A haze of silver-gray fog stretched across the Ashen Marshes, reflecting a pale sunrise that turned the stagnant waters into a shifting mosaic of muted colors. Xion and Lillian stood on a low embankment, the ground beneath them soft and spongy. Tall, gnarled trees jutted from the marsh, their trunks covered in ashen moss that gave the region its name. A faint odor of decay lingered, suggesting the Marshes were a place where nature and death coexisted in uneasy balance.
They had been traveling for days since leaving the Whispering Eye enclave, guided by old references to a possible Etherion workshop hidden within these bogs. The watchers' notes spoke of an alchemical stronghold that might hold relics capable of detecting or amplifying an Epitaph—the cosmic contradiction Xion suspected lay within him.
"Are we sure this is the right approach?" Lillian asked quietly, scanning the fog-shrouded horizon. "The Marshes could swallow us, illusions or not."
Xion exhaled, recalling how each lead in the watchers' archives pointed them to these wetlands. "We have to try. If Etherion left behind anything that can confirm my Epitaph..." He trailed off, tension knotting in his chest. "I need to know."
A swirl of half-lost memories flitted through his mind: the swirling illusions of Veluria, the hush of the watchers' enclave, references to the Trinity bloodline, devourer instincts, and the cosmic rewriting that threatened the realm. Xion had gleaned the realm's pantheon from lower to highest, but gods alone would not confirm his fate. He needed tangible proof. He needed the rumored "detection relics" or knowledge of Epitaph "Verses" that watchers had only hinted at.
Lillian offered a small, reassuring smile. "Then we push forward." She tapped her staff against the boggy ground, testing its solidity. "At least the watchers' map gave us a route to follow."
They ventured deeper into the Marshes, following a faint path that wound between pools of stagnant water. Each step squelched in mud, the occasional swirl of insects buzzing near. Overhead, a flock of pale birds cut across the sky, their cries echoing eerily. The hush of illusions felt distant here, replaced by a natural gloom that offered its own brand of unease.
---
By midday, they reached a half-submerged ruin—a cluster of stone pillars rising from the water, etched with alchemical symbols. Xion's pulse quickened. "This might be Etherion's style," he murmured, recalling watchers' notes about their ornate runes.
They waded carefully through knee-deep water to approach the pillars. Algae clung to the stone, and a heavy silence pressed in. Lillian brushed her fingers over a carved sigil shaped like an overlapping circle and triangle. "Definitely alchemical," she confirmed. "But we can't be sure it's Etherion until we see more."
Suddenly, a soft splash made them freeze. They turned to see a cloaked figure stepping around a fallen column, half-hidden by the fog. Xion tensed, hand on his sword. Lillian lifted her staff. The figure raised both hands in a placating gesture.
"Peace," came a calm voice, muffled by the hood. "I mean you no harm."
They watched warily as the figure drew closer, the hood slipping back to reveal a middle-aged woman with streaks of white in her dark hair. Her eyes shone with curiosity. "You must be travelers, yes? Few come to these Marshes unless they seek something."
"We do," Lillian answered carefully. "And you?"
The woman lowered her hood fully, revealing a worn face lined with the marks of many trials. "I am Marceline. I dwell in these wetlands, gathering rare herbs." She glanced at the pillars. "Sometimes I spot outsiders rummaging the old stones, hoping to find Etherion relics."
Xion felt a surge of hope. "We're indeed looking for such relics." He paused. "Do you know of an Etherion workshop deeper in the Marshes?"
Marceline pursed her lips, as if weighing their intentions. "I do. Or at least I know rumors." She gestured behind her. "A day's trek north, there's a half-buried structure folks call the 'Obsidian Vault.' It might be what you seek." She sighed. "But be warned: illusions, undead, or worse lurk near it."
Illusions again. Xion nodded, grateful for the tip. "Thank you." He hesitated. "One more thing—have you heard of Epitaphs?" He braced for confusion or suspicion.
