Ravenna:

Location: 600 years in the past: The Temple;

I feel like an intruder in this body. Sifting through her memories and emotions, I am both a trespasser and, oddly, a caretaker tied to her inner world. The weight of this duality makes me lose sight of why I entered the dream realm.

Each day, I am submerged in this familiar yet distant reality. The recurring nightmare of Ingrid's schemes for the Continent and myself keeps me tethered here. In these dreams, I wield immense power, bending reality at will. Yet, a persistent fear lingers—the reflection I see is not truly me but a puppet controlled by forces beyond my resolve. This fear drives my determination to disrupt her plans.

Taking on someone as formidable as Ingrid requires meticulous planning and patience—qualities that aren't my strongest suit. I thrive on instinct rather than elaborate strategies. But with the waning festival only months away, each moment becomes crucial. My window to act is closing, fueling a desperation that strains my patience.

I'm haunted by questions that plague my every thought: How do you destroy an interdimensional gate? How do you stop a being who has transcended physical form? These unresolved mysteries drive me as I stride down the brightly lit corridor, each step bringing me closer to the holding cell of the only survivor from the attack on Ingrid and me. He might hold the answers I desperately seek.

He's being held here under Ingrid’s orders for questioning before he's transferred to Division headquarters. Once that happens, I'll likely never see him again. With Ingrid preoccupied by the increasing number of Outliers across the Continent, I need to move quickly.

Beliah walks beside one of Ingrid’s top lieutenants, the 'High Commander' of 'The Division,' an enforcement group formed when metaphysical knowledge began spreading across The Continent.

Being trapped in a child's body is frustrating but has its advantages. People often underestimate me, making it easier to manipulate their thoughts without raising suspicion. Combined with her loyalty to Ingrid and myself, it wasn't hard to implant the idea for Beliah to secretly take me to Nexalia's holding cells.

As we reach the heavily fortified door at the end of the dimly lit corridor, I notice there are no guards—a deliberate move by Beliah to keep our visit concealed.

"Brave of you to face him," Beliah remarks with a condescending smile, the kind reserved for a child attempting something daunting."

I clench my fist but manage a small smile. "Maybe he'd lower his shields if someone less threatening interrogates him. This was a good idea."

She straightens, scanning the corridor before her eyes meet mine. A flicker of confusion crosses her face.

"Wasn't this your idea?" I ask, observing her eyes darken under my influence.

Her confusion shifts to a smile. "Yes, the Most High will be pleased if I discover the traitor's identity. "

She strokes my hair, and I stiffen. I take a deep breath to stay composed.

"Who better than you to uncover who betrayed her?".

"Of course, I'm glad to help in any way I can," I say, twiddling my fingers nervously."

I keep my eyes fixed on her and ask in a low voice, "So, the Most High doesn’t need to know I was here?"

Beliah shakes her head, her eyes returning to their normal color. "No, she doesn’t. This stays between us."

She inputs a sequence on the digital pad, and the metallic clang of locks disengaging cuts through the silence of the hallway.

The door swings open with a slow, ominous creak, revealing a dimly lit room that starkly contrasts with the bright corridor. Before I enter, I ask Beliah with my back turned to her, "What happens to him when he's transferred?"

She doesn't answer immediately, but eventually responds, "He will be executed for treason."

'Or Ingrid might kill him herself.' I think.

As I step in, the air is cool and stale, laden with the heavy scent of sweat and a faint, acrid hint of urine. My eyes adjust, and as I step further, the door shuts with a definitive thud behind me. In the shadows, a figure stirs, shuffling weakly—the survivor of the attack, each movement slow and pained.

The cell is a stark, transparent box, its thick reinforced glass walls lined with metal reinforcements at the edges. As I approach, his figure becomes clearer.

He sits slumped against the cell walls, facing me. His clothes are torn and dirty, hanging loosely on his worn frame. An unkempt beard covers his face, evidence of weeks of neglect. My heart clenches at the sight, but I steel myself.

