RAVENNA

Location: 600 years in the Past: Nexalia

Zeb’s voice reverberates in my mind, dragging me up from the depths of sleep. “Wake up, Ravenna. This isn’t real.” His words echo in the fog of my consciousness, grounding me. My eyes flutter open to an all-too-familiar world—the softness of my bed, the dim light filtering through my room in Nexalia. Wasn’t I just in the lab with Zebediah?

"Hello there," a familiar voice cuts through the haze. I sit up, my heart pounding, and my eyes lock onto the mirror in the corner. There he is—Zeb. His form wavers like smoke, shadows pooling around him like ink spilling into water.

His smile fades when our eyes meet. "This isn’t your reality, Ravenna. This is a dream."

I rise slowly, drawn to the mirror like a moth to a flame.

My fingers hover over the cool glass, breath catching in my throat. "How are you here?" I whisper, afraid he’ll vanish if I speak too loud.

He tilts his head, eyes darkening with concern. "It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you wake up. The Ethereal realms aren’t safe. Time is slipping away."

“What do you mean, unsafe?” I ask, a shiver creeping down my spine.

"An Interdimensional Gate. It is tearing through the energy field. Every minute it widens, the balance between realms tilts further. You need to leave or you could get lost forever." Zeb replies, his voice a harsh whisper.

My breath stutters. He knows about the Gate. It’s true, then—the Gate was the cause of the Mass depletion.

"Ingrid's Gate," I say, more to myself than to him, and he nods, his expression grim.

“I’ve seen it, Zeb—before it was complete. It exists in this time, alongside its creator, Ingrid. This dream was my reality, a past I lived before I came to Rust town through a portal”. I pause as my fingers curl into a fist on my side. I need him to understand why I am making this detour from our original plan. I need him to see fate at play.

“It is no coincidence that my first attempt at dream walking brought me back here. I am meant to change things. Prevent the energy crisis, the waning festival from happening”

I see a flicker of doubt in his eyes, a moment where his certainty wavers. Maybe, just maybe, he’s considering it ….

"If this is your past, Ravenna, you’re battling against history itself. The events that made you who you are have already been written. You can’t rewrite what's already carved in stone."

His voice softens. “No matter what you do, you’ll find yourself back in Rust Town, fighting the same battles. Come back with me. Let’s focus on the present—the world we can still save."

His words slice through me, creating a flare of frustration, but I force myself to stay composed. ‘He doesn’t understand yet. I have to make him see.’

“What if I could change everything right now?” I counter my voice trembling with urgency

“Stop Ingrid’s Gate from ever being completed and prevent the destruction before it starts?”

Zeb’s gaze sweeps over me, lingering on my too-small frame, his skepticism clear in the way his mouth tightens. “How will you go against a Black Raven?”

“I have help. The Progenitor, your ancestor’s goal aligns with mine” I reply

Zeb’s lips curl slightly into a faint, almost amused smile

“Impressive that you’ve managed to bring him to your side.” But his smile fades as quickly as it appears. His expression darkens with a warning.

“But be careful, Ravenna. He draws power from the dark realm. Those who manage to control such powers only serve themselves.”

His words remind me of Zebediah holding the Shadow gun at me back at the lab. For a moment, I truly thought he might take the shot. Was he testing the gun, or was he trying to exorcise me from this girl's body?

I still don’t know. I’m not sure if I can trust anyone who can wield such power. And yet, I know Zeb is right—a being capable of controlling shadows serves only his desires. Still, as long as our goals align, I have nothing to fear.

Yet, something—however small—hopes Zeb wants something more. Perhaps not just an alliance. I force myself to ask,

“Does the warning apply to you”' He gives a slight smile, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

“I never claimed otherwise,” he replies with a slight smile. I nod, trying to swallow the small disappointment that rises within me.

‘Of course, he’s no different. He and his ancestor are tools for our goal just as you are theirs'

Zeb’s face tightens, his earlier warmth gone.