Marceline's eyes widened slightly. "Epitaphs... I've heard the word whispered among wandering scholars." She paused, then lowered her voice. "They say each Epitaph has multiple 'Verses,' stages of power that devour the bearer's humanity." She shuddered. "It's not something to chase lightly."
Lillian and Xion exchanged a charged look. They had heard references to Epitaph "stages" or transformations, but not the word "Verses." This might be the key. "Can you tell us more?" Lillian asked gently.
Marceline exhaled, eyes flicking to the swirling fog. "Not here." She waved for them to follow her behind a leaning pillar, where a patch of muddy ground rose above the water. "We can speak more safely."
They settled on the small patch of dry land, water lapping around them. Marceline drew a small sigil in the mud, reminiscent of an alchemical circle. "I once traveled with a roving mage who collected rumors of Epitaphs. She claimed each Epitaph has 'Verses,' akin to steps in a twisted poem or scripture."
"Verses?" Xion repeated, heart pounding.
Marceline nodded. "Yes. Each Epitaph begins with Verse One, a mild ability that hints at contradiction. As the bearer embraces it, they progress to Verse Two, Verse Three, and so on—some say up to five or six Verses, maybe more." She paused, gaze serious. "But each Verse exacts a price—sanity, memory, humanity. The deeper the Verse, the stronger the paradox."
A hush fell. Xion recalled the watchers' mention that Epitaph bearers often lose themselves. This explained how the realm had repeated tragedies with illusions or devourer wars. He swallowed. "Do you know how many Epitaphs exist? Or how these Verses are triggered?"
Marceline shook her head. "No one knows the exact number. Some say thirteen Epitaphs, others claim infinite." She paused. "Triggering a new Verse often requires a moment of crisis—extreme emotion, mortal peril, or a deliberate ritual." She grimaced. "But it's said once you ascend a Verse, there's no going back."
Lillian listened intently. "So each Epitaph is a living contradiction, unfolding in stages that rewrite the bearer."
"Precisely," Marceline murmured. "Beware chasing that power." She studied Xion, as though sensing the paradox within him. "It might consume you before you can harness it."
Xion forced a small nod. If he indeed carried an Epitaph, did that mean he was at Verse One? Or had he advanced without knowing? The glowing sword moment—was that a Verse trigger or a fleeting surge?
"Thank you," Lillian said, sincerity in her voice. "This is crucial." She hesitated. "We'll be careful."
Marceline offered a weary smile. "Then good luck in your search. The Obsidian Vault is your best bet." She pulled her cloak tight. "I must gather herbs, but if you survive and find knowledge of these 'Verses,' share it." With that, she rose, stepping back into the swirling fog. Moments later, her silhouette vanished among the pillars.
Left alone, Xion and Lillian exchanged charged glances. "Verses," Xion said, voice trembling with a mix of awe and dread. "That means if I truly hold an Epitaph, it might be sleeping at Verse One or so." He inhaled shakily. "What if something triggers the next Verse?" He remembered the watchers' caution that illusions or devourer instincts might awaken if an Epitaph advanced.
Lillian gently touched his arm. "We can't let fear stop us." She paused, meeting his eyes. "But we do need to proceed with caution." She took a breath, mind clearly racing. "If the Obsidian Vault holds Etherion relics, maybe we'll find a safer method to confirm or control your Epitaph." She tried a reassuring smile. "We won't let it consume you."
He nodded, forging resolve from her calm. Yes, he'd face these Verses, no matter the cost. The realm's illusions, watchers, cosmic rewriting—all might hinge on how Epitaph bearers shaped events. If he was one, he refused to be a pawn. He would stand on his own terms.
They gathered themselves, stepping away from the submerged ruin. Water dripped from their boots, the hush of the Marshes thick around them. A new sense of purpose surged: They had a name for the Epitaph's progression—Verses—and a rumored location for relics that might confirm or guide that progression. They pressed onward.
---
The rest of the day saw them navigating treacherous bogs and half-submerged trails, guided by partial notes from the watchers and Marceline's directions. They forded small channels of murky water, sometimes forced to detour around pockets of quicksand or decaying logs. Strange shapes moved at the edges of their vision—perhaps illusions, or simply the Marsh's natural wildlife. They remained vigilant.