What draws my attention is the electrode-like device attached to the sides of his head, emitting a subtle blue pulsating glow. He twitches, his eyes tightly shut. Beads of sweat form on his forehead, trickling down his temples as he struggles against the relentless assault of the device's effects.

The Mind Probe, a piece of advanced technology unusual for this era, adhered to his temples. As mind-shifting abilities are rare, it likely represent an attempt to replicate the skill through technological means. This device can break not only mental shields but minds if resisted for too long.

Suddenly, his eyes snap open and lock onto mine, burning with the same defiance I saw the other day. I take another step closer, then lower myself to the floor, mirroring his position.

“You’re in pain,” I say, holding his gaze.

He scoffs, a bitter sound escaping his lips. He turns his head away, the muscles in his jaw tightening.

“I can take your pain away.” This grabs his attention. He looks back at me, disbelief written across his face, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

He eyes me, his voice rough and husky. "I’m no fool. I know who you represent and what you are. You will get nothing from me. Leave, child."

The word "child" stings more than it should, a bitter reminder of the body I’m trapped in.

“I represent myself. We share the same fear and have the same enemy. Our goals align,” I say calmly.

He studies me for a moment, his eyes narrowing further as he tries to decipher my intentions. The silence between us is heavy, the low hum of the electrode device and his labored breathing the only sounds in the cell.

“Our goals align?” he finally asks, skepticism lacing his voice.

I’m in here, probed and tortured, while you sit over there,” he points at me, “dressed in fine clothes, protected and free. Why should I trust you?”

“Because you have nothing left to lose and everything to gain,” I reply. “And because I have the power that can help your cause.”

I lean forward “ You know I am no mere child. You felt my power when I shifted your mind."

I pause as he watches me intently, his skepticism slowly fading,

“I could save your son from this place. I know that is who you fight for.”

His eyes widen, hope flickering as he slowly scoots towards me. "You can find him?" he asks.

I nod. "Yes, but I need the help of the one who helps you."

"The Most High has prioritized controlling the Outliers over interrogating you herself. If you resist the Mind Probe and she steps in, she'll break through your defenses and your mind. She'll use your son as leverage. Your insider will be exposed, and you'll lose this battle before it starts."

I place my hand on my chest and continue, "Fate has given you this opportunity. Take it."

I don't know the Insider's name or face," he whispers.

"No one does. They only communicate through encrypted messages and secretly provide us with the tools to make our armor."

I've suspected someone for a while now. Someone close enough to know where Ingrid could have taken me that night. Someone brilliant enough to create Flexi-armor even though Flexi-metal mining is still in its infancy. They wouldn't be careless enough to leave a trace of their involvement. But I need to verify who this person is before I proceed to the next step of my plan

"Open your mind to me. Let me in," I urge, extending my hands toward him.

"You don't fully know what your mind holds."

He looks into my eyes, searching for deceit, then nods slowly, a mix of hope and resignation in his voice. "Alright, do what you need to do."

I place my hands on the glass of his cell, and he mirrors my gesture. I close my eyes, focusing deeply as I visualize the energy flowing like swirls of black smoke, tuning into the currents of his thoughts and emotions.

As memories pass, one feels familiar. I slightly smile, my suspicion confirmed. If I can access this information, so can Ingrid. It's time to move to the next phase to protect their identity.

I pull back, opening my eyes to see him watching me closely. "Did you see anything?" he asks.

"Yes," I say, calmly "I know who it is."

Who?' he asks, eyes wide with anticipation.

"I can't tell you, but your mind holds the answer. Stop fighting and let the Mind Probe in. Your pain will stop"

He furrows his brows, confusion clouding his expression.

"With a final nod, I stand. 'I can't promise you'll make it, but I'll do everything in my power to save your son and the others being experimented on."

As I leave, I glance back. "Thank you for trusting me, Ezar."

The door closes behind me, leaving me to ponder the dangers ahead. If my plan succeeds, I can achieve two objectives with one careful move.

Beliah, keeping watch, asks, "What did you learn?"

I extend my hands, and she takes them eagerly. "The traitor will be uncovered soon," I assure her with a smile, watching her eyes darken.