"What about saving your father? The Recycling Center is a prison. Every second he’s there, it’s draining him, pulling away his life force bit by bit."

The mention of Bart sends a jolt through me, a pang of guilt clawing at my chest. I haven't forgotten him, not for a second. But I know this is bigger than both of us.

My voice steady I reply “Bart is strong, he will survive. Besides, If I can stop this now, maybe he’ll never need saving.

“How long have I been in this dream state?"

"Six hours," he says, his voice dropping low, almost pleading.

A slow smile tugs at my lips, fueled by defiance. “Months have passed here. Give me a few more hours, and I’ll stop the Gate’s completion. We can stop it from ever existing in our time.”

Zeb's jaw tightens, a hint of concern flashing in his eyes. "And if you fail? If nothing changes?"

My smile fades, replaced by cold certainty. "Then we save Bart. We fight whatever comes next."

Zeb's form begins to waver, shadows leaking away. "Be careful, Ravenna," he murmurs, his voice almost lost in the darkness. "The longer you stay, the harder it will be to find yourself again and risk becoming a dark one."

A loud bang on the door jolts me out of the conversation, followed by a man’s voice booming through the wood

The Most High requests your presence.”

I turn back to the mirror, for one last glimpse of Zeb—but he’s already gone, vanished like the smoke that shaped him.

‘No turning back now,’ I tell myself, taking a deep breath. ‘I just have to be faster than fate.’

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

Ingrid summons me to her lair—a hidden cave known only to a select few within her inner circle. As her daughter, I have that privilege. A gentle breeze caresses my face as I look up, feeling the warmth of the sun above. I recognize this place now, piecing together the route we took through the streets of the Stateless town, a place Ingrid seized full control over.

This is Rust Town—600 years before it became the harsh wasteland I know, a place of rust and survival. In this time, it stands as a hub of rebellion, home to those who refuse to conform to the teachings the Temple peddles. The very place where Ezar and his outliers originated from.

My steps are steady and measured as the Bird acolyte leads me across a narrow rock bridge. Sunlight seeps through large holes in the cave ceiling, bathing us in a light that feels uncharacteristically warm for the Rust Town I remember.

Below, the caves pulse with life and machinery. The air hums with the mechanical rhythm of mining equipment. Black jagged stones embedded deep within the cavern walls glisten under harsh beams of industrial lights. Robotic arms attached to automated drills bore into the rock with precise, relentless movements.

Amidst the machines, the miners move with a chilling synchronicity. Clad in metallic suits reflecting sporadic flashes of light, they operate with a disturbing lack of humanity. Every step, every swing of their tools, is executed with mechanical precision—no hesitations, no missteps. They lift and lower their drills in perfect unison, the sound of their synchronized efforts echoing through the cavern.

Their eyes, hidden behind dark visors, reveal nothing—no thought, no emotion. Their focus is fixed ahead, unblinking. It’s as if an invisible force controls them, guiding their every move. When one miner shifts position, the others follow almost instantaneously, connected by some unseen thread.

Ahead, I see Ingrid perched at the highest point of the cave, partially hidden between shadow and light. As Ingrid’s gaze sweeps over her prisoners like a predator surveying its catch, a flicker of unease tightens in my chest.

I managed to protect Zebediah from her mind probes, but altering all of Ezar’s memories was beyond me. It’s a cold calculation—sacrificing some to save one. But the choice wasn’t easy, nor is living with the consequences. Every glance at the hollow-eyed prisoners reminds me of what’s at stake, and what I might yet lose if I make the wrong decision again.

I take a breath and steady myself, the weight of my decision settling heavy in my chest. ‘Focus, Ravenna,’ I tell myself. There is no room for doubt here. Not when so much hangs in the balance.

"Come forward, child." Ingrid's voice slices through the air, pulling me from my thoughts. She’s not dressed in her usual attire—no flowing gowns or white veils. Instead, a tight tank and combat trousers hug her frame.

Her eyes, once sharp and bright, are now hollow pits shadowed with exhaustion. A fresh scar slashes across her left shoulder. She needs a new Vessel soon.

