More than half an hour has passed since Nyssa left us. And yet her lifeless body still lies in the Nexari, as if it might reclaim at any moment the breath that was stolen from it. The false twilight, Veydris Entium, has decided: we are not allowed to take her with us. No burial in Velsoth, no resting place beneath the trees of her homeland. Her soul has faded in the Nexari – and soon her body will dissolve as well, flesh to dust, bones to nothingness. That thought tears my heart apart. And yet, apparently, only mine.

  Veydris Entium – that shadow of an existence – shows no pity, no trace of grief. How could he? He never knew her. Even though he consumed her soul to wander through her innermost self, access to her was denied him. He saw memories, yes – but no connection was formed. To him, she was merely a fragment, a means to an end.

  And Coren Veyr... he walks at my side, yet seems carved from stone – no twitch in his face, no sound of regret. As if Nyssa’s death had left nothing in him but a shadow he long since cast off.

  Nothing. And yet she was once his beloved. I saw it – in that fleeting image the false twilight revealed to me. Her tenderness, his response, the warmth between them. Had I been mistaken? Was it only the memory of one who had loved, misleading me?

  Or is Coren Veyr simply a master of masks?

  Can a Losniw, through soulweaving, see the true past? Or only what has been refracted through the heart of the one being seen – subjective, tinted, distorted?

  “How much longer is this going to take?” Coren Veyr suddenly hisses, his voice full of impatience. He rubs his shoulders, as if all of this merely tires him. “If Nyssa were still alive, she’d be massaging my shoulders right now.”

  I don’t want to believe it. Is that all her death means to him? No pain, no silent remembrance, no spark of guilt? Just a missed moment of comfort? Angry heat rises within me. What is this pounding in my chest? Hatred? Disgust? Or pure contempt?

  “Not much longer,” the false twilight replies quietly, turning its gaze toward me – not toward Coren Veyr. “Soon, you will have your answer.”

  “I hope so – for your sake,” the Velsothier snorts, convinced the words are meant for him. But they’re not. They’re for me. Me alone. “My time is precious. My people await me in Velsoth. I will take my place as their rightful leader. And they will bow when I present the strongest Elindine at my side.”

  The false twilight’s gaze lingers on me, as though considering how I would fare as a wife. The thought is revolting. Yet with his new eyes, his restored limbs, he truly does resemble an Entium. And it amazes me that Coren Veyr still hasn’t recognized who stands before him: two Losniw. Is he blind? Or does he simply not care?

  Silence spreads once more. Not a word is spoken. I let my gaze wander through the Nexari, this place between dimensions. The wind here is different – it blows from all directions at once, wrapping around me like a living being. A dance of air that touches my body but offers no resistance. Strange… yet not unfamiliar. On the contrary: the Nexari feels like a part of me. Perhaps because it adapts to me. Perhaps because it welcomes me – unlike Zyar, whom it challenges anew every time.

  Does it have to do with my connection to the Sonatius Mortaeda? Is that the reason I don’t lose myself here?

  “How do we reach the human world?” Coren Veyr suddenly asks. His voice is sober, almost curious. “What is the sky like there?”

  And then it hits me. Of course. He’s a Velsothier – a child of the underworld – and has never seen the light of the sun. Not a single one of his kind has set foot on the surface since the founding of Velsoth.

  Why that is, I don’t know. I only know the result: they cannot survive there. Is it their skin? Their breathing? I have no idea. Then how is he able to breathe here in the Nexari? Do different laws of nature rule this place?

  But the longer I look at Coren Veyr, the more I realize: we are more alike than I would like to admit.

  And even if I despise him – how far am I truly from becoming him? Could I be capable of the same cruelties, had my path been a different one?

  I must not let my feelings guide me!

  As much as our pasts may resemble one another, Coren Veyr and I are fundamentally different Elindine. He sacrificed Nyssa for a selfish purpose. I would never risk another life for my own gain. Never.

  Our pasts may be similar – but I never made those selfish decisions he carries without even a hint of shame.

  Before us stretches the Nexari – the in-between world where nothing obeys fixed laws. It is neither space nor time, but rather what the visitor carries within: perception given form, constantly shifting. Colors swirl like mist, paths form beneath our feet and vanish again, as if made from memory.

  “Up ahead lies the passage back to the Kingdom of Velarion – in the human world,” says the false twilight, its form now aligning with that of Veydris Entium. His voice echoes through the vastness of the dimensional space – not loud, but compelling.