*********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Nexalia serves as both my home and my prison. As Ingrid’s adored and revered successor, I feel constantly restricted. Believers watch my every move, their eyes filled with hope and expectation. They see me as the new Black Raven, the prophesied Bridge to unlimited power. Ingrid watches for any slip in her control over me. She knows the dangers of training me to match her power, yet she underestimates my need for free will—a concept she can’t grasp due to her self-obsessed egomania.

This pressure forces me to maintain strict control over my thoughts, keeping them from wandering and revealing my true intentions. Ingrid must never realize that I am no longer the girl she once controlled. The girl who desperately sought her love no longer exists. Her consciousness is buried deep, likely resting, while I, her future self, take the reins.

Day after day, I train my body and mind with techniques meant for the owner of this body. My recent focus has been bodyshifting. An energy manipulation technique involves absolute control over the body at the cellular level, enhancing speed, strength, and endurance.

In my timeline, there are stories of advanced Bodyshifters who can regrow lost body parts or alter their forms. Masters are known to achieve immortality. But for now, immortality seems a distant dream; I’d settle for just a moment of respite.

Panting, I struggle to match the trainer's relentless pace. Sweat drips into my eyes, blurring my vision, but I push on. The ‘Bird Acolyte,’ as I’ve nicknamed him for his massive raven mask, never removes it. He is one of Nexalia’s resident acolytes, those who remain on the ground to train and study the Nexus.

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"Again," he commands. The iron rings around my legs clatter as I pull myself up. He tries to land a hit, and I dodge as quickly as I can. But I am too slow, and his energy-infused punches hit my sides. I gasp as blood spatters from my mouth, grunting in frustration.

Bodyshifting has never been my strong suit, unlike Bart and Simon, who excel in it. Instead, I focus on enhancing my speed and agility, which better suit my quick thinking and affinity for weapon use.

Moreover, the absence of Flexi-armor not only complicates my training but also intensifies my resolve. As the chosen vessel and successor to the Black Raven, perfecting this skill is not merely a necessity—it's a crucial step towards achieving my goal of becoming stronger.

“Again!” he commands again as I stagger towards him in a defensive pose. With a grimace, I steady myself, legs trembling under the strain of the iron rings. My muscles ache, and my vision swims, but I refuse to give in.

"Focus," the Bird Acolyte’s voice pierces through my haze of fatigue. "You’re not just fighting me. You’re fighting yourself. Let go."

His words remind me of Bart. When he trained Claire, Simon, and me in using our armor, he often said, 'The Nexus is sensitive to thought. You feel pain because your mind fears it and fights it. Don’t fear pain, let it be.' Then he would proceed to beat the shit out of us.

I clench my fists, summoning every ounce of willpower. With a deep breath, I launch myself at him again. This time, I anticipate his movements, slipping past his punches with newfound agility. The pain in my sides is a reminder of my vulnerability, but also of my resilience.

Training sessions stretch into hours, each one a brutal test of endurance and mental fortitude. The Bird Acolyte never offers praise, only the relentless push to surpass my limits. Sweat-soaked and bruised, I collapse onto the cold stone floor, gasping for breath. The metallic taste of blood lingers in my mouth.

“You’re improving,” he says finally, slowly walking away. It’s a rare acknowledgment that feels like a small victory.

After the demanding session, I withdraw to the quietude of Nexalia's gardens. In a secluded nook, I rest against a wall blanketed in vibrant flowers twisted around sturdy vines.

The air here is vividly fresh, a stark contrast to the stale, oppressive atmosphere inside the grand halls. This secluded spot becomes my haven for practicing Mindshifting, occasionally engaging the animals that wander by as unwitting subjects.

Looking up, I spot a black bird on the highest branch of a towering tree. It stares back, its black eyes penetrating, silently challenging me to connect. Responding to the unspoken invitation, I take a deep breath and send a surge of dark energy toward it. Instantly, our minds fuse; I see the world through its eyes, share its sensations, and ride the currents of its thoughts.