‘Not me,’ I think, my breath catching. ‘Not yet.’

From her elevated platform, Ingrid’s voice drops down like a knife.

“See, Ravenna,” she says, her lips curling into a thin smile, “the outliers have finally joined our cause.”

As I move deeper into the shadows of the cave, Ingrid steps forward into the light, the stark contrast revealing the wear etched into her features.

Her boots strike the stone floor with a rhythmic, almost predatory beat. "By choice or by force, everyone bends to the will of the Black Raven." She suddenly leaps from her platform, landing heavily in front of me. I take a quick step back, startled by her abrupt move.

“I heard your last session with Zebediah was… eventful," she says, her voice a low, mocking hum. "He told me you passed out from the strain."

She leans in close, her gaze sliding over me, probing for any signs of weakness. I force my breath to steady, my heart thudding in my chest. I cannot flinch, cannot betray anything. She circles me slowly like a predator sizing up prey.

“You pushed yourself too far. Don’t let it happen again.” Her tone is sharp, but there’s a glimmer of something else—concern? No, more like possessiveness.

She steps back in front of me, her eyes softening in a way that makes my skin crawl.

"I can't afford to lose you before we open the Gate. You’re too precious to me."

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I nod stiffly, suppressing the urge to recoil. She places a firm hand on my shoulder, her grip possessive. “With Beliah’s betrayal, I had to purge my court of traitors. They’re useless if I can’t have full control. Now, it’s just you, me, and Zebediah. You are all I need.” Her eyes flash black, then clear again. "No one comes between us and our destiny."

Suddenly, she doubles over, coughing violently. Blood spatters onto the stone, her growls echoing off the cave walls. The Bird acolyte moves to help, but she waves him off, straightening herself with a pained hiss. Without another word, she strides toward a young girl managing a piece of machinery.

“It’s your turn to serve,” Ingrid rasps, grabbing the girl by the throat. The girl’s eyes widen, mirroring Ingrid’s, as if trapped in a reflection.

“Surrender your vessel to me.”

Dark tendrils of energy spill from Ingrid's mouth, twisting through the air like smoke, seeking the girl's light. The girl trembles, her body rigid as the energy consumes her.

I watch in horrified fascination as the Bird acolyte shields Ingrid with his body while she performs her soul shift. "Now is your chance. She’s vulnerable," the voice whispers in my mind.

Using ‘The Sight’ I confirm—a flicker in the threads of energy binding Ingrid to her workers. The connection falters, unstable as she transfers her soul. My heart drums against my ribs, my palms slick with sweat. If I fail now, if she senses the attack, it could cost us everything.

But if I succeed... I could sever Ingrid's hold, free the workers, and save that girl. But am I truly prepared to take on a Master Mindshifter?

"Don’t hesitate. Trust your instincts. Trust your voice," the voice in my head urges, a mix of familiarity and vagueness. The temptation is sharp, almost irresistible.

I shake my head slowly. No. Zebediah is the one capable of facing her—he is the master of shadows, armed with a gun tethered to the dark realm. If I act now and fail, Ingrid will know our plans. We’ll lose the element of surprise. I have to be smart, and stay focused. Too many lives are in the balance—those here, and those still suffering under the Vessel Program’s twisted experiments.

My gaze shifts to my reflection in a large piece of glistening rock nearby. I catch my breath—my reflection's eyes are pitch black. Her lips move, but I don’t speak. Yet I hear my voice, clear and chilling, in my mind.

“Aren’t you curious to see if you can do it? Deep down, you want to test your power. To know what you are capable of. You can’t deny it—your insatiable curiosity.”

I swallow hard, my throat dry. The words echo in my mind, tantalizing and dangerous. A thrill courses through me, and I feel the weight of my own desires. What if I could overpower her, even for a moment?

