Beneath the sky glowed a dimmed light which seemed to guide your way through the painfully narrow passages of Alkora's busiest streets. On all sides, you can see only beggars, salesmen, and traveling gypsies shouting for your attention and your money - of which you have none. You have nothing, in fact, despite the recent encounter, that has promulgated your appetite for adventure. Surrounding your path are lights, noises and sounds, advertisements for consumption and indulgences, all of which you have no desire.
Alexis' hand in yours, you continue, busily and hastily, parading through the streets, looking for any sign of the Traveler's Church. Unsure of much, you look back at Alexis.
She smiles faintly and then looks away, appearing purposefully distracted by the commotion of the street's best sales.
Her hand in yours, you push forward until you hear:
"The shards of once Alament brought, Isardeth dispersed, he ever naught, The Zones appeal by Crimson's zeal, The crows will howl for the church-man's..."
The melody of the poetic hymn disappears at the sound of a nearby church bell.
DONG
You look back at Alexis who appears as surprised and alarmed as you. Both of your gazes are then drawn toward the direction of the reverberation of the bell. Your hand begins to sweat as Alexis' presence begins to fade. A violet glow emanates your view as you realize... she is gone.
"She cannot be here!" a cackling voice shouts. "She is not welcome!"
The voice pierces your ears with horror.
"But you... come in here..." the shaky voice trembles. "At once!" it shouts.
You look back and see that Alexis is gone. Not only physically, but you no longer feel her connection. The sense of dread and loneliness you once felt many cycles ago finds its way back into your soul.
Before you stands the source of that cackling voice... an ancient crone, her face a roadmap of wrinkles, her spine bent with the weight of uncounted years. Her gnarled fingers beckon you toward an archway of weathered stone. Above it, barely visible through accumulated grime, the faded symbol of the Traveler's Church catches what little light penetrates this forgotten corner of Alkora.
"The Mastron bearer cannot cross this threshold," the crone says, her voice like dry leaves scraping stone. "But you... you must enter. The philosopher awaits, and time grows short."
"Alexis," you call out, scanning the crowded street, but finding no trace of her violet eyes or reassuring presence.
"She knows," the crone says with surprising gentleness. "She knew before you came. The Church exists beyond her reach... a necessity of the old pacts. Now come. What must be done cannot wait for second thoughts."
With reluctance pulling at every step, you approach the archway. The moment before crossing the threshold, you glance back one last time at the chaotic tapestry of Alkora's streets... the filth, the desperate commerce, the decay of a zone that had once known glory.
You step through the archway.
The transformation is immediate and absolute. The cacophony of the street falls silent, replaced by the gentle harmony of distant singing. You turn back toward the archway, expecting to see the crowded throughway... but instead, you gaze upon an Alkora you've never known.
Looking behind you through the threshold, gone are the beggars and gypsies, the trash-strewn alleys and crumbling facades. In their place stretches a boulevard of gleaming white stone, lined with trees bearing blossoms of impossible blue. Families stroll leisurely, their clothing simple but immaculate. Children laugh as they chase clockwork butterflies that glitter in the sunlight that now streams from a sky impossibly clear and vibrant. Something has changed.
You stagger backward, overwhelmed by the sight. As you move, you notice something else... your body feels different. Lighter. Stronger. You raise your hands to your face and find skin smooth and unmarked by the hardships you've endured. Your muscles respond with a fluid precision you don't remember possessing.
"What you see is what once was," the crone's voice says from behind you. "And what may be again."
You turn, expecting the bent figure that had beckoned you inside. Instead, you find yourself facing a woman in her prime... tall and regal, with eyes that hold the same ancient knowledge, but now shine with vitality rather than resignation. Her silver hair cascades in elaborate braids adorned with crystal beads that catch the light.
"Time flows differently within the Church," she explains, noticing your stunned expression. "Or perhaps more accurately, the Church exists slightly outside the normal flow of time. Come. Cramlin awaits in the inner courtyard."