The landscape transforms from my grounded view to sweeping aerial views. The lush garden beneath me diminishes as I, through the bird's perception, rise higher into the sky. I relish the brisk wind against my feathers, the clear view of the horizon, and the smooth glide over the canopy.

While soaring, I savor this temporary freedom, momentarily forgetting my usual physical limitations. Yet, even in Mindshifting, I remain alert, a part of my consciousness firmly grounded in the garden.

As I start to disengage, I spot Ingrid entering the building, accompanied by a line of robed and masked acolytes moving with deliberate urgency, likely gathering for an unscheduled, important assembly.

I carefully pull back the dark energy, severing our mental link. I stabilize myself against the wall, allowing a few moments to reorient as the bird's perspective dwindles. Driven by curiosity, I edge closer to the building, using the dense foliage for cover, blending into my surroundings.

Suddenly, I freeze, sensing a presence behind me. Heart pounding, I slowly turn to find Ingrid observing me. Her appearance subtly altered to resemble her previous form—retaining the lush, curly hair and eyes darker than night.

"Come, there’s something you need to see," she commands, turning away. I hurry after her.

I follow her to the Temple's main hall. Ingrid takes her place at the head of the table, her presence alone demanding attention.

"The prisoner has spoken,” she announces, her voice resonating through the hall. Uneasy murmurs ripple through the assembly.

"A traitor lies among us. A heathen undone by their weakness."

Ingrid's eyes snap to a masked figure at the table’s edge. "Beliah, come."

The table gasps in shock. Beliah’s eyes widen in surprise as she looks around confused.

Ingrid commands again, her voice sounding like two voices overlaying each other. '

"Stand up!" Beliah jerks upright as if yanked by an invisible string. Her feet drag across the floor with a faint, scuffling sound as she shuffles over.

"No, I’m not a traitor. I’m your loyal servant. Please, Most High." She looks around the table, desperation in her eyes.

"I’ve been framed." Her gaze lands on me, confusion flickering across her face.

Beliah collapses, kissing Ingrid’s feet, her lips pressing against the cold leather of Ingrid's red heels. “Shift my mind. My conscience is clear. I swear to the Nexus.”

Ingrid snarls, a guttural sound that reverberates through the hall. She yanks Beliah up effortlessly, holding her like a piece of paper.

“I gave you power. I promised you dominion. Yet you chose to fight for an illusion.”

She tosses Beliah across the room, her body thudding against the stone with a sickening impact. She strides over to her, laughing maniacally.

“Free will is an illusion. Only those with true power know this.” She grabs Beliah by her sleeves, looking down at her with blackened eyes.

“You are about to learn a new lesson Ravenna. Watch closely.”

My heart races. ‘What is she about to do? Does she suspect me?’ The thought sends a chill down my spine.

The room darkens as energy flows around Beliah, becoming erratic and drawn towards Ingrid. Beliah’s eyes darken to match Ingrid’s. Her breathing grows erratic, then shallow.

I glance around the room. Fear hangs thick in the air. But it’s not the usual fear in awe of Ingrid’s power. This fear is different. I sense a subtle shift in control, a sign that Ingrid’s hold might be weakening.

Perhaps it's the shock of seeing someone once considered Ingrid’s top lieutenant discarded so abruptly. She has been instrumental in elevating Nexalism from a mere cult to the dominant religion, reframing all the unethical practices as just. Yet, despite her contributions, no one comes to Beliah's aid.

Beliah’s convulsions grow more violent, her body jerking as if puppeteered by an unseen force. The worshippers remain motionless, their masked faces hiding any trace of emotion, but the tension in the air is palpable.

Ingrid stands tall and unwavering, her eyes locked onto Beliah’s with an intensity that seems to siphon the very life from her. The energy swirling around them crackles with raw power, a visible manifestation of Ingrid’s control. Beliah’s struggles weaken, her resistance fading as the life force is drained from her.

Ingrid finally releases Beliah, who collapses to the floor, a lifeless heap. The energy dissipates, and the room feels less oppressive, though still charged with unease. Ingrid’s gaze sweeps across the assembly, daring anyone to challenge her. No one moves.