By late afternoon, the sun dimmed behind heavy clouds, casting the wetlands into a twilight gloom. Lillian checked the rough sketch they had gleaned from watchers: a large rocky outcrop near the Marsh's center, rumored to house Etherion's "Obsidian Vault."
"We're close," she said, voice echoing in the damp air. "The watchers' notes mention black stone spires marking the vault's entrance."
Xion nodded, pressing on. The Marsh stank of sulfur in places, and a few times they spotted bones half-buried in silt—animal or human, they couldn't tell. The hush pressed in, reminiscent of illusions, but no immediate sign of watchers or devourers.
At last, they crested a low ridge, revealing a broad, waterlogged basin. Rising from its center were three tall spires of obsidian-like rock, glimmering with faint reflections of the overcast sky. The air around them felt heavier, as though a subtle arcane field thrummed beneath the surface.
"That must be it," Lillian murmured, adjusting her staff. "The Obsidian Vault."
Xion inhaled, bracing himself. If Etherion's relic lay within, it might confirm his Epitaph or spark the next Verse. Fear mingled with excitement. He recalled Marceline's warning that illusions or undead might guard the site. He had come too far to turn back.
They descended into the basin, the water rising to their calves. The black spires loomed overhead, silent sentinels. As they drew near, a faint ripple of energy prickled across Xion's skin—like the watchers' resonance crystal, but more pervasive. Lillian noticed it too, wincing slightly.
"Some barrier or residual aura," she whispered. "Let's proceed carefully."
They circled the spires until they found a broad archway carved into the obsidian. Runes flickered along its edges, half worn away by time. The air here was stifling, carrying the faint smell of burnt stone. A sense of ancient power radiated from within.
Xion and Lillian exchanged a final, determined glance. "We go in," he said. "Stay close."
They stepped through the archway, lantern held high to pierce the gloom. A tunnel of polished black stone sloped downward, the floor slick with condensation. Occasional runes glowed faintly, providing eerie illumination. The temperature dropped, sending a chill through Xion's spine.
Halfway down the tunnel, they heard a distant scraping sound, as though stone grated against stone. Lillian lifted her staff, a faint aura crackling around it. Xion gripped his sword. The scraping grew louder, echoing off the obsidian walls. Then it stopped.
They advanced, hearts pounding. A large chamber opened before them, its walls etched with intricate geometric patterns. In the center stood a massive, circular dais. Above it hung a cluster of crystals suspended by black metal chains. At the dais's edge, stone golems—two hulking shapes—rested in silent vigil, their eyes dark.
"Golems," Lillian whispered. "Etherion might have used them as guardians."
"Let's hope they remain dormant," Xion muttered, creeping closer.
The dais was ringed by an alchemical circle inlaid with silver. Strange contraptions—metal arms, glass tubes—rose from the floor. A series of levers jutted from a panel near the dais. The entire arrangement resembled an experimental apparatus, possibly for harnessing or detecting paradoxical energies.
"This must be it,"Lillian breathed, eyes wide. "The relic or device we came for."
They approached the contraptions carefully. Xion spotted a large sigil etched into the dais: the same overlapping circle-and-triangle symbol they'd seen on the Marsh pillars. "Etherion's mark," he recalled from watchers' texts. He knelt, brushing dust aside. A set of glyphs circled the sigil, each reminiscent of the watchers' mention of Epitaph paradoxes.
Lillian studied the levers. "We might have to power this apparatus." She tested a lever gently, hearing a faint hum. "Something's still active after all these years."
As if triggered by her motion, the stone golems twitched. Their eyes flared with dull red light. A grinding roar echoed in the chamber, sending vibrations through the obsidian floor. Lillian gasped, stepping back. Xion drew his sword, adrenaline surging.
"They're not friendly," he muttered, bracing for combat.
