Darkness enveloped him, thick and weightless, the silence pressing in like the deep void of space. Garett drifted in and out of awareness, his body suspended in the warm embrace of the recovery tank. A mask clung to his face, feeding him oxygen, his limbs numb, yet tingling—like the distant echo of pain he could not quite feel.


    Memories flickered past, untethered, rolling through his mind like scattered pages of a book he had once read but never finished. He knew he was dreaming, but control eluded him. The past unfolded as it willed.


    Memory 1: He and Leona stepping off the transport from Fenris Lupus, their boots clicking against the polished stone of the Vale’s grand landing. He was ten, she was thirteen. Ambassadors bowed, nobles observed from the gallery, whispering behind gloved hands. The weight of expectation pressed down on his small shoulders, but Leona stood tall beside him, her hand firm against his back, as if to remind him—I’m here.


    Memory 2: Murmurs in the court of the Vale. He wasn’t old enough to rule, barely old enough to understand politics, and yet the whispers were insidious. "Can a child lead?" "The Vale is better off ruled by experienced hands." "A noble brat playing governor—he’ll be nothing more than a puppet." Puppet. He hated that word more than anything.


    Memory 3: The raid on the bandit hideout. His plan, his strategy, his leadership. Yet, as the banners flew in the wind and the bodies lay still on the forest floor, it was the Ealdorman who took the credit. "You did well, my lord," the man had said, ruffling Garett’s hair like he was some child playing at war. I wasn’t playing. He was twelve.


    Memory 4: Elderwynd’s training grounds, the scent of sweat and metal in the air. Ealdorman Cedric watching as he struggled with the weight of a training blade. "Grip tighter here. Pivot with your hips, not just your arms," Cedric had said, his voice even, patient. "It’s not about strength. It’s about leverage." The bruises were worth it.


    Memory 5: The frog-mouth helmet smelled of oiled leather and metal. It was too big, but it covered his face well enough. He had snuck past the guards, slipping into the adventurer’s guild. Copper-ranked. His first quest: finding a lost kitten. The girl, no older than six, had thrown herself at him when he returned with the tiny creature in his arms. "Thank you, mister helmed man sir!" she squealed. No one had ever called him that before. The title felt… right.


    Memory 6: The endless tug-of-war of politics. Rival warlords turned nobles, desperate for his favor. They smiled too widely, spoke too carefully. If he rewarded one, the other would bristle with jealousy. How do I keep the peace? He was too young for this, yet there was no one else to bear it.


    Memory 8: The Ruins of Vellmont. Smoke still clung to the broken stone, the air thick with the stench of burnt wood and flesh. The funeral procession for the Lord Mayor had ended, but one man remained, clawing at the charred ruins of his home with bleeding fingers. "They’re still here," he whispered, frantic. "They’re still—"


    A charred hand emerged from the debris. Small. Too small.


    Garett could do nothing.


    Memory 9: A marketplace at dusk, the scent of fresh fruit and baked bread in the air. A farmer merchant, his apron stained with the day’s work, handed him a ripe peach without a second thought. "It''s just going to spoil anyway," the man had said, his toothy grin wide and genuine. "You look like you were working hard. Better for you to have it." Garett had stared at him, stunned. The man didn’t know who he was. For once, he wasn’t a noble. Just another tired soul in need of kindness.


    Memory 10: Elderwynd’s oldest tree stood atop the hill, its massive roots twisting like ancient veins into the earth. The sky stretched above them, an ocean of deep violet and scattered stars. Lyra lay beneath him, her breath warm against his neck, her fingers tangled in his hair. The world had felt smaller then—nothing beyond the two of them, nothing beyond the way she gasped his name like it was something sacred. "Stay with me," she whispered, her body arching into his. The scent of summer leaves, the press of bare skin, the taste of her lips. He had wanted that moment to last forever.


    But nothing ever did.


    The memories blurred, melting into the dark. And in the distance, something called to him, pulling him back to the waking world.


    Garett’s eyes fluttered open, the world around him shifting from a hazy blur to a sharp, stinging clarity. The first thing he felt was wrongness. His body was whole, recovered, yet a discomfort lay beneath his skin—a phantom ache, something missing, something taken. His breath hitched as he tried to move, a weight pressing down on his chest, not heavy, but deliberate.


    His vision cleared. The dim light of the chamber flickered against stone walls lined with banners—his banners. The rich scent of old parchment, polished wood, and faint embers filled his senses. He knew this place.


    Castle Eldenreach.


    The Vale.


    He was home.


    His gaze shifted, and he saw her first—Anya, head resting on the side of his bed, her black hair with pink highlights spilling over her arms. She looked exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that settled into one’s bones. Leona sat beside her, ever the vigilant knight, arms crossed, but her posture was less rigid than usual. She wasn’t just watching over him.


    She had been waiting.


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    Garett exhaled slowly, but before he could say anything, he felt a presence atop his chest. A distinct, unsettling weight.


    Golden eyes peered down at him, feline and amused.


    Nyx.


    "You’re finally awake," she purred, tail flicking lazily. "I was starting to think you''d decided to just give up and drift away into the void forever. Very dramatic. But also incredibly rude."


    Garett''s throat was dry, his voice hoarse as he finally spoke. "How long?"


    Nyx stretched lazily, still perched atop his chest as if he were nothing more than furniture. "A week and a half," she answered, her golden eyes gleaming. "Honestly, I expected you to wake up sooner. You’re lucky your friends are stubborn."


    He frowned. "What happened while I was out?"


    Nyx sighed, as if already tired of explaining. "Ravella patched you up immediately aboard The Steadfast, but no matter what she did, you wouldn''t wake up. ''Whatever affliction it is, it''s not physical,'' she said. Very dramatic. She was worried, of course. They all were. So, naturally, they took you to Solara Prime."


