The Plateau had gone quiet.
Not peaceful—just quiet. The kind of silence that feels like it's listening.
Two days had passed since Kade fell from the sky. Since Miyako told me the real journey had only just begun.
I moved into one of the smaller homes—old, but not broken.
The walls still stood straight, the ceiling didn't leak, and after an hour with a broom and some scavenged cloth, it started to feel less like a ruin and more like shelter.
A bed in the corner. A stone basin near the wall where water seemed to magically collect itself.
Clean air through the window.
It wasn't much. But it was enough.
Enough to rest.
Or try to.
I hadn't slept well.
Every time I closed my eyes, the first floor came back.
Not like a memory.
Like a scar trying to open.
I saw that bastard of a beast again—its weight, its voice, the way it moved like gravity had bent to serve it.
I felt the way my ribs cracked, the cold that clung to me when I thought I was dead.
Sometimes I woke gasping.
Other times I didn't wake at all—not for hours. Just lay there, fists clenched around phantom air, heart thundering.
Like the fight was still happening somewhere beneath my skin.
Miyako hadn't said much. I think she knew.
She always knew.
Kade, on the other hand, had questions. Always. His voice filled the ruins like wind trying to explain itself—curious, relentless, afraid to be still.
I didn't blame him. Not anymore.
Because stillness was where the Plateau crept in.
—
Napping was apparently not in my agenda today.
I woke up groaning.
Not from pain this time—at least, not the kind that bled.
"Another failed attempt," I muttered, dragging a hand over my face.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and forced myself upright.
Joints popped. Muscles protested.
But I moved.
Because that's what surviving looked like now.
Miyako had provided some new clothes not long after we met Kade,
back when he crash-landed onto the Plateau.
Granted, mine were practically torn to shreds—And Kade's? Well…
they burned on re-entry.
She had raised her hand, and a soft violet aura wrapped around me like smoke and wind—cool at first, then warm, then solid.
Cloth shimmered into shape, dark and smooth, folding over itself like it remembered how to be worn.
When I'd asked what it was, she just
shrugged and said, "Something fitting."
It looked like a hakama—loose, flowing, bound at the waist with a sash that shimmered like dusk caught in motion.
The fabric was deep black threaded with faint veins of the same color as my eyes—a color that shifted slightly in the light, like they couldn't decide what they were hiding.
It moved like smoke when I walked. Whisper-soft. Lighter than it should've been. Stronger than it looked.
Wearing it felt strange. Not like armor. Like ceremony.
But it fit.
At last I stepped outside.
The Plateau greeted me with silence—not the hostile kind—but the stillness of a world waiting for the next test to begin.
Grass swayed in the wind.
It had grown fast—too fast. A lush green that shimmered slightly under the stars, like it hadn't decided what color it wanted to be yet.
The trees loomed tall now. Some familiar in shape, others… not.
Branches twisted in ways that shouldn't hold weight, the leaves varying in sizes, all brimming with vibrant colors.
They were beautiful.
I crossed my arms, watching the breeze bend a tree with bark the color of deep rust and leaves that pulsed between blue and silver.
It looked like the Plateau had remembered how to be alive—and decided to do it differently this time.
I stepped off the stone threshold, following a worn path through the tall grass until it brought me to the weapons hall.
The door creaked when I pushed it open.
Inside, the light was dim—just enough filtering through the slats in the walls to give the dust somewhere to dance.
And there he was.
Kade sat cross-legged on the floor, a massive book cracked open in front of him.
The thing looked like it weighed as much as he did.
Thick, bound in something that wasn't quite leather, its pages fanned wide like it had been starved for air.
Kade's new clothing was also thanks to Miyako.
Her fashion sense? Very her.
Dramatic, functional, and just barely one accessory short of a performance art piece.
A long sleeveless robe layered over a fitted underlayer, both deep ash-grey with noticeable cobalt blue threads lining the edges—like someone had written margins of spellwork into the seams.
His sleeves were tight at the forearm, looser at the shoulder—ideal for moving without snagging, tucked in a way that suggested study more than war.
A hood rested down his back, marked faintly with a geometric sigil, the lines too fine to be decorative.
The robe split at the sides for mobility, revealing dark trousers reinforced at the knees with overlapping fabric—practical, not armored. Spellweave maybe, if Miyako had bothered.
Around his waist, a sash the color of old ink held everything in place—tied not like a belt, but like a bookmark holding his shape together.
If my own clothes felt like ceremony, his felt like a ritual halfway remembered.
Kade didn't look up.
Didn't even flinch when I stepped in.
His eyes were locked on the text, scanning line after line like the words were lifelines and he couldn't afford to miss a single one.
The sword rack beside him was untouched.
'Figures.'
"…Find something useful?" I asked, voice dry.
Kade finally glanced up—briefly—then back to the book.
"I think so," he said. "Found it tucked away behind one of the fallen weapon racks. Buried under dust and bones."
I stepped closer. The book was older than old—its pages yellowed, the ink almost fossilized.
The cover had no title, just a burned-in symbol I didn't recognize. It pulsed faintly.
Almost like it was breathing.
"At first, I couldn't even open it," Kade continued.
"Every time I tried, it felt like I was trying to peel open something sealed
with blood."
He flipped a page, slow. Reverent. Like the damn thing might bite.