The nearest golem lumbered forward, stone limbs creaking. Its fist was the size of a small boulder. The second golem rumbled behind it, blocking the dais. The air crackled with arcane tension—a protective measure left by Etherion to guard the relic?
Xion gritted his teeth. They had no choice but to fight or subdue these guardians.* Lillian readied her staff, arcs of energy dancing along its tip. The golem raised a colossal arm, swinging down at Xion.
He dodged, the impact shaking the floor. Lillian unleashed a bolt of crackling magic at the second golem, sparks dancing across its stone skin. It stumbled but remained upright, letting out a deep groan. The first golem turned, swinging again at Xion, who parried with his sword—a jarring collision that nearly knocked him off his feet. A faint glow flickered along the blade's edge, reminiscent of his power. The golem recoiled slightly, as though repelled by the contradictory energy.
"Your sword!" Lillian shouted, noticing the flicker. "It's responding to your Epitaph again!"
He inhaled sharply, focusing on that surge. If his potential Epitaph was indeed at Verse One, perhaps the stress of battle threatened to push him toward Verse Two. He felt a swirl of energy in his chest, half-terrifying, half-exhilarating. He swung again, striking the golem's arm. A shockwave of silver luminescence flared, cracking the stone. The golem roared, stumbling back.
"One down, or at least weakened," Lillian called. She pivoted to the second golem, which hurled a chunk of rubble at her. She deflected it with a barrier spell, but the force nearly knocked her over. Xion dashed forward, blade shimmering faintly. He slashed at the second golem's torso, sparks flying as the paradoxic aura clashed with Etherion's old wards. The golem groaned, cracks spiderwebbing across its chest. Another blow from Lillian's staff unleashed a burst of lightning, shattering its core. The construct collapsed into rubble, arcs of magical discharge fizzing out.
Turning back to the first golem, they found it struggling to stand, cracks along its arm from Xion's luminous strike. He mustered that swirling energy again, fear gripping him—what if it triggered the next Verse? But he had no choice. He channeled the faint glow once more, hacking at the golem's leg. Another shockwave. The stone limb crumbled. The golem toppled, eyes dimming.
A hush fell, the guardians neutralized. Xion staggered, chest heaving, the silver glow fading from his sword. He felt lightheaded, as if brushing the edge of some deeper power. Lillian rushed to steady him.
"Are you okay?" she asked, worry etched in her features.
He nodded weakly. "Yes... but that power... it felt stronger this time." He swallowed, recalling Marceline's warning about Epitaph Verses devouring humanity. He forced a shaky breath. "We won for now."
With the golems defeated, the dais lay open. Lillian examined the contraption's levers and runic inscriptions. "This apparatus might test or harness paradoxic energy." She gently pulled a second lever, feeling a subtle hum vibrate through the floor. Overhead, the crystals suspended by chains flickered, as though awakening after centuries.
Xion approached, lantern in hand. A panel near the dais bore symbols reminiscent of watchers' resonance crystals. "Could this channel Epitaph power?" he asked. Lillian nodded, enthralled by the intricate design.
They carefully deciphered the runes. Some indicated "Extraction," others "Amplification," and one repeated the word "Verses" in an archaic script. Lillian gasped. "This is it—a direct reference to Epitaph Verses." She tapped the runes. "It suggests each Verse can be measured or observed if the bearer stands on the dais."
Xion tensed. "Measured how?"
"We can only guess," Lillian said, scanning the inscriptions. "But it might display how many Verses you've unlocked or how close you are to the next." She paused, reading a line that indicated potential side effects: Memory bleed, illusions intensify, devourer instincts...
A swirl of dread churned in Xion's stomach. But he pressed on. "Let's do it." He stepped onto the dais, sword at his side, bracing himself. Lillian manipulated the levers, referencing the runes to activate a "Measurement" sequence. The overhead crystals brightened, a low hum resonating.
Suddenly, arcs of pale light shot down from the crystals, encircling Xion in a ring of shimmering energy. He felt a pressure on his mind, as if the apparatus probed his essence. Lillian watched from the control panel, sweat beading her brow.