  “This path will lead us not only to the right dimension, but also to the right time.”

  Coren Veyr stops abruptly, a frown of confusion on his brow. “What do you mean by that, twilight?” he hisses, voice sharp. “Have you kept something from me?”

  “I keep my word,” replies the Losniw immediately, his stance unfazed. “The Nexari is more than a mere passage between dimensions. It also allows entry into different timelines. Whether a hundred years before the reign of King Mukuta Valdyris, or far beyond – all of it is possible here. That’s why entering without authorized escort is strictly forbidden.”

  “You said you’re called the false twilight,” I remind him. “Then how are you considered a permitted escort? Shouldn’t that be someone born in the Nexari?”

  “Your thinking is that of an Elindine... and partly that of a human,” replies Veydris Entium without emotion. “Births and deaths belong to the fixed world. In the Nexari, there is only pure existence.”

  “And what about the twilights? Don’t they die?”

  “They do,” he says calmly. “But they dissolve, become one with the Nexari. Their souls wander – perhaps for seconds, perhaps for millennia – before they take form again. The life that emerges here remains a mystery, even to me.”

  Coren Veyr is still fixated on my earlier remark. “False twilight?” he murmurs again, staring at Veydris Entium in confusion. “What does that mean? We were told a twilight would guide Vespera and me through this dimension. Was that a lie?”

  Of all people, he’s the one complaining about being lied to?

  “A half-truth,” Veydris Entium replies, casting him a brief glance. “My past is no one’s concern. I am the one who accepted the mission – and I will see it through. No matter what you call me.”

  He allows no further questions and continues onward. The Nexari shifts with every step. Shapes flicker at the edges of sight – like thoughts born too early, fading before they take root. And yet, there is a deep, almost otherworldly harmony – as if everything were inexplicably connected.

  A storm rages within me – a wild swirl of doubts, emotions, unanswered questions, and the bitter sense that what lies ahead will demand far more of me than I can give. The coming reunion with Lord Louweris looms like a shadow. I don’t know what has changed since I last saw him.

  And yet, there is hope: the impending meeting with King Mukuta, who led me to believe he was my father, might finally bring the answers I’ve searched for my entire life.

  If I was never meant to be in his care, then he must have known my mother. Somehow, she must have come into contact with him. But how did she manage to convince a man like him to take in a child that wasn’t his – a child that wasn’t even human?

  Did Queen Mayyira Valdyris know? No – impossible. Had she known, she wouldn’t have treated me the way she did.

  Or… did she?

  “What about the Primordial Being?” Coren Veyr asks out of nowhere. I look at him, surprised. “It’s said that the twilight meant to guide us into the human world also knows the whereabouts of the Sonatius Mortaeda.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Oh, he is very close,” the man says, his voice little more than a whisper. He almost sounds amused. “You will surely face him soon.”

  His words didn’t sound like an invitation. More like a warning – the encounter with the Sonatius Mortaeda will not be a pleasant one. And yet, if my assumptions are correct, I don’t need to fear for my own life. I am the vessel. I am bound to him. But what about Coren Veyr?

  “‘Close’ is not good enough for me!” the Velsothier growls impatiently. “I promised Vespera I’d guide her into the human world – and show her the location of the Sonatius Mortaeda beforehand. In return, she agreed to become my wife. I cannot appear before my bride as a man who breaks his word.”

  He lives in his own world. Does Coren Veyr truly believe that, after everything I’ve seen, I could still develop feelings for him? Does he even know what love is?

  For the briefest moment, I feel something like pity for him. But only almost.

  The false twilight gestures toward the Astralis, which I had kept safely tucked away in my jacket pocket since our arrival in the Nexari. Had he been watching me this whole time? I shoot him a suspicious glance.

  “Only with the Astralis is it possible to enter and leave the Nexari,” explains the false twilight, who has clearly studied my expression – almost as if he can read my thoughts. “You will need it again to light your path into the human world.”

  His words make sense – and more than that: I have no choice. Hesitantly, I take out the Astralis and show it to the two standing before me.

  “How do you know he’s here?” I ask skeptically. I mean the Sonatius Mortaeda – and he certainly knows it. He doesn’t seem like someone to overlook such details.

  “We sense the presence of the Primordial Being. Has no one explained that to you since your arrival in Elindros?” His voice remains calm, almost amused. His gray eyes – moments ago hollow as caves – now appear focused and alert.

