The streets had grown eerily quiet. Not just the absence of sound, but a deeper kind of silence—one that seemed to press against Servius’s ears and settle into the space between his thoughts. The air around him felt heavier with every step, as though the Nexus itself were holding its breath. It wasn’t the stillness of peace, but of anticipation, the kind that tightens the air before a storm.

  Servius adjusted the rifle on his back, his claws flexing in faint agitation as he scanned the street ahead. The buildings were narrower here, their pulsating surfaces rippling faintly, like the town itself was vibrating at a frequency just beyond his ability to perceive. The light from the sky above had dimmed, the swirling colors bleeding together into murky, sluggish patterns. The further he walked, the more the Nexus felt like it was funneling him toward something.

  And then he found what it was.

  At the end of the street, partially obscured by shifting shadows, stood a Speaker.

  Unlike the Watchers and Architects, who often lingered at the edges of his perception, the Speaker made no attempt to hide itself. Its liquid-like form pulsed faintly, its edges shimmering as though caught between states of existence. Its face—or rather, the space where its face should have been—shifted constantly, features melting and reforming into abstract patterns that resisted classification. Two hollow, glowing eyes stared at him, unblinking, yet alive with a presence that made his fur bristle.

  It hadn’t been there a moment ago. He was sure of it.

  Servius stopped, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied the figure. The Nexus was a place of shifting shapes and illusions, but the Speakers always carried a weight that couldn’t be ignored. This one was no different. Its mere presence seemed to warp the air around it, bending the street into subtle, unnatural angles that made his stomach churn if he stared too long.

  “You again,” Servius muttered, his tail flicking sharply behind him. His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, a wariness he couldn’t quite suppress. “I should’ve known you’d show up sooner or later.”

  The Speaker tilted its head, a gesture that felt unnervingly deliberate, almost human. Its hollow eyes brightened faintly, the glow pulsing in time with the faint hum that filled the air. “You walk the paths of the Nexus, and the Nexus listens,” it said, its voice layered and resonant, as though a dozen voices were speaking in unison. “You ripple through its threads, and it ripples through yours.”

  Servius crossed his arms, his sharp eyes never leaving the Speaker. “And here I thought I was just out for a stroll,” he said dryly. “You’re awfully fond of showing up uninvited, you know that?”

  The Speaker’s face rippled, its features melting into something that resembled a faint smile—if smiles could be made from shifting liquid. “The Nexus calls, wanderer,” it said. “And those who walk its threads cannot help but answer.”

  “Threads,” Servius echoed, his tone sharpening. His claws tapped absently against the strap of his rifle before he caught himself and forced his hands to still. “You’ve mentioned that before. What threads? What is this place actually doing?”

  The Speaker’s form flickered, its edges bleeding faintly into the air around it before solidifying again. “The Nexus reflects,” it said. “It weaves. It remembers. You stand within a mirror, not of light, but of possibility. Every step you take, every thought you shape, it ripples outward.”

  Servius’s tail lashed behind him, his irritation bubbling to the surface. “That’s not an answer,” he said, his voice low and clipped. “You talk in riddles, but you’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. What do you want?”

  The Speaker didn’t respond immediately. Instead, it began to glide forward, its liquid-like body rippling with each movement. Servius instinctively reached for his bolt pistol, his claws brushing against the grip, but he didn’t draw it. Not yet. The Speaker stopped a few paces away, close enough for him to feel the faint hum emanating from its form.

  “You ask what we want,” it said, its hollow eyes glowing brighter. “But you should ask yourself what you seek. Understanding? Control? Or are you merely lost, clinging to fragments of a path that no longer exists?”

  Servius’s sharp eyes narrowed, the Speaker’s words cutting closer to the bone than he cared to admit. “I’ve got my reasons for being here,” he said evenly. “What about you? What’s your angle in all this?”

  The Speaker tilted its head again, its shifting face unreadable. “We are the voice of the Nexus,” it said. “Its echoes. Its truths. We speak not for ourselves, but for what is reflected. And what is reflected in you, wanderer, is a question waiting to be answered.”