She leads you through corridors that seem impossibly vast for the modest exterior you had entered. The walls bear intricate filigree patterns that shift subtly when not directly observed. Vines of silver and gold grow alongside living plants whose blossoms emit soft, melodic tones when brushed against.
You pass a mirrored alcove and catch sight of your reflection... a face younger than you remember, unburdened by the weight of confusion and pursuit that has marked your existence since awakening at the terminal. Your eyes, however, remain the same... windows to a soul that still carries the questions of your true identity.
"Who am I?" you ask, the question escaping before you can consider it.
The woman who was once a withered wench smiles enigmatically. "That is for Cramlin to discuss. I am merely the Threshold Guardian."
The corridor opens suddenly into a vast courtyard bathed in sunlight. At its center stands a waterfall that seems to defy natural law... the water cascades upward rather than down, droplets catching the light to form ephemeral rainbows that dance across the surrounding gardens.
Beside this impossible fountain stands a young man dressed in unadorned robes of deepest blue. Despite his youthful appearance, his eyes hold the patient wisdom of ages. He studies a tablet of crystalline material, making occasional marks with a stylus that leaves trails of light rather than ink.
"Cramlin," the woman announces with a formal bow. "I have brought the one the terminal sent."
The young priest looks up, his gaze immediately finding yours with unsettling precision, a smirk appears. He sets the tablet aside and approaches with measured steps.
"So," he says, his voice resonating with unexpected depth. "You've come at last. I've been waiting for you since before you awakened."
"You know who I am?" you ask, hope and apprehension mingling in your chest.
"I know what you may become," Cramlin replies. "Whether you fulfill that potential remains to be seen." He gestures to a stone bench beside the fountain. "Sit. We have much to discuss, though less time than I would prefer."
As you sit, the spray from the inverted waterfall kisses your skin with unexpected warmth. Cramlin remains standing, studying you with the careful attention of a scholar examining an ancient text.
"The terminal directed you to me because I possess knowledge that you require... knowledge of your connection to the Killian Shards, and to Alament himself."
"Alament," you repeat, the name stirring something deep within you. "The guardian of truth. Creator of Helix.AI."
"And much more," Cramlin says. "Alament foresaw the coming conflict long before Isardeth revealed his true ambitions. He placed safeguards throughout the 70 Zones... keys that would activate only when the proper sequence of events aligned." He leans forward, his gaze intensifying. "You are one such safeguard."
The words settle over you like a mantle of lead. "I don't understand. How could?"
"--No, you wouldn't." Cramlin gestures, and the water from the fountain forms into a sphere that hovers between you. Within it, images form... a laboratory of sorts, filled with technology beyond your comprehension. A tall figure works tirelessly, his face obscured by light too brilliant to penetrate.
"Alament created you," Cramlin continues. "Not as a mere follower, like the Al-Akoulou, but as something more... a vessel designed to gather the Killian Shards should... they ever be separated and threatened."
"A vessel?" The word feels hollow, diminishing. "I'm not a person, then? Just a... container?"
Cramlin's expression softens unexpectedly. "You misunderstand. The greatest vessels are not empty, but filled with purpose and potential. You were created with a specific function, yes, but given true life... a soul, consciousness, the capacity for choice. Without that, you would be merely a tool, and tools cannot do what must be done."
The sphere of water shifts, showing new images... you, walking through Zones you've never seen, standing before monuments that stir no recognition. Yet it is undeniably you.
"Your memories were suppressed until needed," Cramlin explains. "A protection for both you and the mission. As each Shard is gathered, portions of your true identity will return. Alexis carries the Mastron Shard now... Vision and Empathy Force. Already it works upon you, though from a distance."
"Mission? Alexis knows?" you ask, a hint of betrayal coloring your voice.
