The Veydrin’s Lore

Silence pressed down like gravity, heavy, suffocating, absolute. No one dared move. No one dared breathe too loud. Not after that. It was Riven who broke it. The only one who could. The only one Ashar trusted enough to say it. “Ash.” His voice was quieter than usual, missing the sharp, reckless bite that usually coated it like a shield. “Ash,” he repeated, then firmer. “We need to talk.”

A ripple went through the room. Not words. No movement. Just the subtle tension of everyone knowing this was not a request. Ashar’s crystalline eyes flicked toward Riven. They held for a long moment, something unspoken passing between them. Then, without a word, Ashar stood. His coat dragged against the fractured floor, boots echoing softly in the unnatural space. No command. No explanation. Just a sharp tilt of his head.

Riven followed. The others didn’t stop them. They didn’t dare. They walked down a hall that folded sideways into a staircase that did not exist until they stepped onto it. Through a door that was invisible until it was already open. The castle obeyed Ashar, but it respected Riven. They stopped in a chamber smaller than the others, rounded walls, no furniture, no windows. This was a place built for conversations no one else was supposed to hear.

Riven’s back hit the wall first, arms crossed. He waited, watching Ashar stand in the center of the room, tension carved into every line of his body. Silence stretched. Riven sighed and ran a hand through his silver-streaked hair. “You know I know, Ash.” His voice was gentler than anyone else had ever heard it. “I’ve known for a long time.”

Ashar didn’t turn. His jaw locked, crystalline gaze staring at something that wasn’t there. Or maybe it was. Riven pushed off the wall and took one step closer. His voice dropped, weighted. “You don’t have to. I know you can’t. Not out loud. You never could.” A long, brittle pause. “But we both know what this is.”

Ashar’s hands clenched at his sides. The fracture lines of faint light pulsed beneath his skin, veins of energy that always shimmered when his emotions spun too close to losing control. Riven’s next words were slower, measured, like someone inching across a blade. “The Divine Fracture.” The words didn’t echo. They didn’t ring. They simply existed. Dangerous. Heavy. A memory spoken into a world that wasn’t supposed to remember it.

Ashar flinched. Visibly. A rare, nearly impossible thing. “Riven.” His voice cracked low, sharp like a warning. But empty. Because he couldn’t deny it. “You know the lore better than anyone. I figured it out a long time ago. You never told me because you can’t. You never told any of us.” Riven shook his head. “But that’s her, isn’t it?”

Silence.

“The one your people whispered about. The thing that was never supposed to be flesh. The anomaly wasn’t just some error in cosmic math. It was the failsafe.” Riven stepped forward, pointing back toward the throne room, back toward Mae. “She’s the fracture. The one your people’s lore said was born only if the extinction was real. If the collapse was complete.” His voice softened. “Ash, she’s the one reality made to fix it. Or end it.”

Ashar’s fists trembled. His eyes were locked to the ground. His voice was a whisper now, raw. “Riven, don’t.”

“No one else knows. I haven’t said it. I won’t. But we can’t pretend anymore. It wasn’t just some cosmic fairy tale, Ash.” Riven exhaled. “It’s real. She’s real. And you feel it. Don’t you?” Ashar’s hands lifted, tangling into his own hair like he could pull the thoughts out of his skull, like speaking it would break him.

“I felt it the second I caught that dagger.” His voice cracked. “The second it sliced me when it never should have.” His eyes squeezed shut. “I felt it when she followed me through the phase paths. When she moved like someone who shouldn’t exist in this universe’s physics.”

His hands dropped. His chest heaved. “And then, when I touched her.” His voice broke entirely. “Riven, the castle, the planet, it tried to undo the fracture.” Silence. Riven didn’t speak. He just nodded, slow and heavy. “Yeah. I saw it.” Another long breath.

“So, the question is,” Riven leaned against the wall again, voice grave, “if she really is the fracture, the divine reset, what happens when the galaxy figures it out?” Neither of them answered. Because they both knew.

It meant war. Not just between species. Not just between factions. War against the fabric of reality itself.