The moment Garett''s fingers closed around the Voidlance, the world fell away.


    Darkness consumed him, weightless and infinite, and then—visions.


    A woman stood alone against an endless tide of horrors. Her lance carved through creatures beyond description, things that slithered and writhed with shapes that defied reason. Cities burned. Empires crumbled. Yet she remained, standing atop mountains of corpses, her armor caked in the blood of things no mortal had words for. She did not age. Did not falter. Time passed like grains of sand through her fingers, each civilization rising, falling, and turning to dust. And still, she fought.


    Then, an era unlike the others.


    A golden city stood beneath twin moons, a kingdom untouched by war. Its ruler, a king draped in robes of deep blue, met her upon his throne. He did not fear her. He did not worship her. He simply looked upon her as though he had always known her.


    “You have no home,” he said. “Stay here. Be my protector.”


    She had no reason to refuse. She had nothing else. And so she stood by his side, watching over him as decades passed in the blink of an eye. He grew older. His hair silvered, his steps slowed, yet he smiled at her as he always had. On his deathbed, he grasped her hand and whispered, “I will find you again.”


    And he did.


    A new civilization. A different world. A young prince looked upon her with the same eyes, the same soul. He remembered nothing, yet he gravitated toward her, drawn by an unspoken bond. Again, she served. Again, he lived and died.


    A cycle unbroken.


    A thousand lifetimes passed. She watched him grow, fall in love, raise families, rule kingdoms—only to wither and return, reborn in another form. Sometimes as a scholar, sometimes a warrior. Once, even as a beggar who barely survived the winter. Yet in each life, he found her. And each time, she pretended it did not ache.


    With every cycle, she knew what awaited. Civilizations were fleeting. Time erased all things, even love. Even promises.


    Then came the end.


    Ancient titanic beings emerged from the void, the remnants of a war older than the stars. She fought them, lance in hand, the last defense of a dying world. The battle raged for years—against monstrosities that devoured suns, against horrors that made the gods themselves tremble.


    She won.


    But victory had a cost. Her mortality, her soul, burned away in the process. She became something else, something unbound by time yet erased from it all the same. The world she saved continued on, the people rejoicing, yet none remembered her name. The centuries passed, and her legend faded into whispers. Then into myth. Then into nothing at all.


    She stood at the edge of existence, watching as time erased every trace of her.


    “Was it worth it?” she wondered aloud, though no one remained to answer.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Then, darkness.


    He did not know her name.


    Garett gasped, staggering as the vision shattered. The weight of millennia pressed against his mind, an ache buried deep in his soul. He looked down at the Voidlance in his hands, the weapon thrumming with power, with memory.


    No one did.


    A sharp pain lanced through his skull, and his knees nearly buckled. The world around him felt unbearably small, suffocating compared to the vast, endless span of history he had just witnessed. His breath came in shallow gasps, the faces of lost civilizations burned into his mind.


    “Garett!”


    Hands caught him before he collapsed. Anya on one side, Ravella on the other. Leona hovered just behind, her usually sharp eyes flickering with something close to concern.


    “What the hell just happened?” Anya demanded, turning toward Nyx. “Is this normal?”


    Nyx tilted her head, her celestial eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Normal? No. Fascinating? Absolutely.”


    “That’s not an answer,” Leona snapped, her grip tightening around the hilt of her sword.


    Nyx sauntered forward, unbothered. She crouched before Garett, tilting her head. “Tell me, dear Resonator. What did you see? More importantly… who did you see?”


    Garett swallowed, trying to steady himself. His fingers curled around the Voidlance, the weight of it no longer just physical. “A woman,” he rasped. “She fought for… I don’t even know how long. Civilizations rose and fell, and she just… kept going.”


    Nyx’s tail flicked. “Did you see her God-Husk?”


    Garett frowned, the images in his mind still swimming together in a blur of steel and fire. “No. At least, I don’t think so. Just her. Fighting, always fighting.”


    Nyx hummed, tapping a clawed finger against her chin. “Interesting. Resonators and their God-Husks are usually inseparable, yet you saw only her.” She leaned closer, eyes gleaming. “Tell me, Garett… Did she win?”


    Garett exhaled sharply. “She won the war. Killed them all. But in the end, it didn’t matter. No one remembers her.” His fingers clenched around the weapon. “She’s gone. Forgotten.”


    A strange silence followed, the weight of the words settling over the group.


    Then, Nyx laughed softly. Not mockingly, but with something almost like understanding. “Ah, the tragedy of time. Even the greatest warriors fade into myth. It’s a cruel little game the universe plays.”


    Anya scowled. “And you find this funny?”


    Nyx smirked. “Not funny. Just inevitable.” She rose to her feet, stretching languidly. “But perhaps not for our dear Garett here. After all… you’re still writing your story.”


    Nyx’s smirk lingered for only a moment before her expression turned thoughtful. "Though if you truly want more answers, you’ll need to complete your spirit training. The Grove on the Eastern Continent is waiting for you, Resonator. Whether you’re ready for it or not."


    <hr>


    The journey back to The Steadfast was slow, though not due to injuries. Ravella had seen to those, the warmth of her magic knitting Garett’s wounds with gentle efficiency. Still, Leona remained at his side, her arm firm around his shoulder, offering unspoken support. Garett didn’t argue.


    “You know, this wreckage is ancient,” Ravella muttered, her fingers trailing along a fractured bulkhead as they walked. “The welding techniques—I''ve never seen anything like them.”


    Anya raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t take you for a metallurgy enthusiast.”


    Ravella smirked. “Oh, I’m not. I’m into archaeology. I just know enough about metal to guess what era something came from.”


    Leona snorted. “So you’re guessing?”


    “I prefer ‘educated estimating,’ thank you very much.”


    Nyx stretched lazily, walking ahead. “What I’m hearing is that we have no idea how old this place actually is.”


    Ravella sighed. “That’s the thing. It’s not just old. It’s impossibly old.”


    Anya rolled her shoulders, glancing around at the shadows stretching between the ruins. “Then let’s not linger. I’d rather not wake up whatever’s been sleeping here for a few millennia.”


    No one argued. The ship was waiting, and they had already spent too much time in the graveyard of the forgotten.


    The ground beneath them rumbled, a deep vibration rolling through the wreckage. Dust cascaded from the ruined bulkheads, loose debris trembling as if something massive had stirred beneath their feet.


    A sudden chime interrupted the silence. Garett''s communicator flickered to life, the blue-tinted holo-image of Captain Thorne appearing before them. His face was grim, his voice sharp with urgency.


    "Commander, we''ve got incoming. A flotilla of ships just dropped out of warp and they’re firing on us."


    Veydran’s head snapped toward the holo-display. "Do you have visuals?"


    Thorne’s fingers danced over his console, sending a direct feed to their displays. The image sharpened—sleek, predatory vessels cutting through the void, their weapons glowing with charged plasma. The markings were unmistakable.


    Veydran growled, his jaw tightening. "That bastard. Zyrax."


    The holo-feed crackled as Thorne’s voice came through once more. "Orders, sir?"


    Garett clenched his teeth, gripping the Voidlance tighter. The unease of his vision still lingered, but there was no time to process it. Battle was upon them.


    "We’re coming," he said. "Prepare for combat."


    The sky above them burned as the first plasma bolts rained down.