  Before Servius could respond, the Speaker raised one elongated hand, its fingers stretching like threads of liquid light. The air between them seemed to warp, bending inward as though drawn by an unseen force. Servius tensed, his sharp ears flattening slightly, but the Speaker didn’t attack. Instead, it pointed to the ground at his feet.

  “Look,” it said simply.

  Servius glanced down, his sharp eyes narrowing as the rippling surface of the street began to shift. At first, it was subtle—a faint shimmer, like heat rising off asphalt. But then the ground beneath him began to transform, its surface melting into a reflective pool that stretched outward in all directions. The buildings around him dissolved into the liquid expanse, leaving only the Speaker and himself standing in an endless, rippling void.

  He stared into the reflection at his feet, his sharp eyes narrowing as he saw himself staring back. Or at least, it should have been himself. The figure in the reflection was distorted, its edges blurred and fractured, its emerald eyes glowing faintly in the endless expanse.

  “A mirror,” the Speaker said, its voice soft but resonant. “But not of flesh. Of thought. Of intention. What do you see?”

  Servius’s jaw tightened, his sharp ears flicking back as he stared at the reflection. “I see myself,” he said slowly, his voice carrying a note of suspicion. “But not... exactly.”

  The Speaker’s hollow eyes pulsed faintly. “A reflection,” it said. “And yet, it is incomplete. Fractured. What lies within you ripples outward, shaping the Nexus, and what ripples outward reflects back. Look deeper, wanderer. If you dare.”

  The liquid surface began to shimmer more violently, the reflection shifting and breaking apart into fragmented images. Faces flashed in the ripples—Willful, Robert, soldiers from his regiment, even glimpses of his own shadow. Each fragment flickered briefly before dissolving, leaving the pool empty once more.

  Servius clenched his fists, his claws digging into his palms. “What are you trying to show me?” he demanded, his voice low and tense. “What does any of this mean?”

  The Speaker stepped back, its form flickering like a dying flame. “That is for you to decide,” it said. “We do not give answers, wanderer. Only reflections. The truth lies within the ripples.”

  And with that, the Speaker dissolved into the liquid void, its form unraveling like threads caught in the wind. Servius was left alone in the reflective expanse, the rippling pool beneath him stretching endlessly in all directions.

  The liquid expanse stretched infinitely beneath Servius’s feet, its reflective surface alive with motion. The faces he had glimpsed were gone now, their fleeting appearances leaving behind a hollow unease in his chest. He stood still, his sharp eyes scanning the endless, rippling void, but there was no sign of the Speaker. Just his own distorted reflection staring back at him—fractured, broken, incomplete.

  The silence pressed in on him, oppressive and absolute. The Nexus itself seemed to be holding its breath, the air thick with anticipation. His tail flicked behind him, the only motion breaking the stillness. “If this is another game,” he muttered, his voice low and tight, “then let’s get to the point already.”

  The liquid ground beneath him began to shift again, the ripples converging in strange, unnatural patterns. At first, they were just vague distortions, but slowly they coalesced into shapes—symbols, images, pieces of something larger. Servius’s sharp eyes narrowed as he knelt down, his claws brushing the surface. The liquid was cool to the touch, but it didn’t feel like water. It felt... alive.

  The patterns began to take on meaning. He saw fragments of his past—memories woven into the ripples. There was his regiment, standing tall in the dust-choked air of some forgotten battlefield. There was Sabine, her sharp voice barking orders that carried just a hint of warmth. And there was the shadow of Novak—a fleeting glimpse of his back as she walked away, the weight of the unspoken dragging his shoulders low.

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  Servius clenched his jaw, his claws flexing against the liquid surface. “What is this supposed to be?” he growled. “Memories? Regrets? What are you trying to show me?”

  “You ask what,” came the Speaker’s voice, layered and distant, as though it came from everywhere at once. “But the question is why.”

  The Speaker’s form began to reform in the reflection, rising from the rippling surface like a shadow given substance. Its glowing hollow eyes fixed on him as its shifting features twisted into abstract patterns that defied understanding. “Why do these images linger in you, wanderer? Why do you carry their weight into the Nexus? What do they reflect of you?”