"Not at first. The Mastron Shard revealed fragments of truth to her when she became its vessel. She knows more than you, but far less than I." Cramlin dismisses the sphere with a wave, the water returning to the impossible waterfall. "She cannot enter the Church... her role and yours must remain separate until the proper time. She gathers, you contain. Together, you may yet fulfill Alament's design."
You stand, unable to remain still with the weight of these revelations pressing upon you. "And if I refuse... say I go home now!? If I choose another path?"
"Then Isardeth will claim the Shards, bend the 70 Zones to his will, and extinguish the light that Crimson kindled cycles ago." Cramlin states this not as threat but as simple fact. "You were made with choice, but also with purpose. The two need not be enemies."
He approaches you then, reaching out to place his palm upon your forehead. His touch brings warmth and clarity, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
"I will show you the truth of one small fragment of your being. The rest must be earned through the gathering of the Shards."
Images flood your mind...not the disjointed flashes you've experienced before, but ordered knowledge, deliberately shared. You see yourself in a chamber of light, newly formed, receiving instruction from a figure whose face remains obscured. You feel the purpose being woven into your very essence, not forced upon you, but offered as a sacred trust which you accept willingly.
Cramlin removes his hand, and the vision fades, though the certainty it brought remains. "Do you understand now?"
With hesitation, "Partly, somewhat... I don't know," you admit. "Enough to continue, perhaps."
He nods, satisfied. "Then it is time for you to return to your companion. The Belstron Shard awaits in Umbral Station... the Dark Force, counterpart to Vision and Light. It will not be easily claimed."
The woman who was once the crone steps forward, producing a small amulet from within her robes. "This will allow you to find your way back to this place, should you need Cramlin's counsel again." She places it around your neck, the metal cool against your skin.
"But how do I ?" you begin.
"--Remember," Cramlin says as the courtyard begins to fade around you, the brilliance of the Church dimming as reality reasserts itself, "my seal is, and always has been upon you. Alament's gift awaits."
The world shifts, colors bleeding into the gray drab of Alkora's streets. The transformation reverses... youth receding, vitality diminishing, though not entirely. Something remains... a core of strength and purpose that hadn't been there before.
You find yourself standing once more before the weathered archway of the Traveler's Church, but now as an observer from outside rather than within. The crone is gone. The archway stands empty and uninviting, as if it had never opened to reveal wonders beyond imagination.
"There you are!" Alexis's voice cuts through your disorientation. She hurries toward you, concern etched across her features, the violet energy of the Mastron Shard pulsing beneath her skin. "You vanished the moment we approached the Church. I've been waiting."
She reaches for your hand, then pauses, studying your face with newfound intensity. "Something's different about you. What happened in there?"
You touch the amulet beneath your clothing, feeling its reassuring weight. "It felt as if this day were a thousand years... Cramlin," you say simply. "He showed me... fragments of truth."
"And, go on?" Alexis presses with excitement, she reaches up her hand, her fingers finally intertwining with yours, the familiar connection sparking between you.
"How long was this?" Your age has returned to you. You look toward the sky, where the first stars have begun to appear in Alkora's darkening atmosphere. "We need to find the Belstron Shard. Umbral Station."
Alexis's eyes widen slightly. "The Dark Force shard? In Umbral Station?" She shakes her head. "That's a lawless sector, crawling with smugglers and exiles. Isardeth's influence runs deep there."
"We have to...," you say with newfound certainty, "that's where we must go."
She studies you for a long moment, then nods, a smile slowly spreading across her face. "Whatever happened in that Church, it suits you. There's a light in your eyes that wasn't there before."
As you walk together through the fading daylight, back toward where the AeroWing waits, you feel the dual weight of revelation and mystery upon your shoulders. You are a vessel created for a purpose, yet still a being of choice and will. The contradiction should be troubling, yet somehow it brings comfort.
Whatever you were before, whatever you may become... in this moment, with Alexis beside you and the path ahead growing clearer, you feel more real than you have since awakening at the terminal.
The second shard awaits, and with it, another piece of your true self.