My eyes drift to the girl under Ingrid’s grip. Her essence is being snuffed out, replaced by another soul. I hear a whimper from the far end of the cave—a woman, with the same features as the girl. She fights to break free of the control over her, her steps dragging on the cave floor as she stammers, “My child... please... not my child.” Her voice is raw with desperation.

A surge of urgency rushes through me. I have to do something. I have to save her. If I can free even one person, it could ignite hope in the others—a sign that Ingrid's reign isn't unbreakable. A spark that could lead to something greater.

But doubt gnaws at me. If I fail, Ingrid could turn her wrath on the workers, on Zebediah, on me. She could tighten her grip, sensing weakness in those who dare oppose her.

"Trust your voice," the familiar yet vague voice whispers again, cutting through my uncertainty.

I take a deep breath, pushing down my fear. My eyes lock onto Ingrid. If I’m going to do this, I need to be precise. I focus on the energy flowing around her, feeling for the gaps and weaknesses. I can see the dark threads that bind her mind to her body and her hold over the workers, flickering and fading with each shift of her soul.

‘Now’, I think, heart pounding, a strange mixture of terror and exhilaration rushing through me. Now is the time.

I project the energy toward her, light flickering as it collides with the dark nexus threads. My power slips through the cracks, striking the weak points when her hold falters. Ingrid growls in frustration. The girl collapses to the floor, unconscious, as her grip loosens. The caves fill with cries as the girl’s mother rushes to her side, her footsteps echoing in the vast space.

I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms as I dig deeper into Ingrid’s mind. I need to find a crack, some weak spot to exploit. Suddenly, fragments of her memories flood my mind—mundane moments she never bothered to shield. I see her and Zebediah, young and carefree, working side by side in a remote cabin within the Temple. Their conversations about meals, laughter, plans. The simplicity of it catches me off guard.

A sharp pain shoots through my chest. My body weakens, and I fall to my knees. I force my focus away from the pain, centering it on the energy still under my control. I can’t let go now, not when I’m so close.

The Bird acolyte moves closer, sensing the disturbance. His gaze sharpens, wary but unwavering in his devotion to Ingrid. He steps toward me, suspicion flickering in his eyes as her growls grow louder.

He grabs my arm roughly, yanking me up. “Stop whatever you’re doing, or I’ll kill you myself,” he hisses, his grip tightening.

I lose focus for a moment, and Ingrid’s voice rasps through the air, thick with rage. “Don’t kill her. I need her body alive.”

The Bird acolyte's grip on my wrist tightens painfully, and I scream—not from the physical pain, but from the strain of holding onto Ingrid’s mind. I’m on the edge, teetering between success and failure. I have to stay strong. Too many lives are at stake. I’m the only one who can save them.

A surge of energy pulses through me, sudden and fierce. Still holding onto Ingrid’s mind, I lock eyes with the Bird acolyte. “Release me,” I compel, my voice steady and laced with power.

To my surprise, his grip loosens, and my hand slips free. Before he can recover, I issue another command, my voice low and firm. “Bind yourself.”

In an instant, his body convulses, dropping to the ground in a heap, frozen. For a moment, I’m shocked at the force of my power, but the shock quickly fades, replaced by a cold surge of confidence. I can do this.

I refocus on Ingrid, pushing deeper into her mind. I walk through her memories, observing through reflective surfaces—mundane, uneventful moments. But then the atmosphere shifts. I see a hospital room. Ingrid lies in a bed, holding a baby—me.

Her expression isn’t one of warmth, not like a mother. It’s calculating, clinical, like a scientist admiring their greatest creation. She turns to the mirror, the one I’m peering through, her voice cold and detached.

“I’ve created the perfect vessel for you,” she murmurs. “Soon, you will be united with your original form.”

Her words strike me as an unexplained emotion bubbles to the surface. Suddenly, sharp pain cleaves through my skull, and I grunt in agony, clutching my head. The hospital room wavers like a mirage, twisting until it reshapes into something darker, more menacing.