    Garett’s eyes narrowed. "The Clerics?"


    "Solastralist Clerics, yes. They examined you, babbled about quantum distortions affecting your consciousness. You know, the usual nonsense when something they don’t understand happens." Nyx flicked her tail. "But more importantly, Ravella and Veydran wanted nothing to do with Elyndor."


    Garett stiffened. "Why?"


    Nyx exhaled through her nose, ears flattening slightly. "That’s a long story." For a moment, something flickered in her expression—something rare, something almost serious. "What you should know is that Galatine is now under thorough examination under Prince Lucien’s care. And your personal effects? The Azeroth Drive?" She smirked. "Also taken by him."


    Garett’s hands clenched into fists. His body may have healed, but the weight pressing down on him was heavier than ever.Nyx saw the shift in his expression and sighed, stretching her arms above her head. "Don''t worry. Your sister—Cassia, was it?—has already negotiated. Demanded, really, that they be returned."


    Garett blinked, the tension in his fists loosening slightly. "Cassia?"


    Nyx nodded. "She was rather insistent. Your things should be transported back by the end of the week. The Prince said something about ''already having enough data'' and ''we couldn''t get it to activate.''"


    Garett exhaled, a tangled mess of relief and frustration settling in his chest. Of course, Cassia had taken care of it. Again. He owed her—again. A thank-you hardly felt like enough, but he’d have to think of something.


    Leona finally spoke, her voice quieter than usual, but no less firm. "You nearly died." Her words cut through the air, heavier than steel. "Again."


    She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, her hands clasped tightly as if she were holding herself together. "I should have acted. I should have done something. But I just stood there, watching, frozen like a damn coward."


    She exhaled sharply, her grip tightening. "It was him. My father. Or at least, whatever’s left of him. A husk wearing his face, moving with his body, fighting with his hands—yet it wasn’t him. And I... I couldn’t move. I couldn’t lift my sword against him. Because for a moment, I thought—what if there was still a part of him left? What if I was wrong?"


    Her voice wavered, frustration and self-loathing bleeding into every syllable. "I let that doubt paralyze me. And because of that, you had to fight alone. You had to push yourself past your limits, past the point of survival, because I failed to do what needed to be done."


    She looked up at him then, her expression raw, guilt-ridden. "I forced your hand, Garett. I made you bear the weight of a decision I should have made. I swore to protect you, and instead, I stood there like a damned fool while you nearly died."


    She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m sorry. For freezing. For failing you."


    Her hands curled into fists. "But I swear to you, it won’t happen again."


    Anya stirred, a quiet groan escaping her lips as she blinked herself awake. For a moment, she simply breathed, taking in the familiar scent of linen and the faint traces of medicinal herbs lingering in the air. Then, her gaze settled on Garett—awake, conscious, alive.


    Relief flooded through her, so sudden and overwhelming that she nearly forgot herself. Her hands twitched, as if she wanted to reach out, but she caught the movement and clenched them into fists instead. She took a slow breath, letting it steady her. You’re fine now, Garett. You’re here.


    Then, she caught sight of her reflection in the polished metal of the bedside tray. Her hair was an absolute mess, strands sticking out in awkward places, and the faint crease of sleep still marked her cheek. A horrified expression crossed her face as she hastily smoothed her hair, rubbing at her cheek in an attempt to erase any sign of imperfection.


    Only then did she realize the heavy atmosphere in the room. Her gaze flickered between Garett, Leona, and Nyx, her expression shifting from drowsy confusion to realization. The tension in the air was suffocating.


    "Great. I wake up to an emotional mess. Just my luck," she muttered, rubbing her temples. Then, with a forced smirk, she arched an eyebrow at Garett. "Should I give you two some privacy, or is this one of those ''bonding through shared trauma'' things?"


    Leona shot her a sharp look, but Anya only held up her hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I’m just trying to bring us all back to reality before we drown in all this brooding."


    Nyx sighed,fixing Garett with a pointed look. "Alright, broody prince, what’s your next move? Even if Galatine is returned, you can''t activate it without magic. And without your Azeroth Drive, you have no way to change that."


    Garett exhaled through his nose, the weight of her words pressing against his already growing frustration. "Then I’ll make another one. But first, I need to talk to Veydran and Ravella."


    Anya shifted, stretching out the stiffness in her shoulders. "They didn’t leave. They actually stayed here in Vallorien."


    Nyx’s ears twitched, her golden eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Good. That saves you the trouble of tracking them down. But before you start running off, Garett—once Galatine is returned, you''re leaving for the Grove."


    Garett looked up at her, frowning. "The Grove?"


    Nyx leaned forward, her voice carrying an uncharacteristic edge. "Yes. You nearly died because you pushed yourself beyond what your body and mind could handle. You think you understand what it means to be a Resonator? You don''t. Not yet. You’re walking into battles you aren''t ready for, against enemies who do know what they’re doing. You have unfinished spirit training, and Lyra is waiting."


    His stomach twisted at the mention of Lyra. A dozen emotions stirred in his chest, tangled and unresolved.


    Nyx''s gaze held him steady. "If you don’t want this to happen again, you’ll go. And soon."


    Garett didn''t answer immediately. His grip on the blanket tightened.


    The room was silent, save for the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Then Anya, ever the one to break tension, let out an exaggerated sigh. "Well, looks like you''re about to get another round of ''spiritual enlightenment'' whether you like it or not. Try not to die before then, yeah?"


    Garett exhaled, shaking his head, but before he could respond, a knock echoed through the chamber door.


    Leona stiffened. Nyx’s ears flicked.


    The door creaked open, and a voice drifted through.


    "Lord Fenralis, there’s something you need to see."