Chapter Five: Shadows Before the Spark
Part Seven – Flash Pulse
Date: Maelis 27, Year 204 PCR
Location: Shattered Pulsewar Basin (Outer Edge – Veilmarked Fold)
Time: 04:58 Veil Standard
Silence followed Thrynn's retreat.
Not peace.
Not stillness.
Just silence—the kind that arrives after a storm but before the sky remembers how to breathe.
The glyph he left behind flickered once more.
We tried to forget you.
Then it vanished—without pulse, without flame, without echo.
—
Zephryn stood in its place.
Eyes unfocused.
Body trembling, arms seared in Veilburn lines.
The ∞ glyph had faded.
Not because it was spent—
But because it had entered him.
Every squad member stared.
No one moved.
Selka was the first to speak, voice barely audible:
"Zeph…"
But he didn't hear her.
Because his vision was no longer his.
—
The Flash Pulse struck.
—
He saw white first.
Not light.
A pulse of memory.
Rushing.
Flooding.
Overwriting the present.
His knees hit the ground—hard—but he didn't feel it.
Because he wasn't here anymore.
—
He was standing in a fractured citadel.
Ruins made of harmonic crystal and blackstone. Towers that pulsed like living tuning forks. Sky torn into chordlines that bent with the wind. And on the central platform—
A man stood.
No mask.
No Choir threads.
Just robes made of silence and eyes too full of song.
His hair was silvered, not with age but resonance.
His hands were scarred with glyphs older than the Doctrine's calendar.
And when he turned…
Zephryn recognized him.
Not from history.
Not from any scroll.
From instinct.
From blood.
The man spoke, voice calm and clear:
"You hum like my son did."
Zephryn tried to answer.
But the words caught.
The man stepped closer.
"Careful what you inherit."
—
The vision collapsed.
Zephryn's eyes snapped open.
The basin came rushing back.
Sparks flew from the Veilground where his body touched stone.
He gasped—not for breath, but for memory.
—
Selka was already beside him, catching his shoulder.
"Zephryn—!"
He clutched his chest.
The hum hadn't faded.
It was still echoing inside him.
He looked up, pale and wide-eyed.
"I saw him."
"Who?"
He shook his head, slowly, reverently:
"Caelus."
—
Buta's voice returned in his mind again.
From training.
From the early lessons.
"Some glyphs can't be taught. They must be remembered."
—
Kaelen limped toward them, supported by Yolti and Rhea.
Recon formed a loose circle around the basin rim.
Cantare remained in the outer field, treating wounds, re-stabilizing pulse flow.
Elari stared at Zephryn like she was trying to place a myth she only half remembered.
And Sylie didn't say anything at all.
Just watched.
Measured.
Said nothing.
—
Mino knelt near where Thrynn had stood.
The stone still vibrated beneath the surface.
"The Riftborn didn't leave a trail," he said. "They left a scar."
He tapped the earth once.
It sang.
Quiet.
Off-key.
But still alive.
—
Zephryn finally stood again, aided by Selka.
"I'm okay," he said.
She didn't believe him.
But she didn't call him a liar.
—
From behind them, Bubbalor let out a tired hum.
Low.
Steady.
True.
It wasn't a roar.
It was a lullaby.
And every squad, even bruised and half-conscious, felt it.
The basin finally quieted.
—
But Zephryn knew—
It wasn't over.
Because Caelus hadn't said goodbye.
He'd said, Careful what you inherit.