[First Era – Year 10 of the Divinity War; The Faint, home island]

  The sky hung heavy with rain, a curtain of water that blurred the jagged peaks and the vast, unstable expanse of land. The world around them rumbled—a low, distant groan of the mithsyrium piercing the earth, swallowing, and shaping the land with relentless force. Moraithe stood at the edge of one of the stable islands he had created. Beside him, Saffrael marveled at the sight, her eyes wide, a flicker of disbelief in them as she watched the strange beauty of the landscape.

  “This place,” she whispered, her voice a soft thread of sound beneath the roaring wind and rain. “It’s both beautiful and terrifying.”

  Moraithe turned to her, offering a mystic grin that was warm despite their stormy surroundings. He reached out to take her stardust freckled hand, squeezing it gently. “Elithir hid it in the revenescent to keep it from the Severed,” he said simply.

  “We’re in a revenescent?” She looked around, then up at the sky. “A revenescent that can hold entire worlds … I saw him do it once, but to be here, now that is something.”

  They had come a long way together, through loss and discovery, and now, here, in this place where he had once lost everything, Moraithe had found a kind of peace—though it was always precarious, always threatened by the encroaching chaos.

  Saffrael followed him as he led her toward an outcrop where his pets had gathered. The rain fell harder now, soaking the ground and turning the air thick with moisture. There, just beyond the edge of the island, the familiar shapes of his beloved arcshells moved through the mist.

  At first, he saw only two of them—massive creatures, their scales shimmering with a soft, internal glow as magma flowed through their veins, their immense forms dwarfing Moraithe. Break and Shore. They had not changed much, aside from growing. They towered over him now, their eight-foot tall bodies stretching long into the mist. The arcshells’ flat topped bodies seemed to pulse with energy, but they didn’t approach; they simply watched, their great heads lowering as though in greeting.

  But it was the young ones that made Saffrael gasp.

  Litter upon litter of baby arcshells—dozens of them—scattered across the ground, their soft, pale bodies still small enough to reach Moraithe’s knees. They moved in unison, their shells glistening like polished stones, their eyes wide with curiosity as they skittered around their giant parents, chirping in low tones.

  “They’ve … multiplied,” Saffrael murmured, awe creeping into her voice. “I never imagined …”

  “They used to be golems, like the ones we left building our house. But I borrowed Marsh’s research to make them self-replicating.”

  “His research has changed many things.” She looked around the desolate land. “What do they eat?”

  “Break and Shore have never needed food in the traditional sense. Not the way they were designed. Using a reaction between heat and mithsyrium to produce their energy, they are essentially lava powered.”

  “That’s useful.”

  “They are more than just pets,” Moraithe said, his voice soft but sure. He watched as the baby arcshells bounded around him, the older ones content to rest and observe. “They’re part of the stability I’ve created here, a bond. They’ve helped me gather memories. The last time I left, they were few. Now, there are many.”

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  Saffrael crouched, careful to avoid startling one of the little arcshells as it wandered close to her. Her fingers hovered over its shell, glimmering in the faint light as she watched it. “They’re incredible,” she said. “But you said they’ve helped you … gather memories?”

  Moraithe nodded, a deep sense of pride in his chest. “Yes. In a way, their presence here has drawn me toward the lost pieces of myself. They find them, and in turn, I recover them and cultivate them. In the past three years, they’ve gathered sixteen more memories for me.” He paused, considering for a moment. “It’s strange, but in some ways, they seem to remember things I do not. It’s as though their bond to the land … links me to the past. To who I once was.”

  Saffrael looked up, her expression shifting between fascination and sorrow. “And these memories … have they helped you?”

  Moraithe’s gaze turned inward for a moment, lost in thought. “They’ve helped me understand. More than that—” he smiled, though it was tinged with something wistful “—they’ve given me power, self-assurance. Since we last spoke, I’ve advanced in rank—far more quickly than I thought possible.”

  “I can see that. You’re a general now.” Saffrael pouted, “I haven’t even reached mistress yet.”

  “You will. It’s less about titles than how we change, what we grow into. If you’ve ever seen how tangled some trees get you’ll realize that not all growth is good.” He met her eyes. “I’ve gathered more strength. I’m closer to who I used to be … and perhaps who I need to become.”

  Saffrael nodded, her eyes softening as she took in his words. The tension that had always clung to him—the uncertainty that had once shadowed his every step—seemed to be lifting. She saw the changes in him, not just in his power, but in the quiet confidence that now radiated from him.

  “But there’s more, isn’t there?” she asked, glancing around at the sprawling landscape, the islands of stability rising like pockets of peace against the chaos. “You’ve created all of this, and yet, you’re still searching. Still … seeking something.”

  Moraithe’s smile faded, and for a moment, the weight of his journey seemed to settle between them. He turned his gaze back to the horizon, where the mithsyrium churned beneath the surface, ever-moving, ever-evolving.

  “I’m seeking a way to finally end this chaos. To make these islands of stability permanent.” His voice dropped to a low murmur. “But it’s not just for the land. I’ve lost so much—my memories. This world is a reflection of me, all chaotic. But I also lost something else … something I don’t fully understand yet. And until I can reclaim it, I don’t know if my world will ever be truly stable.”

  Saffrael reached out, her hand finding his once more. “And what is it you’ve lost?”

  He looked at her, and for a long moment, he said nothing. The winds howled around them, the rain pattering against their skins, but in that brief silence, the only sound was the soft clicking of the arcshells and the distant rumble of the churning land beyond their island.

  “Purpose, I think,” he finally said, his voice quiet but resolute. “My life used to mean something. I used to plant seeds.” He took out a large bag. “Now I’m just trying to undo the mess I’ve made. To stop this war.”

  “What are those?”

  “A variety of seeds. All kinds of seeds.” He scuffed his foot in the bare coating of crushed rock that acted as dirt. Then he took a handful and scattered them across the land as the rain fell. Walking farther, he continued scattering seeds across the island. Then he jumped to another island and continued. “I don’t know what will grow here. I can only hope some of it takes.”

  She squeezed his hand gently, offering him a soft, reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, some of the seeds you’ve planted have already taken root.” She patted her chest.

  Moraithe gave her a mystic grin in return, this one more certain than any he’d given in the past three years. Together, they would face whatever came next.

  For now, they stood side by side in the rain, watching as the creatures of the land moved around them—both a sign of what had been lost and what had been gained. And in that moment, there was a fleeting sense of peace, fragile yet undeniable.