[She took What?] - Chapter 97: Davy’s Story – From Umbra to Light: This wound… it does not fade.

“Balance is not the stillness of a frozen world, but the tension of opposing forces held in check. It is the string drawn taut upon the bow, the breath before the fall of the blade. Disturb it, and the bow snaps, the blade falters, and ruin follows. Those who claim balance is a prison, are blind to its purpose. We do not serve it; we are made of it.”

The Testament of the New Keeper

 

|Location: The Veil; somewhere deep in SolDiri SpaceTime|

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A gathering unlike any other stretched across the Veil, where time curled upon itself, and space had no meaning, and matter no substance.

The SolDiri, luminous entities of shifting energy, pulsed and flickered in a celestial arena; an expanse beyond mortal comprehension. Here, the last remnants of a shattered order stood divided, the echoes of the Great Shattering still etched into the fabric of their being.

 

A deep hum filled the void as Veyzith, his form a lattice of purple threads, hovered at the centre. His presence pulsed with authority, his ‘voice’ vibrating through the essence of space between them.

 

“Balance is the foundation of existence. To disrupt it again is to court annihilation.”

 

Opposite him, Ithuris coiled, his form a dark veined essence, a mire of inky voids that shifted and morphed where once there had been light.

“Balance is a prison,” he countered, his voice a whisper that slithered through the void. “We are bound to an endless cycle, forced to mend what ephemeral beings break.”

 

“You forget. We are still mortal.” Veyzith’s words cast a swathe of light across them.  

Ithuris continued, “Indeed but why should we remain their stewards when we could be their Gods?”

 

A murmur rippled through the assembly, motes of once-whole beings shifting uneasily.

Veyzith’s glow dimmed, sorrow threading his words. “We have tried this before. Do you not remember the Great Shattering? The hunger we unleashed when the Rift damaged the Veil?” His aura flared, and for a brief moment, the echoes of destruction rang through the gathered SolDiri; a chorus of agonised screams, the collapse of order into chaos, the destruction of purpose and with it the loss of balance.

 

Ithuris did not recoil, only deepened. “We failed because we hesitated. We tried to harness imbalance while still clinging to the past.” He extended a tendril of his essence, shaping it into a spiralling arc. “Now we understand. To rise beyond this, we must break the scales completely. The energy released when balance is shattered beyond purpose; it is not destruction of the Veil; it is ascension through the Rift.”

 

A third presence, equally luminous but infinitely calm, emerged between them. Xyphora, the last remnant of an original Keeper, spoke with measured restraint. “You claim ascension, but you wield destruction. The energy you seek to control does not abide with purpose or wisdom. It is chaos incarnate. We are motes of what we once were because we believed, like now, that we could shape it.”

Ithuris pulsed with amusement. “And yet, even now, we persist. Broken, scattered, and yet… still we exist. Imagine what we could become if we took the final step and ascend. Are you afraid?”

 

Silence reigned, the weight of history pressing upon them. Some motes drifted closer to Ithuris, their glow dimming, drawn by the allure of his words. Others held firm, their light unwavering, remembering the cost of their ambition.

 

Veyzith’s voice was sorrowful but resolute. “Yes, I am afraid.” There were more murmurs, agreeing, feeling equally afraid. “If you take this path, you will unleash forces that even we cannot contain. There will be no ascension through the Rift, only a second Shattering, one from which we will likely not return.”

 

Ithuris turned, his form unfurling into the void, his faction following. “Then we shall see who is right.”

 

 

As they vanished into the Rift between realms, Veyzith dimmed, knowing that once again, the SolDiri stood upon the precipice of ruin.

But the Rift did not close. The space where Ithuris had vanished pulsed with residual energy, a wound in the fabric of the Veil. The remaining SolDiri stirred uneasily, their flickering forms betraying fear.

 

Xyphora drifted closer to Veyzith. “This wound… it does not fade.”

 

Veyzith reached out, his essence brushing against the breach, and recoiled. Something pulsed within, something that did not belong. “They have already begun.”

A ripple ran through the assembly. A voice, distant yet resonant, slithered forth from the breach. “The balance will break, one way or another. You can only choose whether you will stand amongst the wreckage… or ascend with us above it.”

Xyphora dimmed, fear lacing her light. “This is not just Ithuris.”

Veyzith pulsed in agreement. “No. There is something else now, a hidden actor who we work to overcome.”

 

The Rift deepened, spreading like a crack through the Veil.

The SolDiri, a fractured whole were uncertain and hovered on the edge of decision. Once before, they had failed to stop the unmaking of their kind. Now, as the first tendrils of something ancient and hungry coiled through the wound in reality, they would have to again choose.

And this time, the fate of more than the SolDiri was in the balance.

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