“The Nexus sees and hears all. Its will is the only truth. All other causes are blasphemous,” she says with eerie calm.

She strides to the person seated at the other end of the table and places her hands on his shoulder. He shifts uncomfortably, taking a deep breath.

“The gate will open, and the One Mind will be all there is. Only the most dedicated will rule in this new world. Those who waver will perish.”

She stands straight again, and the acolyte exhales, visibly relieved. Turning to me, her expression inscrutable, she asks, “Ravenna, do you understand the lesson?”

‘She knows,’ but the eerie voice in my head counters, ‘She doesn’t know. Your shift was perfect.’

Maybe, but as I look at Beliah’s lifeless body, doubt creeps in. ‘Am I in over my head? Have I underestimated the risks? This path I’ve chosen is dangerous, and Ingrid isn’t someone I can afford to underestimate.

‘Isn't this what you wanted? You knew the consequences. Why are you doubting yourself now?’

Yes. Everything is going according to plan. This display of power, intended to instill fear, has revealed a crack in Ingrid’s dominance. The subtle shift I sensed earlier now feels more pronounced. There is a vulnerability here, one that I must learn to exploit if I am ever to break free.

I nod and reply, "Yes, Most High. I understand."

"Good," she says, her voice firm and unyielding. "Because it is a lesson you will eventually have to teach."

“What do we tell the people?” someone from the table asks, breaking the tense silence.

Ingrid pauses, then answers with cold precision, "The High Commander has died from depletion. A lesson for those who dare to wield power without being chosen." With that, she strides out of the hall, leaving us in stunned silence.

The hall remains shrouded in oppressive silence, but my eyes are fixed on Beliah’s lifeless body. I force myself to take a deep breath, trying to steady the tumult of emotions swirling inside me. As I exhale, I attempt to release all my guilt and doubt.

I whisper to her lifeless form, “Your death serves a purpose—the liberation from the oppression you once upheld,” My voice is a hushed murmur.

With a respectful bow to the table, I turn to walk away.

*********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

The lab has become an unexpected refuge for me. The constant hum of machinery—a mix of low drones and occasional high-pitched whirs—creates a soothing backdrop of white noise. This sound masks the inner turmoil I feel as Nexus’s influence grows stronger.

In the mirror, my eyes, black and penetrating, stare back at me. Initially unsettling, I’ve grown accustomed to this image, a stark reminder of Nexus's tightening grip.

I wonder if she is truly a manifestation of its hold, or merely a figure conjured by my mind—or perhaps, madness, a side effect of my prolonged stay in this timeline.

Suddenly, a sharp whine from the sensory tank cuts through the hum, yanking me back to reality

In the mirror, I catch Zebidiah’s reflection. His disheveled appearance contrasts the lab's clinical, organized chaos. Noticing my gaze, he gestures toward the open tank, an unspoken invitation.

I watch the tank's water, shimmering under the harsh fluorescent lights, its surface a smooth mirror momentarily disturbed by the vibration of nearby machinery.

"To think someone would betray Ingrid," I muse aloud, partly to distract myself from the discomfort of the tank, partly to gauge Zebidiah's reaction.

Zebidiah pauses, his hand rubbing his eyes wearily before he replies, "You never know who you can trust."

I nod "I agree. Those closest to us often have the greatest power to betray us."

"Time for another round of Infusion," Zebidiah cuts in, his eyes briefly meeting mine before glancing away.

"Ready?

The Energy Infusion technique, a brainchild of Zebidiah and Ingrid, was designed to infuse select individuals with Nexus' energy through 'The Vessel Programme.'

Each session pushes my body, restructuring it at the molecular level. I brace myself, knowing it’s essential to harness the power I need to become a stronger vessel.

I hesitate, then ask, "How many more sessions are needed?"

"Not many more," Zebidiah replies, a slight smile touching his lips. "Your progress has been commendable."

The dark liquid churns more rapidly, its ripples intensifying as the vibrations grow stronger.

"You know what I am training for?" I ask, staring down the dark pool.

He hesitates briefly before nodding. "Yes, your purpose."

