Fieldwielders

Coren stepped out of the testing grounds, the soft glow of Solvix's suns brushing against her skin. The light felt warm, welcoming even, but it didn't reach her. Nothing did. She walked slowly, her body moving on instinct while her mind replayed the questions she'd faced in the Mirror of Self-Reflection.

The truth she'd seen in herself felt raw, like an exposed wound. It wasn't the triumph she'd imagined—passing the tests, bonding with a Companion. She should have been ecstatic, but all she could feel was a strange hollowness, as though she had glimpsed a part of herself she wasn't ready to confront.

Ahead, Professor Varik—no, Lyra—waited just outside the shimmering entrance to the testing grounds. She stood straight-backed and alert, her coat catching the breeze, but the moment she spotted Coren, her expression softened with concern.

"Coren," Lyra called, stepping toward her. "How did it go?"

Coren hesitated, her hands clenching at her sides. She wanted to say something, to give Lyra the answers she deserved, but her throat tightened, and she couldn't bring herself to look her in the eye.

Lyra's brow furrowed as she reached out, her hand lightly brushing Coren's arm. "It's all right," she said gently. "You don't have to say anything if you're not ready."

The kindness in her voice only made it worse. Coren glanced away, her gaze falling to the polished alloy floor beneath their feet. She felt a sharp pang of guilt—Lyra thought she was upset because she hadn't passed, because the tests hadn't gone as planned. She didn't know the truth, didn't know what Coren had seen in herself.

Lyra exhaled softly, her grip on Coren's arm tightening just enough to offer reassurance, as if grounding her in the moment. "Come on," she said gently, steering her away from the testing grounds. Her voice was steady, warm, like a hand extended in the dark. "There's a café just down the street. We'll sit, get something warm to drink, and talk. Or not talk, if you'd rather."

Coren didn't resist, allowing herself to be guided through the gleaming streets of Solvix III. The city was as pristine as ever, its seamless, glimmering surfaces radiating an almost otherworldly glow under the artificial lights. The faint scent of ozone mixed with a floral undertone lingered in the air, subtle yet ever-present, like the city's quiet heartbeat. But despite the beauty around her, Coren felt detached, as though she were moving through a dream, the world muted and distant.

The café Lyra led her to was tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, a place of understated elegance. Its curved glass walls reflected the soft golden hues of the lighting, creating an inviting warmth that contrasted with the city's polished sterility. Inside, the hum of conversation and the gentle clink of cups provided a soothing backdrop, but Lyra bypassed the main seating area, guiding Coren to a private room at the back. The room's floor-to-ceiling windows framed a tranquil view of the city, its faintly glowing skyline stretching into the distance. It was the perfect space for an intimate conversation—or a safe silence.

"Sit," Lyra said firmly but kindly, gesturing toward one of the cushioned chairs at the small table. Her tone left no room for argument, yet her gaze was soft, understanding. "I'll take care of the drinks."

Coren slid into the seat without a word, folding her hands in her lap and staring out the window. People passed by in small groups, chatting and laughing, their voices muffled by the thick glass. She envied their ease, their lightness.

Lyra returned a few minutes later, placing a steaming mug in front of Coren. The drink was dark, almost black, but it shimmered faintly with streaks of silver when the light hit it—luminseed brew, a Solvix staple. Its sharp, earthy scent, but with a sweetness that lingered on the air. Coren didn't know why but it always felt familiar.

Lyra slid into the seat across from her, cradling her mug in both hands. "Drink," she said gently. "It helps, trust me."

Coren lifted the mug reluctantly and took a sip. The warmth spread through her immediately, loosening the knot in her chest, but it wasn't enough to quiet the storm in her mind.

Lyra watched her carefully, her green eyes calm but probing. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" she asked, her tone careful, leaving the door open for Coren to refuse.

Coren hesitated, her fingers tightening around the mug. "I passed," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lyra blinked, clearly surprised. "You passed?" she repeated. "Coren, that's wonderful—"

"No, it's not," Coren interrupted, her voice sharper than she intended. She winced, lowering her gaze. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap. I just… it doesn't feel like a win. Not after what I said in there."

