The woman walked without looking back, her steps barely touching the ground. Zein followed her in silence, as the forest opened as if responding to her presence.
—Do you have a name? —he asked at last.
—Lyssara —she replied without turning—. Last heir of the Custodians of the Threshold.
Zein didn't recognize that title. It didn't exist in any of the records of his time.
—Custodians...? I thought they were a myth.
—All myths are, until you wake them up.
They reached a hidden clearing behind a waterfall suspended in the air, an anomaly in the natural flow of magic. In the center, a circular structure glowed with arcane symbols that activated as Lyssara passed by.
—This is an anchoring node of the Nexus. One of the few that survived the collapse.
Zein observed the place. He felt a strange connection, as if his body recognized something his mind did not.
—Why did you bring me here?
—Because time is torn, Zein. And you are the poorly made stitch that could either open it completely… or close it forever.
She stopped in front of the core of the node, a floating liquid sphere between magical roots and technological conduits.
—This contains fragments of the primordial code of the Nexus. If you synchronize it with your essence, we can locate other nodes, other key points to intervene in the timeline.
Zein frowned.
—And what's to stop me from just destroying it?
—You.
A surge of energy erupted from the sphere, pushing Zein backward. He saw his distorted reflection in it: multiple versions of himself… some alive, others monstrous.
Zein fell to his knees, breathing heavily. The sphere didn't just read him; it deconstructed him, scanning every corner of his existence.
—What the hell is this?!
—The Vortex of Identity. Only those who accept what they are —and what they are not— can use it.
Zein screamed as the energy enveloped him. He saw his past, his mistakes… and futures that didn't yet exist: versions of him conquering worlds, destroying civilizations, even merging with the Abyss.
—That's not me!
—Are you sure? —whispered a voice that wasn't Lyssara's, but his own.
Then, something changed.
In the midst of the pain, a spark of awareness lit up. Zein stopped resisting and accepted the flow. Not to surrender, but to master it. The vortex began to stabilize, his alternative versions aligned… and a mark appeared on his chest: a golden circuit in the shape of an incomplete spiral.
[Synchronization complete.]
Zein collapsed to the ground, exhausted but alive.
—You did it —Lyssara said, with a faint smile—. Now, you can see them.
—See what?
—The threads of possibility.
Zein looked up. Around him, lines of energy floated in the air, like veins connecting invisible events. Some were red —inevitable destruction— others blue —potential for change— and a few were golden… uncertain.
—This… this is quantum manipulation at a narrative level —he said, amazed.
—Welcome to the true Nexus —Lyssara responded—. Where fate is an unstable equation.
Zein stood up. For the first time since he returned, he didn't feel confusion… but purpose.
—Where is the next node?
—In the capital of Feryan. But we won't be going alone.
That night, the camp was silent, except for the murmur of the temporal threads that Zein could still see. Lyssara offered him a neural rest capsule, but he preferred the ground.
—Why me? —he asked, looking at the sky—. Why not someone else?
—Because only you survived long enough to fail so many times —she replied from the darkness.
—And because this time… you might not fail.
Zein closed his eyes. For the first time in a long while, he didn't dream of fire… but of possibilities.