"So you're fully aware of her true intentions with The Gate? Not the benign technology narrative about the Nexus energy Receiver that the Temple promotes to the public?”

Zebidiah steps away from the tank, passing under the eerie glow of overhead monitors that cast ghostly shadows across his face as he walks towards the mirror, turning his back to me.

"Yes," he finally murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, "I designed it."

Still facing the tank, I ask, "And you okay with it?"

There's a moment's pause during which his shoulders tense. The tank's machinery whirs and the ambient noise of the lab swells nearly to a roar. Finally, he relaxes slightly and says,

"You're too young to have seen the horrors of the Old Wars firsthand. Societies tore themselves apart over scraps of power and resources. Once one conflict ended, another ignited over the ashes."

He turns slowly, a deliberate motion that plunges his face into shadow before it reemerges into the harsh light of the computer monitors. His expression is earnest, intense.

"The rise of the Nexus changed that, promising a world where such struggles could be obsolete”

His jaw tightens as he finishes, "So yes, I agreed to help usher in a new era where the will of one merges with the will of many, believing it was the only path forward for our advancement."

I let out a dry laugh, more a rasp of cold air than real amusement. "Others might fall for Ingrid's manipulations, but you are different," I say, moving closer to Zebidiah.

I notice a shift in his stance; the usual nervous energy that surrounds him dissipates, replaced by a calm, imposing aura as he stands taller, his gaze more intense.

"You genuinely believe in Ingrid and her doctrine," I observe as he slightly cocks his head.

'Yes, I believed in her vision of a unified world,' he admits.

His choice of words, the past tense, catches my attention and hints at a divergence from his previous devotion."

"Ingrid—the woman she was before becoming the Black Raven—was a visionary,"

Zebidiah's eyes flash with an emotion that's hard to pin down—not quite reverence, nor simple affection, but a complex mix of longing and regret. There's a profound history there, a connection that seems to haunt him.

"She embraced the Nexus with conviction, mastering dream-walking through sheer determination. But something changed after one journey—she seemed...different, as if another's will overshadowed hers."

He pauses, lost in thought as he stares into the mirror, seemingly looking beyond his reflection.

“You ask many questions, little one. Do you doubt the Most High”

His question feels like a deflection, a way to gauge my suspicions

As I step closer to where he stands, I challenge him, "You are devoted to her, yet you orchestrated the attack."

He shakes his head, his voice steady. "No, I wasn’t involved in that plot."

'Liar,' I think to myself.

His eyebrows lift slightly. "You visited the prisoner," he says,

A sly smile spreads across my face.

"Yes," I confirm.

"What did you do?"

"I protected you," I reply, my smirk broadening.

"Why?"

"Because I need you to defeat her."

He shakes his head. "Planting a decoy and provoking Ingrid is reckless. You're playing dangerous games with a master Mind Shifter.," he says, his expression darkening.

I shrug "I opted to confront her using her games—risky, yet the only way to counter her."

“You are careless, revealing your plot to me. How do you know you can trust me?”

I slowly raise my hands, energy swirling between them. The overhead fluorescents flicker and fade, one by one, plunging the room into an eerie dance of shadows that slink toward Zebidiah.

His expression remains stoic, his green eyes darkening.

"Because I know who you are. I know the legacy you are destined to carry. You are a powerful being yet you choose to fight in the shadows. Come out of the darkness and stand with me."

The lights flicker out, a chill sweeps through the air, the growing shadows seeming to pulse with a life of their own. The only sound is the low hum of energy, resonating with the throbbing fear and anticipation that fills the space.

As the room darkens, shadows curl around Zebidiah, binding to him like a second skin. His transformation isn’t just physical; it's a profound merging of essence and shadow, his body becoming a silhouette marked only by his piercing green eyes.

My heart pounds with a mixture of fear and admiration for the figure before me. He transcends mere shadow tricks like his Descendant; he embodies the darkness itself.

A mythical creature, worshiped by a small sect in my timeline, relegated to legends and myths. The first vessel in history to embody the power of the dark realm. The one known as the Shadow Progenitor. The only one that can answer my questions.