“The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

I look up, and my breath catches. Ingrid no longer cradles the baby—she stands in front of the mirror, staring at me with eyes black as voids, dark veins crawling up her neck. A chill races down my spine. This isn't Ingrid. This is the entity Zebediah warned me about. The true force behind everything.

“Who… who are you?” I manage, my voice trembling.

Her laugh is hollow, echoing through the shattered memory. “Are you blind, or do you just refuse to see the truth?”

Before I can react, her form shifts, twisting unnaturally, until I’m staring at… myself. My breath catches in my throat, my eyes widening in disbelief. But it’s not just me—she's an older version, radiant with a soft, unsettling glow. Yet those black eyes remain, piercing, unnatural.

“No… this can’t be.” My voice trembles as the words fall from my lips, my mind scrambling to reject what I see. But the terrible understanding begins to sink in, a cold weight pressing against my chest.

She watches me struggle, amusement flickering across her face. “Oh, come now. Isn’t it a little obvious?"

Her voice drips with mockery. "The name. The title.” She raises her hands, making air quotes. “Ravenna. The Black Raven.”

I stagger back, my throat tightening. This can’t be true. It can’t. “Impossible”

“Is it?” she says, stepping closer. “You’re a Dreamwalker, after all. A soul from another time, inhabiting your younger form. What’s one more impossible thing?”

“No.” I step back, my heart pounding. “I wouldn’t do this. I wouldn’t destroy so many just for power.”

She laughs, the sound harsh and hollow, reverberating through the space between us. “Ah, still so naïve. So... young.”

She moves closer, “I’ve wandered the Dream realm for eons, watching as humans built their little worlds—realities born from fragile, fleeting thoughts. Morals, ethics, science—they’re mere illusions, constructs meant to shackle the mind.”

She curls her hand into a fist. “But through it all, only one truth remains. Power. Only power matters. The power to control reality itself. Everything else—morals, ethics, even reality itself—bends to those who wield it.”

Her form swells, warping the glass with her presence, her dark eyes drilling into mine.

“Imagine, Ravenna: every thought, every choice across every life will stem from us. We will reshape reality itself because we will be reality. A reality of peace, free from suffering. Once we fuse with every consciousness, we will no longer be bound by a single body, a single will. We will be everywhere, in everyone.”

I swallow, my throat tight, my pulse roaring in my ears. Her words cut deep, stirring something inside me. “No… You don’t have the right. ”

Her voice lowers, growing cold and sinister. “But I do. I came close once—so close. But I failed, and I was trapped in the Ethereal realms, searching for another way. And then, I found you. The version of me that would succeed.”

Her finger points directly at me, a twisted smile curling her lips. “You, my dear, are the perfect vessel. With my guidance, you will become the one mind. Together we plunge the world into darkness for a new light to begin.”

Tears blur my vision, my voice barely a whisper. “It was you... the voice in my head, pushing me down this path all along.”

The entity’s smile spreads wider. “Of course.”

"You both knew," I continue, my voice rising in fury. “About. My plans for Ingrid, my alliance with Zebediah. Beliah…. You let her die.” You could have stopped her death, stopped the massacre that followed. But you let her die, knowing she was loyal.”

The entity’s smile fades, replaced by a detached indifference. It’s like she’s watching a child throw a tantrum.

My fists clench, nails biting into my palms. “Why?” I snarl, my chest tightening, anger coiling in my stomach, rising into my throat. The room feels stifling, every breath heavy with rage and betrayal.

The entity steps closer, her form shifting once again. This time, she becomes Ingrid—a twisted reflection of everything I’ve come to fear. My heart lurches.

“I know your plans. Ingrid doesn’t. She only knows what I reveal. Beliah’s death? That was your choice. I only whisper truths.”

"I would never choose to be you," I hiss, trembling with defiance.

The entity’s grin stretches, more predatory now. “You’ll fail. Because you deny what you are.”

Suddenly, the room begins to shift. The edges of reality flicker and warp. My grip on Ingrid’s mind starts to slip, the fragile threads unraveling as she begins to yank me from her consciousness.