Lyra tilted her head slightly, her green eyes steady. "And why is that, Coren? What did you say?" Her tone was calm, almost clinical, as though she were guiding her through her homework question.

Coren took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly as she set the mug down. "It's during the last test," she said. "The Mirror of Self-Reflection."

Lyra didn't speak, giving Coren the space to continue.

"It showed me things I didn't want to admit," Coren said, her voice wavering. "It asked me questions I didn't want to answer. About… about what I'd be willing to sacrifice to get what I want." She hesitated, then forced herself to look up, meeting Lyra's gaze. "It asked if I'd sacrifice your life."

Lyra's lips parted slightly, but she didn't interrupt.

"I told the truth," Coren continued, her voice breaking. "That if I had to, if there was no other way, I'd do it. And now I don't know what kind of person that makes me. If I'm someone you can even trust."

The silence that followed felt like it stretched forever. Coren couldn't bring herself to look at Lyra, staring instead at the swirling silver patterns in her drink.

Finally, Lyra exhaled softly, setting her mug down. "Coren," she said gently, "it's okay to have those feelings."

Coren looked up, startled. "What?"

"It is okay," Lyra repeated, her tone firm but kind. "You were honest with yourself, and that's what the test was about. It wasn't about judging you—it was about helping you understand yourself."

"But I…" Coren faltered, shaking her head. "I said I'd sacrifice you, Professor. How is that okay?"

Lyra smiled faintly, though her eyes glimmered with something deeper—something resolute. "Because I have the same dream, I understand how you feel Coren," she said simply.

Coren froze, her breath catching.

Lyra leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "If it came down to finding the truth—if my life was the price—I'd make that sacrifice willingly. And if you ever face that choice, you'll still have your own agency. It's not about what you might have to do someday; it's about who you are in the moments you can control. Knowing yourself will help you make the right decision"

Coren stared at her, the knot in her chest loosening just slightly.

"You're not a bad person, Coren," Lyra said softly. "You're just human. And being human means carrying the weight of hard choices. But it also means deciding, every day, to do better."

Lyra let the silence settle between them, giving Coren the space she needed to absorb her words. For the first time in what felt like hours, Coren felt her chest loosen. The ache was still there, but it didn't feel so suffocating anymore. Lyra always had a way of making things seem less impossible, less heavy.

Coren smiled slightly as she called out Sol, the tiny white orb glowing faintly as it emerged from her hand. He hovered near her shoulder, his light steady but subdued.

"Lyra, this is Sol," Coren said quietly.

Lyra's eyes widened slightly as she studied the orb. "A white Companion," she murmured, her tone filled with wonder. "Coren, that's… that's extraordinary."

Sol inclined slightly, his voice calm but warm. "It is an honour to meet you, Lyra Varik. Coren thinks of you with great admiration."

Lyra blinked, glancing between Sol and Coren. "You bonded with a white Companion," she said again, her voice carrying an edge of disbelief. "That's incredibly rare, I can't think of a single case. Do you know what that means?"

Coren nodded reluctantly. "It means my compatibility with the melodies is high… but I don't know if I deserve it," she said, her voice faltering as her throat tightened.

Lyra tilted her head, her expression softening. "Of course you do. Have confidence in yourself, Coren."

Coren looked up, her gaze meeting Lyra's. There wasn't a hint of doubt in her mentor's expression—only unwavering belief.

Coren hesitated, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve before she finally found the courage to speak. "Professor," she began, her voice uncertain, "during the test… someone told me that I'd returned from the cycle. That my soul had come back. Do you—do you know what that means?" She avoided naming exactly who had told her, the memory of the strange encounter still too raw and strange to put into words.

Lyra paused mid-sip of her luminseed brew, setting the cup down carefully. Her gaze turned thoughtful as she considered the question. "There are many interpretations of what people call the cycle," she said after a moment. "Some believe it's nothing more than a metaphor, a way to explain the echoes of who we are. Others, however, take it literally. The Monks of the Solaris Church, for instance, are devoted to the idea of reincarnation. They believe that our souls are reborn, over and over, within the Pocket Dimension. According to their teachings, we remain here—separate from the rest of the galaxy—until our souls have been purified, reborn into something whole and pure."