  “I’m not here for a lecture,” Servius shot back, his voice sharp. “Whatever game you’re playing, it’s not working. If you want to show me something, then show me.”

  The Speaker tilted its head, its liquid form shimmering faintly. “The Nexus does not show. It reflects. It does not give meaning. It holds a mirror. The meaning must come from within.”

  Servius’s tail flicked sharply, irritation bubbling beneath his surface calm. “I don’t have time for riddles,” he said coldly. “If you’ve got a point, get to it.”

  The Speaker’s hollow eyes brightened faintly, its head tilting the other way. “Very well,” it said. “Look closer.”

  The liquid rippled violently beneath Servius’s feet, the reflections fracturing into a chaotic whirl of light and shadow. The fragmented memories returned, but this time they were sharper, more visceral. He saw his regiment again—not standing tall, but falling, their bodies broken and scattered across the battlefield. He saw Sabine, her face pale and lifeless, her weapon slipping from her trembling hand. And he saw Novak again, but this time he wasn’t walking away—he was kneeling, his face buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

  Servius’s claws dug into his palms as he forced himself to watch. The images weren’t real. They couldn’t be. These weren’t things he had seen—they were things he feared.

  “What are you trying to tell me?” he demanded, his voice low and tense. “What’s the point of showing me this?”

  “The point is not ours to make,” the Speaker said, stepping forward. Its liquid form rippled as it approached, the reflections warping and distorting with each step. “The Nexus reflects not just what is, but what could be. Your fears. Your regrets. Your truths, hidden beneath the surface.”

  “And what am I supposed to do with that?” Servius snapped, his sharp eyes narrowing. “Stare into a pool until I see the meaning of life? Is that it?”

  The Speaker stopped, its hollow eyes glowing with a faint, steady light. “You misunderstand, wanderer. The Nexus is not a guide. It is not a teacher. It is a mirror. What you see in it is yours to decide. To face. Or to flee.”

  The air around them grew heavier, the rippling reflections slowing to a near standstill. Servius felt the weight of the Speaker’s words pressing down on him, the truth they carried more unsettling than any riddle. The Nexus wasn’t trying to help him. It wasn’t trying to hurt him, either. It simply... was. And what he saw in it was entirely his own.

  Servius’s claws flexed at his sides, his sharp ears twitching as he processed the Speaker’s words. “If this is all about me,” he said slowly, his voice measured, “then why are you here? Why do you keep showing up?”

  The Speaker’s shifting face twisted into something resembling a faint smile, though it was too abstract to be called comforting. “Because a mirror does not stand alone,” it said. “A reflection requires a viewer. And a viewer must decide what to see.”

  With that, the Speaker began to dissolve, its liquid form unraveling into shimmering threads of light that drifted away into the rippling void. The reflections beneath Servius’s feet faded, the chaotic whirl of images giving way to smooth, empty liquid once more.

  And then, the silence returned.

  Servius stood there in the silence, staring down at the smooth, unbroken liquid beneath his feet. The chaotic fragments of memory were gone now, replaced by a calm, empty surface. For a moment, he could see his own reflection again—whole this time, without the fractures and distortions that had plagued it before.

  But there was something... wrong.

  It wasn’t him. Not really. His reflection stared back at him, green eyes glowing faintly in the dim light, but its expression was too sharp, its posture too rigid. It was him, but as something else—someone else.

  The Speaker’s words echoed in his mind. “A reflection requires a viewer. And a viewer must decide what to see.”

  Was this what he had decided to see? The thought gnawed at him, unsettling in its implications. He crouched down, his claws brushing against the liquid surface, but it didn’t ripple this time. It held firm, smooth and cool under his touch.

  “You’re not real,” he muttered, his voice low and sharp. “You’re just another trick, another piece of this place.”

  The reflection didn’t answer, of course. But its gaze was unyielding, almost accusatory, as though it were waiting for him to admit something he didn’t want to.

