the river that runs parallel to old ley lines. Energies pool here. Strange things stir beneath."
"Dangerous?"
"Yes. But also... revealing." She looked at Jack, her gaze sharp. "This part of the journey tests more than strength or skill. It tests intention."
Lyra stood, strapping her blade to her back. "If something comes for us, I'd prefer to face it with steel."
"No." Veris raised a hand. "Weapons invite hostility. We pass this stretch with calm minds, or not at all."
Jack moved back to the center of the boat. The pendant was warm again, but now it pulsed in rhythm with the subtle currents below. He could feel something calling—not a voice, but an impression. A presence.
He closed his eyes.
At first, there was nothing but the sway of the craft and the gentle slosh of water. Then, he heard it—a song, distant and sorrowful.
Notes without words, yet filled with meaning. Visions flickered behind his eyelids: a memory of Tarkhan, young and wide-eyed, sitting beside a stream with his father; a flash of Earth, his own childhood bedroom filled with books and glowing monitors.
A question surfaced in his mind.
"Who are you becoming?"
Jack opened his eyes. The river around them had changed.
The surface was glass-smooth, reflecting not the stars but shifting images: faces, places, decisions. Veris stood at the helm, her face unreadable, while Lyra stared into the water, her expression tight.
"What is this?" Jack asked.
"Reflection," Veris said simply. "The Veiled Stretch reveals the fractures in your spirit."
Jack looked down. The water beneath him showed his own face—but not as he knew it. One moment it was Jack Morrison, the next Tarkhan Lavenius, and then something else entirely—a fusion of both, eyes glowing faintly, skin crackling with luminous threads.
"I don't recognize that face," he whispered.
"You will." Veris knelt beside him. "Your soul is evolving. The matrix doesn't just bond. It catalyzes change."
Lyra's voice was tight. "I see my sister."
Jack looked up. Lyra's gaze was locked on the water, her hands clenched at her sides.
"She died in an imperial raid when we were children. I haven't seen her face in fifteen years."
Veris's tone softened. "The river does not lie. But it shows possibilities, not fate."
A low hum rose from beneath the water.
Jack stood, swaying slightly. The air had thickened, charged with unseen currents. "Something's coming."
From the depths, pale lights began to rise—at first faint, then brighter. They spiraled around the boat like will-o'-the-wisps, casting eerie illumination across the deck.
Veris held up a hand, and the lights halted.
"They are Echoes," she said. "Resonant fragments of those who've passed through before. Not dangerous—unless you resist them."
One of the lights floated toward Jack. As it neared, it changed—becoming a figure. A woman. Mid-thirties, brown hair, kind eyes behind thick glasses.
"Mom?" he breathed.
She didn't speak, but smiled. The same smile he remembered from Earth, from hospital beds and hard days. Her hand reached out—not to touch, but to hover near his cheek.
He felt warmth. Then sadness.
She faded.
Lyra's breath caught, and Veris closed her eyes.
"This place..." Jack whispered. "It's sacred."
"Yes," Veris said. "And rare. Few ever see it. Fewer survive it unchanged."
They drifted in silence for what felt like hours. Then, gradually, the river's surface returned to normal. The lights sank back into the deep. The air cleared.
Jack exhaled slowly, feeling lighter.
"We've passed the threshold," Veris confirmed. "From here, the river runs clean to the foot of the Ascendant Hills."
"And Verik?" Lyra asked.
"Veris," the Elf corrected gently. "And I am with you, fully now." She touched the pendant around Jack's neck.
"The matrix is stabilizing. With the three of us linked, our combined resonance opens the path to harmonic synthesis."
Jack frowned. "You mean we can start cultivation together?"
"Not start. Accelerate. Harmonious cultivation requires not just alignment of energies, but a shared purpose."
"With Lyra's strength, my insight, and your... uniqueness, we can attempt something few have ever achieved."
"Shared purpose," Lyra echoed. "Like dismantling the Conclave?"
Veris smiled, and for the first time, Jack saw the fire behind her composed mask.
"No. Like replacing it."
They reached the riverbank at dawn. The sky burned with pale gold as birds called out in welcome. Before them, the land rose into green hills veined with stone paths and scattered ruins—remnants of civilizations long erased by imperial decree.
"We'll rest here," Veris said. "And tomorrow, we begin the first true harmonic ritual. The matrix must be tested before we face what lies beyond."
Jack looked up at the hills, feeling the hum of energy in his bones.
Beyond those ridges, new allies awaited—or new enemies.
But for now, they had each other. And the matrix sang with possibility.