The Crossing
They did not arrive in Eidolon Veil with violence.
No tearing of sky.
No rupture of air.
The crystal thinned reality the way breath fogs glass—soft, gradual, apologetic. Anna felt the shift first in her chest, like a held note resolving downward. Lexus felt it second, in the mark along his ribs, which did not burn but tensed, as though bracing for amnesia.
The world folded inward.
Light dimmed.
And then—
Stillness.
They stood on a wide causeway of pale stone suspended above water so clear it reflected not their bodies, but their outlines. The sky above was neither dawn nor dusk, but a permanent pearlescent twilight, the sun a diffuse presence rather than a point.
Anna exhaled slowly.
“This place feels…”
She searched for the word.
“Careful,” Lexus finished.
“Yes,”