  Servius stood, his claws flexing absently at his sides. His tail flicked sharply behind him as he turned away, forcing himself to ignore the reflection. Whatever this was—whatever the Nexus wanted from him—it wasn’t going to get it by playing on his doubts.

  But then, the silence broke.

  A voice, faint but unmistakable, drifted through the air like a whisper carried on the wind. “Do you always turn away from yourself, wanderer?”

  Servius froze. The voice wasn’t the Speaker’s—it was his own. He turned back toward the pool, his sharp eyes narrowing, but the reflection was gone. The liquid surface rippled faintly, the only sign that it had ever been there at all.

  And then the ground beneath him began to shift.

  The liquid expanse rippled violently, the stillness shattering as the reflections returned—dozens of them, each one moving independently of the others. They weren’t all of him this time. Some were familiar faces: Novak, his expression grim as he paced back and forth in the makeshift barracks. Sabine, her sharp voice softened as she leaned over a map, her brow furrowed in thought. And Abbey... her shadowy form flickering like a dying flame, her hands trembling as she held something he couldn’t quite see.

  But there were others, too. Faces he didn’t recognize, blurred and indistinct, as though pulled from memories that weren’t his own. Their voices overlapped, indistinct murmurs rising and falling like waves.

  Servius’s claws dug into his palms as he tried to focus, to make sense of the chaos, but the voices only grew louder. The liquid ground beneath him pulsed in time with their rhythm, each ripple sending a jolt through his chest.

  “You seek answers,” the Speaker’s voice cut through the din, sharp and resonant. It was everywhere and nowhere at once, weaving through the murmurs like a thread of clarity. “But answers are not given. They are shaped.”

  The reflections began to shift again, the faces dissolving into a kaleidoscope of light and shadow. Servius staggered back, his sharp eyes narrowing as he tried to focus. “What are you trying to show me?” he demanded, his voice taut with frustration. “What is this supposed to mean?”

  The Speaker didn’t appear, but its voice was steady, unfazed. “The Nexus is a mirror,” it said. “But a mirror does not create. It reflects. What you see is what you bring into it, wanderer. What you carry. What you deny.”

  The swirling light and shadow coalesced into a single form—a reflection of Servius once again, but not the one he had seen earlier. This version of himself stood taller, its posture confident, its gaze piercing and unrelenting. Its emerald eyes burned with an intensity that felt almost inhuman, as though they could see through him to the very core of his being.

  “You blame the Nexus for what it shows you,” the Speaker continued, its tone calm and measured. “But it is not the Nexus that shapes these images. It is you. Your choices. Your fears. Your truths.”

  The reflection stepped forward, its movements fluid and deliberate. Servius tensed, his claws flexing as he took a step back, but the reflection didn’t attack. It simply stared at him, its gaze unwavering.

  “Do you see now, wanderer?” the Speaker’s voice softened, almost pitying. “The cracks you see in the Nexus are the cracks within yourself. To understand the Nexus, you must first understand what you bring into it. Only then can you move forward.”

  The reflection extended a hand toward him, its claws gleaming faintly in the dim light. Servius hesitated, his sharp eyes darting between the reflection’s hand and its burning gaze. The weight of the Nexus pressed down on him, the hum vibrating through his chest with an almost painful intensity.

  And then, slowly, he reached out.

  The moment his claws touched the reflection’s, the world around him exploded into light. The liquid ground beneath his feet dissolved, the rippling void giving way to the twisting streets of the Nexus once more. The Speaker’s voice lingered in his mind, faint and echoing.

  “A reflection shows what is within. To change what you see, you must change what you are.”

  Servius exhaled sharply a single tear rolling down his cheek as his claws flexed at his sides. He steadied himself. The streets were calm now, their twisting paths subdued, but the weight of the trial lingered in his chest. He didn’t have answers—at least, not the kind he had wanted. But he had something else.

  A direction.

  He adjusted the strap of his rifle and began to move, his steps steady, his sharp eyes scanning the shifting horizon. The Nexus had given him a glimpse of something—something he couldn’t yet define. But he would find it.

  And this time, he wouldn’t turn away.

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