Lyra leaned back, her expression softening as a small smile tugged at her lips. "That's why they dedicate their lives to charity and service, constantly striving for goodness. To them, every kind act, every bit of compassion, brings them closer to breaking the cycle. Their philosophy is that this Pocket is both a punishment and a gift—a space to refine humanity, one soul at a time, until we're ready to leave it behind. Of course, not everyone subscribes to such beliefs, but it's a comforting thought, isn't it? That all of this, all of us, might be part of something larger?"

Coren could on nod, she wondered if maybe the monks had the right idea.

Lyra leaned back in her seat, her faint smile shifting into something warmer. "Now that we've gotten that out of the way…" she said, a note of mischief creeping into her tone, as though the weight of their conversation had been lifted.

Coren blinked at her, confused by the sudden shift in demeanour. "What?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly.

Without answering immediately, Lyra reached into her coat, her movements deliberate, and pulled out a slim, rectangular device. It was sleek and modern, its faintly glowing engravings catching Coren's eye as they pulsed along the edges. With an air of quiet triumph, Lyra slid the device across the table toward her, her green eyes bright with a barely contained excitement.

"What's this?" Coren asked, picking it up carefully.

"It's your surprise, Happy birthday," Lyra said, unable to keep the grin from her face.

Coren turned the device over in her hands, noting the faint seal of the Solvix Archaeological Society on one side. Her heart skipped. "No way," she breathed, looking back at Lyra with wide eyes.

"Oh, yes way," Lyra said, laughing lightly. "It's a permit for an archaeological expedition during the next school break."

"An expedition?!" Coren practically shouted, her earlier malaise forgotten for a moment. She'd always dreamed of going on a real expedition, of digging through the ruins and touching pieces of history with her own hands. But as rare as permits were, she'd never thought she'd get the chance.

Lyra's smile softened. "It's not just any expedition, Coren. The site is on Earth."

Coren froze, the device clutched tightly in her hands. "Earth?" she whispered.

Lyra nodded. "I pulled a lot of strings for this one. It's extremely difficult to get approval for Earth expeditions these days, but I wanted you to have something special. Somewhere that matters. Somewhere you've been before."

Coren's breath caught, memories of Earth flashing through her mind—its crumbling cities, the jagged ruins of what humanity had once been. She hadn't been back since Lyra had brought her to Solvix all those years ago, and she wasn't sure how she felt about returning.

Coren stared at the permit in her hands, the glowing seal of the Solvix Archaeological Society shimmering faintly under the café's soft lights. Her fingers trembled slightly as she traced the edges of the device.

"This…" Coren's voice faltered as she looked up at Lyra, her emotions threatening to spill over. "This means everything. Thank you."

Lyra's faint, knowing smile softened as she reached across the table, placing a gentle hand on Coren's. "I thought it might," she said, her voice warm, almost maternal. For a moment, she gave Coren's hand a comforting squeeze, as if to ground her in the moment.

But then her smile dimmed slightly, and Lyra leaned back, her other hand slipping into her coat pocket. Coren watched curiously as Lyra pulled out a second badge. This one was darker, sleeker, with the unmistakable emblem of the Fieldwielder Association etched into its surface—a swirling design of concentric rings surrounding a central starburst. Lyra placed it on the table between them with deliberate care, her expression turning more serious.

"Before you get too comfortable," Lyra said with a touch of dry humor, her hand lingering on Coren's for just a moment longer before pulling away, "we need to talk about what this means."

Coren's heart sank slightly. She should have known there'd be a catch. "What's the catch?" she asked warily, glancing between Lyra and the badge.

Lyra folded her hands on the table, meeting Coren's gaze steadily. "Now that you've bonded with Sol and a Fieldwielder, you have three options. The first is to attend the Fieldwielder Academy."

Coren frowned, the idea sitting uneasily in her chest. She'd heard of the Academy, of course—everyone had. It was prestigious, rigorous, and utterly consuming. Wielders who trained there were molded into Enforcers, protectors of humanity's scattered remnants. It was an honourable path, but it wasn't hers.