  “We?” Coren Veyr echoes in surprise, glancing back and forth between us. “Twilight, are you a Losniw? What’s going on here?”

  He’s growing cautious. Suspicion settles over his expression like fog – cold, calculating. Perhaps it’s fear.

  The false twilight shrugs indifferently and waves him off. “I already said I have no interest in these useless power games.”

  “You’re going to tell me who the hell you are!” Coren Veyr bellows, his voice trembling. “Or we won’t take another step.”

  If both of us were to die in this place, Sylas and Mirael would survive. Besides, I’m not convinced Coren Veyr would’ve kept his promise anyway.

  “Within the Nexari, which I have inhabited for quite some time now, you’d be wise not to issue threats,” the false twilight warns and steps threateningly close to the Velsothier. Coren Veyr’s hands tremble. “Now that you’ve realized I hail from Losnat, you surely also know: Soulweaving is closely tied to Mindweaving. Do you really want to face an opponent who could defeat you without lifting a finger?”

  Coren Veyr’s shoulders sink. He knows it would be the end of him.

  “What is your goal, Losniw… false twilight… What are you really?”

  “A wanderer through time and space,” he replies briefly. “Like all of us. The only difference is: Most drift through life without ever grasping its meaning.”

  I step forward. “Why are you here – and not in Losnat? What happened?”

  “The desire for freedom,” he says quietly. His eyes linger on me. It almost feels like he’s trying to tell me something with those words.

  Freedom? Did he choose that word because it was also the reason I left the human world? Are we more alike than I thought? Does not every being long for a life without chains?

  “I don’t wish to speak of my past,” Veydris Entium continues. “It is full of pain – and besides, it’s no one’s business. Just as your past doesn’t concern me, you should not inquire about mine.”

  I study him curiously. The dark, intimidating figure from before seems almost unrecognizable now—the Elindine before me is handsome. What changed him so drastically? Why does he live so far from Losnat—so far from his homeland?

  “Do you know the current leader of the Losniw?” the false twilight suddenly asks, raising a questioning brow.

  “Drelos Entium.”

  “Impressive,” he remarks with a nod of approval. “You’ve only been in Elindros a few days, and you’ve already learned so much.” He regards me intently. The mention of the name was no coincidence.

  “Drelos and I once had a... disagreement,” he continues. “Soulweaving—a gift once known to all Losniw—was deliberately erased from collective memory after Keldor Entium’s era. His successors didn’t wish to share such power. And so, it was forgotten.”

  Soulweaving is a forgotten gift. And after seeing with my own eyes what the false twilight did to Nyssa, I find myself almost grateful for that. Yet the idea that the leaders of Losnat kept this power for themselves is deeply unsettling.

  Who is this false twilight, really—this man who calls himself Veydris Entium? He claims to have once disagreed with Drelos Entium, the current leader of Losnat, over the practice of Soulweaving. What kind of role must he have held, to dare oppose Drelos Entium—without fear?

  “I was exiled to the Nexari,” Veydris Entium states with indifferent calm. “Since then, I’ve wandered the in-between worlds. By taking on tasks for Elindine like yourselves, I remain alive.”

  “Through Soulweaving…” I whisper, the realization hitting me. Veydris Entium nods.

  I don’t even want to imagine how many souls he must have touched to still stand here before us. He must absorb a soul each time to assume his original form. What kind of banishment could that have been, that he looked so monstrous at first?

  “The question isn’t whether we can trust him,” I say finally, turning to Coren Veyr. The Velsothier looks at me, puzzled. “I trust you even less than I trust him. But without his help, we won’t get out of the Nexari.”

  A crooked, impressed smile flickers across Coren Veyr’s face. “My betrothed is a brave woman.”

  I ignore the comment. My eyes remain fixed on Veydris Entium—a silent signal that I’m ready.

  Slowly, I raise the Astralis. I hope Aetherion will once again show me the way. That the orb will flare brightly and grant me passage into her realm—just like before. But nothing happens.

  “Fascinating,” Veydris murmurs, observing the Astralis with evident interest. “An Anvari must not resist the vessel.”

  Anvari. So that’s the name for beings like Aetherion, Noctalis, and Solaria.

  Why won’t she answer me? Have I made a mistake—a decision no vessel should have made?

  “It’s not working,” I admit. There’s a trace of disappointment in my voice.

  Did I truly look forward to seeing Aetherion again?

  “I’ll help you,” Veydris Entium says, stepping closer without warning. A surge of panic rises in me, and I instinctively recoil.