"Hold on!" she called, voice echoing. The dais glowed with intensifying brilliance. The arcs of light coalesced around Xion's chest, forming swirling patterns. He gasped, vision swimming with half-remembered illusions from Veluria, flickers of watchers, the hush of undone timelines.
Then the swirl stabilized. A faint, ghostly script hovered in the air around him—arcane letters forming phrases. Lillian read them aloud:
> Epitaph Potential: Active
> Current Verse: One
Potential Verse: Up to Four or Five?
Danger of Induced Ascension: Moderate
The words flickered, rearranging:
> Trigger for Next Verse: Confrontation with Devourer Instinct or High-Stress Paradox
A hush enveloped the dais. The arcs of light faded, leaving Xion trembling with revelation. He staggered off the dais, Lillian catching him. The overhead crystals dimmed.
"So... he whispered, voice raw, "I'm at Verse One. Potential up to four or five. Fear twisted in his gut. The device confirmed what watchers suspected—he truly was an Epitaph bearer. If he triggered the next Verse, would illusions intensify? Would devourer instincts awaken?
Lillian gently rubbed his back. "We have clarity now." She offered a small smile. "You're not imagining this. The Epitaph is real, and you're only at Verse One."
He nodded, half-relieved, half-terrified. "At least we know. But the device says I might ascend if I confront devourer instincts." He remembered the watchers' notes about the Trinity family. Could that lineage dwell within him?
"Let's see if the contraption has more data," Lillian suggested, returning to the panel. She studied additional runes indicating the possibility of "Verse Stabilization." But time and water damage had destroyed key components. "It seems incomplete. She sighed. "We can't forcibly block or reduce the risk of ascension with what's left."
A wave of disappointment coursed through Xion. They had confirmed his Epitaph, but not how to control or circumvent the Verses. The Marshes had given them a partial answer, yet new questions arose. He was a living contradiction, locked in a cosmic progression that threatened his humanity.
---
While they mulled over the apparatus, a sound of cautious footsteps echoed from the tunnel. They spun, weapons raised. A tall figure wearing a tattered cloak and carrying a dim lantern emerged, blinking in surprise at the shattered golems.
"I... didn't expect others here," the figure said, voice echoing in the obsidian chamber. He lifted his lantern, revealing a gaunt face with spectacles perched on a crooked nose. "Are you explorers, or thieves?"
"Explorers," Lillian answered quickly, staff angled but not aggressive. "We found Etherion's device."
The newcomer's eyes lit with excitement. "Truly? He advanced, noticing the dais. "I'm **Orwyn, an independent researcher. I heard rumors of a detection apparatus for Epitaph energies." He gestured to the contraption. "You used it?"
Xion nodded warily. "Yes. It confirmed my Epitaph." He swallowed. "It mentioned Verses." Orwyn's gaze sharpened.
"Verses..." Orwyn murmured, stepping closer, rummaging in a satchel. "I have partial notes on that." He pulled out a damp scroll, unrolling it carefully. "I've studied Epitaph theory for years, though I never had a chance to see this device."
"You know about the Verses?" Lillian asked, heart quickening.
Orwyn nodded, adjusting his spectacles. "Yes, though my knowledge is incomplete." He pointed to a scrawled diagram on his scroll. "Each Epitaph typically has five or six Verses. The first Verse is minimal, the second awakens deeper contradiction, the third warps the bearer's identity, the fourth or fifth can reshape reality in small areas." He paused, grimacing. "By the final Verse, the bearer often transcends or is erased."
Xion felt a chill. "Erased?" Orwyn nodded solemnly.
"Yes. Some vanish from existence, others become monstrous." He sighed. "Epitaphs are not gentle gifts." He traced a finger along the diagram. "But there are rumored 'stabilization rituals' in certain hidden texts." He eyed them. "I sought Etherion's device to confirm these rumors, but it seems partially destroyed."
"We found the same," Lillian said. "No method here to block or guide the Verses safely."