"And even when I got it open… it didn't make sense. The writing—symbols, patterns, scripts I can't even wrap my head around."
"Arcane languages layered on top of each other like the book was written for multiple minds."
I knelt beside him, watching the lines glow faintly in the light.
"So what changed?" I asked.
He looked up again.
"I felt it," he said quietly. "A pulse. Not from the book—from here."
Kade touched his chest.
"It was like a thread snapped into place."
I stilled.
"Like a line being written?" I asked.
He nodded.
Before either of us could say more, a familiar voice cut in from the doorway.
"That would be your verse," Miyako said.
Kade jumped—not from fear, more like a system error trying to reboot mid-page.
Miyako stepped forward, hands behind her back, her expression unreadable as always. She stopped just short of us, eyes flicking from the book to Kade.
"I could give you the long version," she said. "But frankly, I'm tired. And listening to you spiral for five more hours sounds like hell."
Kade opened his mouth—probably to argue.
Miyako didn't wait.
She just stepped in and clamped a hand on top of his head like she was blessing a confused altar boy.
A pulse of light moved through her fingers.
Kade stiffened.
His eyes widened—then glowed, faintly, with a deep violet hue that mirrored hers. Not bright. Not blinding. Just enough to look unnatural. Ancient.
His mouth parted like he wanted to speak—but the words got lost somewhere between the flood and his mumbled whispers.
Because that's what it looked like—like his brain had suddenly been firehosed with knowledge no human should process all at once.
History. Meaning. Verses. Floors. Fables. Watchers. The Plateau.
His back arched slightly. Hands digging into the floor. Breath shallow.
Seeing this from the outside made me wince a bit.
'Oof…That looks like it hurts.'
Then—just as quick—it stopped.
The light faded from his eyes. His shoulders slumped.
He blinked a few times, dazed, looking like someone who just got punched in the soul.
"…Ow," he said weakly. "Mentally. Emotionally. Spiritually. Ow."
Miyako let go and stepped back, hands on her hips, looking far too satisfied with herself.
"Well, that was efficient," she said.
She tilted her head, mock thoughtful.
"I should've done that on day one. Would've saved me two days of you trying to solve the Plateau with footnotes and anxiety."
Kade opened his mouth, ready to argue—hand half-raised like he was about to cite a source—Then thought better of it.
His shoulders slumped.
"…Okay, fair."
A beat.
"Sorry."
After a moment. I stepped closer, folding my arms.
"So… you got a verse," I said. "Which means you're not just some random drop-in."
Kade glanced at me, still rubbing his temples like the knowledge had left a bruise.
I continued, "if the Plateau gave you one, then you're meant to be here."
Kade didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the book in his lap—then at his hands, like he wasn't sure who they belonged to anymore.
"…I guess so," he said softly. "But I don't know why."
I nodded slowly, eyes narrowing.
"Yeah. Me neither."
Miyako spoke before the silence got too comfortable.
"If I had to guess…" she said, arms loosely crossed, "you weren't brought here the same way Averic was."
Kade looked up.
She nodded toward me.
"He was dragged in—ripped from his world by someone who shouldn't exist anymore."
" That kind of entry? Violent. Intentional."
Her gaze shifted back to Kade, sharper now.
"But you… you fell… somewhat clean."
" No rupture. No blood trail. No puppet strings."
She took a step closer, voice quieter now.
"That means you weren't pulled in."
She let it hang.
"You were chosen."
Kade blinked. "By who?"
Miyako shot him a look like she was resisting the urge to slap the question back into his skull.
"The Watchers," she sighed. "I just crammed everything you needed to know into your head—don't make me regret it."
She exhaled hard through her nose, muttering, "Unbelievable."
Kade rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes.
"…Right. Should've known that one already."
His voice wasn't defensive—just a little smaller than usual.
then:
"They must've seen something in you."
Her eyes shifted—first to Kade, then to me.
"Two paths," she said. "One forced. One called."
A silence settled over us.
Not awkward. Just… weighty.
Like the Plateau itself was listening again.
I let it linger.
Then, without meaning to, my mind drifted—back to the first words
burned into my bones.
'Extend beyond your body. Distance is no longer safety. Range and lethality shall guide your blade and greet your foes.'
The verse echoed. Quiet, but constant.
A tether humming through my limbs.
As still as I was—I felt it.
That pull.
That flicker of something old and waiting.
And then—it answered.
A glow stirred in my hands—formless at first, like light remembering how to exist. It drifted between my fingers, fluid and searching, as if shaping itself.
The color was familiar now—unmistakable, even.
Kade stared, frozen, lips parted. His eyes locked on the glow like it was rewriting what he thought power looked like. Reverence, wonder… and maybe a little fear.
Miyako on the other hand raised an eyebrow. Her arms stayed folded,
but the faintest smile curved her lips.
"You've been practicing," she murmured. Not surprised. Not alarmed. Just… impressed.
She tilted her head slightly, eyes tracing the glow like she was reading something in it I couldn't see.
"Didn't think you'd get this far so soon."
My scythe came to life in my hand—not summoned with effort, but summoned by presence.
The metal bloomed out of the glow like memory given form, its edge sharp and ready.
I stared at it, letting the weight settle into my grip.
…It's not much," I said, finally. "Just a weapon…"