  “Let me look into your soul—I’ll discover what’s blocking the contact.”

  “You want to weave my soul too?” I ask, alarmed.

  He shakes his head. “The soul of a vessel belongs to the Sonatius Mortaeda. I’d be a fool to stand against the mightiest Primordial Being of our time.”

  I take a deep breath. My body screams with distrust, but my heart knows there’s no other way. With a hesitant nod, I consent.

  The false twilight places his thumb on my forehead. A tingling sensation rushes through me—racing across my skin, flowing like currents of light through every fiber. The world sinks into darkness. Only the pressure of his thumb keeps me grounded in reality.

  Then, gradually, fine white lines begin to shimmer, streaked with golden glow. They pierce the blackness, glowing into the distance—though I don’t know where they lead.

  Suddenly, two eyes open in the darkness. One glows deep red. The other shines with pure gold.

  The lines vanish without a sound, as though they had never connected anything at all.

  “This is your subconscious. The lines you see are the threads of thought—the essence-connections of every Losniw. Normally, they are ordered, flowing… but yours…” Do I hear astonishment in his voice? “Yours are chaotic. Severed. As if cut by something that didn’t want them to connect.”

  I try to speak, but no sound escapes my lips. Thoughts flutter inside me like startled birds—silent. Can he hear me in my subconscious, without me needing to say a word?

  “I hear you,” he replies to my thoughts. “Within your consciousness, during the weaving of thought, you will know no privacy.”

  So all these threads are relationships I’ve begun to nurture since the beginning of my life? The ones I remember—and the ones I’ve long forgotten?

  “Exactly,” says Veydris Entium. “The threads are traces of your connections. But this… I’ve never seen anything like it.” Again, that confusion in his voice. “Vespera Entium, tenth vessel of the Primordial Being… Who are you really?”

  A moment of perfect silence follows. Neither of us speaks, neither of us thinks.

  “Let’s find out.”

  A soft tear rips through the darkness. Something begins to tremble—deep within me. Before I can ask, I’m pulled forward by a force I can’t explain. I’m falling through myself. Darkness rushes past me, an icy chill piercing my body, leaving behind the sting of countless needles on my skin. I grimace in pain, but it fades as quickly as it came. The only thing that remains is the biting cold, making it hard to breathe.

  I force myself to exhale and notice my breath being drawn in a specific direction. Confused, I follow it with my eyes—and in the distance, I see a faint glow.

  “Move toward that light.”

  I know that much. But what is it? Are we still in my subconscious? Why is it so dark here?

  “We all have our shadows, Vespera. You are no exception.”

  Step by step, I approach the mysterious glow. The closer I get, the colder it becomes—and the harder it gets to move forward. It’s as if my legs are slowly freezing.

  “Don’t let yourself be deceived by your own self, Vespera.”

  His words reach me, yet they don’t change anything. My bones tremble from the freezing cold, every fiber of my being aches. Still, I press on—toward that light, which might hold the answers to all my questions.

  A black crystal hovers there, suspended in nothingness, surrounded by lines that do not touch. Shadows flow around it like breath. The energy within is silent—yet it speaks with a voice you cannot hear, only feel.

  “Well, look at that. We’ve searched for you so long—and you’ve been slumbering inside your vessel all this time?”

  Is he talking about…? His voice sounds almost reverent—or is that greed I hear?

  What… is this? It radiates immense energy. At the same time, I’m afraid of its dark presence. Why does something like this exist inside me?

  “A fragment of the Sonatius Mortaeda, sealed within you.”

  He drops the words slowly—like poison into clear water.

  “A soul division, if I’m not mistaken. Alongside thoughtweaving and soulweaving, we Losniw can access yet another level of ability: soul division. For the one who performs it, it means certain death—but for the one upon whom it’s used, the soul becomes immortal. But that requires a vessel. And you… were chosen. How amusing. You are a double vessel.”

  Why… me?

  A brief silence. Then: “Perhaps you were weak enough to carry it… or strong enough to hide it. Both are… very possible.”

  I take a step closer to examine the crystal. But before I can reach out, I feel a vibration.

  The crystal pulses—softly, like a heart waking from sleep. Suddenly, it beats faster and faster, until it shatters. The shards hang suspended in the air, as if time itself has stopped.

  And then… a voice. Not Veydris Entium’s. Not mine.

  “My dear child,” speaks a clear, feminine voice. “How long I have waited for you.”

  Is that… my mother’s voice?