Orwyn exhaled. "Then we must look elsewhere." He paused, scanning the chamber's debris. "I heard that some watchers or perhaps the House of Ayakashi once had texts describing each Epitaph's unique Verse progression." He shrugged. "If we piece that knowledge together, maybe we can help an Epitaph bearer remain human."
"Remain human," Xion echoed, relief mingling with anxiety. If he advanced in Verses, was that possible? The watchers or the House of Ayakashi might hold a key. Another quest.
---
The next hours passed with the three of them combing the chamber for salvageable scraps. They found a few metal rods etched with Etherion runes, a shattered lens that might have once measured paradoxic frequency, and half-decayed tomes that crumbled at a touch. Orwyn meticulously documented each piece, murmuring excitedly about verifying Epitaph theory.
Finally, they reconvened near the dais. Orwyn offered a polite bow. "Thank you for clearing the golems. I'd never have managed alone." He glanced at Xion. "I suspect you truly are an Epitaph bearer. If you'd allow me to accompany you, we might find more clues to the Verses." He paused. "Or I can part ways if you distrust me."
Xion and Lillian exchanged looks. The man seemed genuine, if a bit obsessive. Another ally might help. Yet trusting a near-stranger with Xion's cosmic secret was risky. Lillian gave a slight nod. "We can journey together for now." She mustered a gentle smile. "But be warned, illusions and watchers might target us."
Orwyn nodded eagerly. "I accept the risk." He gazed around the obsidian walls. "We can glean no more here. Let's depart before undead or illusions stir."
They exited the Obsidian Vault, stepping into the Marsh's fog once more. The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the bog. As they retraced their path, an uneasy tension gripped them—the Marsh's hush felt heavier, reminiscent of illusions creeping in.
Suddenly, Lillian stiffened. "Did you see that?" she whispered, pointing to a swirl of mist. For a moment, a shape like a robed figure flickered, then vanished. Xion felt a prickle along his arms, the same dread as in Veluria.
"Illusions," Orwyn muttered, voice tight. "We should hurry."
They quickened their pace, forging through murky water. Shadows danced at the edge of vision. Once, Xion thought he saw Chrona with her chain, smirking in the gloom, but when he blinked, she was gone. Another time, Lillian gasped, seeing a twisted reflection of her own staff. The illusions seemed to feed on their fears.
"Stay calm," Xion urged, sword at the ready. He recalled how illusions often parted if confronted with unwavering will. But the swirl of paradox in his chest fluttered, threatening to intensify. If a dire confrontation arose, might it trigger his second Verse?
They pressed on, ignoring flickers of phantom watchers or devourer shapes. At last, they reached a drier patch near a crooked willow tree. The illusions thinned, retreating like a tide. The sun was setting, painting the Marsh in dusky orange.
"We'll camp here," Lillian declared, breath unsteady. "No illusions pressing right now."
Orwyn exhaled relief. "Agreed." He set down his satchel, rummaging for a small tinderbox. Xion helped gather damp wood for a fire, though it crackled weakly. The gloom weighed on them, but they formed a protective circle with lanterns, hoping to deter illusions or undead.
---
They sat around the weak fire, steam rising from the wet wood. Orwyn unfurled his scrolls, referencing notes about Epitaph Verses. Lillian cross-checked watchers' lore from the Eye. Xion listened, heart pounding.
"Each Epitaph is unique," Orwyn explained, tapping a diagram. "But all share the concept of Verses. The first Verse grants a mild paradox, the second Verse intensifies it. The third or fourth can rewrite local reality or devour the bearer's identity." He paused, eyes flicking to Xion. "If you ascend to Verse Two unprepared, illusions might surge, watchers might appear, or devourer instincts could awaken—depending on your Epitaph's nature."
"We must find a way to stabilize each Verse," Lillian said. "Surely there's a method."
Orwyn shrugged. "Some speak of 'bindings'—rituals or artifacts that anchor the bearer's mind. The House of Ayakashi supposedly developed illusions that seal an Epitaph's progression" He shook his head. "But details are scarce."