Lyra continued, her tone carefully neutral. "The second option is to have your Field abilities sealed away."

Coren flinched, the words sending a jolt of cold dread through her. "Sealed away?" she repeated, her voice sharp.

Lyra nodded, her green eyes unreadable. "It's rare, but it happens. Not everyone who is field-sensitive is interested in wielding their power. If you choose that path, the Association will suppress your connection to the Fields so you can live an ordinary life."

"Ordinary," Coren murmured, the word tasting bitter on her tongue. It felt wrong—like something that didn't belong to her anymore. She glanced at Sol, who hovered silently near her shoulder, his soft white glow a steady presence. She couldn't imagine cutting him off, shutting herself away from this part of herself.

Lyra's voice softened. "The third option is to find a master. Someone to train you personally."

Coren blinked, her heart skipping. "A master?"

Lyra nodded. "Someone with experience—someone who's already undergone training, who understands what it means to wield the Fields and can help you learn to control it."

Coren frowned, her thoughts racing. The Academy was out of the question—she didn't want to spend years locked away in some rigid institution when she could be out in the world, discovering its secrets. But where would she find a master? She barely knew anyone outside of the Academy, let alone someone who would be willing to train her.

"I don't know where I'd even start," Coren admitted, leaning back in her seat and running a hand through her hair. "And I want to go on the expedition. If I start training, won't that ruin everything?"

Lyra tilted her head, a playful glint flickering in her eyes. "Well," she said slowly, "if only there were someone in this café who could help you."

Coren blinked, confused. "What?"

Lyra raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her drink as though she hadn't just said something completely cryptic.

It took Coren a moment, but then realization dawned. Her eyes widened as she stared at Lyra, who was now trying very hard to suppress a smirk. "Wait. You?"

Lyra set her mug down with deliberate calmness, her smile widening. "You didn't think I'd let you wander off with just anyone, did you?"

"But…" Coren sputtered, her thoughts tripping over themselves. "You're an archaeologist, not a Fieldwielder!"

Lyra's smile turned wry. "Do you think an archaeologist survives an expedition to Earth by not being a Fieldwielder?" She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "The truth is, Coren, all bonded are Fieldwielders. Some of us just prefer to keep our abilities… quiet. Not everyone wants to be an Enforcer or parade their talents around. Some of us like to pretend we're just ordinary people."

Coren's mind reeled. She'd never considered the possibility that Lyra might be a wielder. She'd always seen her as a brilliant archaeologist, a mentor, a saviour—but not this. "You… aren't you just bonded?"

Lex, Lyra's red orb, floated forward, pulsing faintly. "She's not just bonded," it said smoothly, its tone as sharp as ever. "She's a damn good wielder. Not that she likes to admit it."

Lyra waved a hand dismissively. "Lex exaggerates."

"No, I don't," Lex shot back, clearly unimpressed with her humility.

Coren stared at them both, her mind struggling to catch up. "You've been a Fieldwielder this whole time," she said slowly. "And you never told me?"

"It never came up," Lyra said simply, though there was a flicker of guilt in her expression. "And I didn't want to overwhelm you. You've had enough to deal with."

Coren opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. She didn't know what to feel—relief, frustration, disbelief. But more than anything, she felt something else: hope.

"So, what does this mean?" she asked hesitantly.

Lyra smiled again, softer this time. "It means I'm your master now, if you'll have me. I'll train you myself. And we'll make this work around the expedition."

Coren blinked, her chest tightening as Lyra's words settled over her. She felt a spark of excitement for what the future could hold.

"You'd really do that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lyra reached across the table, resting a hand on Coren's. "Of course," she said gently. "You're my student, Coren. My apprentice. And more importantly, you're family. I'm not about to let you face this alone."

Coren swallowed hard, her throat tightening. She nodded, her voice too shaky to speak.

Lex pulsed faintly, its tone dry but not unkind. "Don't get too sentimental now. We've got work to do."

Sol floated closer, his soft light brushing against Coren's shoulder. "It seems," he said calmly, "that you are in good hands."