The entity’s voice echoes as her form fades away. “You’ll become me. Your fate is inevitable.”

A powerful force drags me back through the mirror. My senses blur—time speeds up, reality distorts. The cold cave air hits my skin, the weight of time returning as my vision clears.

I gasp for breath as chaos erupts around me. The workers, freed from Ingrid’s control, fight back. Some fling rocks, and others—vessels—use psychokinesis to hurl debris at the acolytes. But the trained warriors of Nexalia easily overpower many of them.

Suddenly, Ingrid’s cold hand clamps around my throat, cutting off my breath. Her eyes are pure black, her face twisted in fury. I claw at her arm, my lungs burning.

“You betrayed me” She spits.

I don’t need you lucid,” she tightens her grip. Her hands are weakened, but even depleted, her strength is enough to knock me out. If she succeeds, I’ll be trapped—stuck in this form until I fade completely, swallowed by the entity already inside me.

Terror grips me, tears spilling down my cheeks. I don’t want to fade. I don’t… My vision blurs, the edges growing darker.

Then, a cold breeze sweeps through the cave, and the shadows... deepen. I know immediately—it’s Zebediah. The shadows twist around Ingrid’s hands, pulling them away from my throat as I collapse to the ground, gasping for air.

The acolytes fall next, bound by shadows as they struggle to free themselves. I look up, my vision still blurred, but Zebidiah’s dark form looms ahead, his power a consuming force in the cave.

I clutch my sore neck, wincing as I notice a swirling portal at the far end of the cave, shadow tendrils writhing around it. In Zebidiah’s grip is the portal device—it looks familiar, like the one he uses.

“Can we all make it through?” I ask urgently, my voice rough.

He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps. It’s my first time opening one.”

There’s no time to process his words. I take a deep breath, focusing on the survivors. With one last mind shift, I project my thoughts into the minds of the cave dwellers, not to command, but to persuade. “Your freedom lies beyond that portal.”

The survivors scramble toward the swirling shadows, disappearing one by one into the dark abyss. For a brief moment, hope flickers in my chest.

But Ingrid, bound and weakened on the ground, hisses venomously, her voice trembling with rage. “Heathens. Traitors. Weak and worthless, that is all you will ever be.”

Zebidiah’s hand rises, the ring on his finger shifting into the Shadow gun, the barrel aimed directly at Ingrid’s forehead. This is it. I did not fail.

I glance at my dark reflection, the entity behind it all, watching with that unsettling grin. She knows something I don’t. What does she know? How does my path truly unfold? Fear twists inside me, but I turn away, focusing on Zebidiah.

He pulls the trigger.

“I’m sorry, Ingrid,” he says softly, the words almost drowned by the deafening bang that echoes through the cave. “But this is the only way things can go back to how they were.”

The shot reverberates through the cavern like a ripple of finality. For a heartbeat, everything is still—too still. The shadows in the cave seem to thicken, the air tightening, heavy. I wait for relief, for the weight of this moment to lift—but instead, all I feel is a cold, sinking emptiness.

“Did it work?” I ask, my voice trembling. “Is Ingrid alive? Is the entity gone?”

Zebidiah lowers the gun slowly, his jaw clenched, but he doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes avoid mine, flickering with something unreadable. His shoulders remain tense, like a coil ready to snap.

“We need to leave,” he says at last, though his voice carries no trace of relief. Only a thick tension, stifling any sense of hope. He leans down and carefully hoists Ingrid’s limp form over his shoulder. Then, swiftly, he grabs the bound Bird acolyte by the collar and pulls him along.

I stare at Ingrid’s unconscious form, then glance at my reflection in a jagged piece of rock nearby. My eyes are normal again, no longer darkened by the entity’s influence. But the feeling of victory is hollow. I should feel free, but all I feel is a gnawing fear. The entity’s presence is gone from Ingrid—but why does it still feel so close?

A whisper at the back of my mind cuts through the silence, cold and familiar. You’ll become me. Your fate is inevitable.