Xion clenched his fists. So the path to controlling his Epitaph might lie with illusions experts or unknown relics. Another quest, another labyrinth. At least he knew the stakes. If the realm faced cosmic rewriting, maybe an Epitaph at higher Verses could shape or avert that rewriting. Or end him.
They lapsed into silence, each lost in thought. The Marsh's hush pressed in, the faint hum of insects droning. Then Lillian quietly said, "I'll watch your back, Xion. If your Epitaph tries to push you into the next Verse, we'll do everything to keep you anchored."
He nodded gratefully, swallowing a lump in his throat. He wasn't alone. Orwyn offered a solemn nod of agreement. The fragile alliance formed around a single goal: to unravel the Epitaph's progression before it consumed Xion.
---
Morning brought a dreary light that filtered through the marshy haze. The illusions had not returned, or perhaps they lurked deeper. They packed up camp, discussing the next destination.
"We could try to find a stable route out of the Marshes," Orwyn suggested, "then decide whether to seek the House of Ayakashi illusions or rumored Weiss infiltration." He cast Lillian a wary glance, recalling her admission of Weiss ties.
She sighed. "The watchers' enclave mentioned Ayakashi illusions might dwell in the western desert. The Weiss watchers are scattered, but confronting them might be risky." She paused. "Alternatively, we could track rumors of the Trinity's devourer shrines, if that ties to Xion's Epitaph."
Xion exhaled, mind spinning with possibilities. Ayakashi illusions, Weiss watchers, Trinity devourers... Each might hold a key to stabilizing or revealing further Verses. He recalled the device's note: Trigger for Next Verse: confrontation with devourer instinct or high-stress paradox. Maybe seeking the Trinity shrines would force a direct confrontation. But was that wise?
After a tense debate, they agreed to head west, seeking the Ayakashi illusions. The watchers had implied the House of Ayakashi once studied methods to seal or manipulate Epitaph progression. If illusions were their domain, maybe they possessed a technique to anchor Xion at Verse One until he was ready.
"Then west it is," Lillian said. Orwyn shrugged, content to follow. They parted from the watery path, forging a new route out of the Marsh. The journey would be long, but they had direction. The faint possibility of illusions turned from a threat to a potential solution—if Ayakashi illusions could seal Epitaph growth.
As they navigated the final stretches of bog, a swirl of thick fog closed in. The air turned cold, a static charge building. Lillian gripped her staff, eyes scanning for illusions. Orwyn looked tense, flipping through protective charms. Xion readied his sword, the memory of golems fresh in his mind.
A faint whisper rippled through the mist: "Verse... Verse..." repeating like an echo. Xion's heart hammered. Was this the Marsh's illusions or some echo of his Epitaph?
"Stay together," Lillian urged. They pressed onward, ignoring the disembodied voice. The fog thickened, swirling shapes flickering at the edges of vision. Orwyn muttered wards, but the illusions seemed intangible.
Then, with a final swirl, the fog receded. They found themselves on a firmer slope leading out of the Marsh. The whisper faded into the distance. No watchers emerged, no devourer instincts manifested. A wave of relief washed over them.
They ascended the slope, leaving the bog behind. On higher ground, the sun shone clearer, revealing rolling grasslands to the west. The hush of illusions gave way to a natural breeze. Xion exhaled, turning back for one last look at the Marsh's endless gray. He'd gained partial answers—he truly was an Epitaph bearer, at Verse One—but the path to controlling or stabilizing further Verses lay ahead.*
---
By late afternoon, they reached a crossroads where a battered sign pointed east toward the Marshes (which they left behind) and west toward an unnamed route. The watchers' enclave notes indicated that following this western trail would eventually lead to a desert region where the Ayakashi might lurk. The sign was barely legible, covered in moss.
"We're truly venturing into the unknown," Orwyn mused, adjusting his spectacles. "I've never gone this far west." He patted his satchel of notes. "But if illusions are the key, I'm with you."
Xion glanced at Lillian. She offered a supportive nod. "We do this together." Her gaze flicked to him. "We'll find a method to keep your Epitaph in check—or at least ensure you ascend the Verses on your terms."
He squeezed her hand briefly, gratitude surging. Then he turned to the sign, pointing west. "Let's go."
They set off, crossing a meadow that gently sloped downward into a vast expanse. The Marsh's gloom receded behind them, replaced by a breezy openness. The day's last light gilded the grasses in gold. Xion felt a mixture of trepidation and hope: He'd learned about Epitaph Verses, confirming his fear and fueling his determination. The realm's illusions, watchers, cosmic rewriting, and devourer aspects awaited, but he walked forward unafraid. He had Lillian, he had Orwyn's research, and he had the knowledge that he was no longer blind to his paradox.
---
They camped that evening on a gentle knoll. The sky overhead was clear, stars twinkling like distant watchers. A small fire crackled, warming them against a brisk wind. Orwyn prepared notes on the Epitaph's Verses, Lillian rechecked their meager supplies, and Xion stared at the stars, recalling the hierarchy of gods from lower to highest.
"What if—he mused aloud—"the gods themselves fear Epitaphs, because they represent contradictions that could unmake divine authority?"
Orwyn paused in his note-taking, thoughtful. "Some watchers do believe Epitaphs can wound the cosmic order." He scribbled something. "If so, each Verse might challenge different levels of that hierarchy." He shrugged. "But the realm has endured, so perhaps the gods permit Epitaphs to exist for reasons unknown."
Lillian gently poked the fire with a stick. "We're dealing with forces beyond mortal comprehension." She gave Xion a soft look. "But you're still you, no matter the cosmic puzzle." She set her staff aside, eyes determined. "We'll unravel illusions, watchers, or even devourer shrines if we must, to keep you from losing yourself."
He smiled gratefully. Yes, no matter how many Verses lay ahead, he would cling to his identity. The starry sky seemed to watch silently, indifferent or curious. The realm's tapestry might be shaped by gods or illusions, but Xion believed in forging his own thread.
Orwyn yawned, setting aside his notes. "We should rest. The desert's rumored to be harsh." He gestured to the horizon. "Days of travel lie ahead."
They agreed, each settling on a bedroll near the fire. As Xion closed his eyes, a swirl of images flickered in his mind: the watchers' enclave, the Marsh illusions, the dais that measured his Verse, and the phantom shapes that whispered "Verse... Verse..." He drifted to sleep, resolved to face whatever trials came next. The Marsh had given him knowledge of Epitaph Verses. Now he would test that knowledge in the days to come.
---
Dawn broke, painting the horizon with soft pink and orange hues. Xion woke to the smell of dew on the grass, the gentle hush of the plains. Lillian was already awake, preparing a simple breakfast from their supplies. Orwyn stretched, bleary-eyed but eager.
"So," Orwyn said, adjusting his spectacles. "We head west, into uncharted territory." He offered a faint smile. "I can't wait to see what illusions or possible Ayakashi lore we uncover." Then his gaze flicked to Xion. "And hopefully, a path to manage your Verses."
Xion nodded, shoulders heavy with anticipation. "Yes." He rose, rolling up his bedroll. He was an Epitaph bearer at Verse One, with the potential to ascend to Four or Five. The watchers' notes, Etherion's device, and now Orwyn's confirmation left no doubt. He carried a cosmic paradox that might devour him if triggered. But he refused to be a victim.*
Lillian met his eyes, sharing a confident nod. They would stand together, forging onward. The illusions might intensify, watchers might appear, devourer instincts might stir, but they had knowledge and a shared purpose. And that, Xion thought, was more than he'd had when this journey began in Veluria.
They doused the campfire, shouldered their packs, and turned west. The wind ruffled the tall grass, the sun climbing over their shoulders. The desert awaited, the House of Ayakashi illusions beckoned, and somewhere in the distance, watchers or devourers might lurk. Yet Xion stepped forward unafraid, for knowledge was the first Verse of power—and he would write the rest of his Epitaph's poem on his own terms.