Saying goodbye proved harder than Jack had anticipated. He stood in the pre-dawn gloom of the small dwelling that had been Tarkhan's home, watching Anya methodically pack a travel satchel with dried provisions, medicinal herbs, and a small pouch of copper coins—savings from years of careful frugality.
"You knew this would happen," he said softly, observing her practiced movements. "You've been preparing for this moment."
Anya's weathered hands paused briefly before continuing their work. "A grandmother knows her grandson, even when he returns with another soul behind his eyes."
She secured the satchel with a leather strap and handed it to him. "Jaro's research was never meant to gather dust beneath floorboards. It needed the right mind—perhaps one not bound by our world's conventions."
Jack felt a tightness in his throat. This woman had protected Tarkhan, had preserved dangerous knowledge at great personal risk, and now she was sending them both away without complaint.
"I'll return when I can," he promised.
"No." Her response was gentle but firm.
"The path you walk leads away from Eastward Hope, not back to it. This settlement has served its purpose in your journey."
She pressed a small wooden box into his hands. "The last of the heartwood extract. Enough for perhaps three months of cultivation support. Use it wisely."
Jack accepted the precious gift, knowing what it had cost her to acquire it. "What will you tell the village about my absence?"
A sly smile crossed her face, momentarily transforming her from careworn grandmother to cunning survivor.
"That the Overseer's assessment identified latent talent and you've been sent to a training facility. No one questions when young people disappear after imperial visits."
The bitter truth of this statement hung between them.
How many families had received similar explanations when children vanished?
How many believed the comforting lie that their loved ones were receiving opportunities rather than being exploited?
"Grandmother—" Jack began, but Anya raised a hand to silence him.
"No grand declarations. They invite misfortune." She straightened his collar with familiar affection.
"Just remember what I taught Tarkhan: healing is not merely about curing ailments, but about restoring balance. Perhaps that wisdom serves your harmonious cultivation as well."
She pressed her palm to his chest, just above the crystal pendant. "This world has fallen out of balance, child. The Conclave hoards knowledge that should flow freely. They cultivate power that should nurture rather than dominate."
Her eyes, despite her age, burned with unexpected intensity. "Your father understood this. Now the task falls to you."
With surprising strength, she drew him into an embrace. "Now go. The eastern trail marker. Your warrior woman awaits, no doubt growing impatient."
Jack smiled despite himself. "You knew about that too?"
"These old eyes see more than most realize." She released him, making shooing motions toward the door.
"Dawn approaches. In matters of rebellion, punctuality is a virtue."
With one last look at the humble dwelling, Jack stepped into the lingering darkness of early morning. The settlement slumbered around him, only the occasional rooster announcing the coming day.
He moved silently through familiar pathways, Tarkhan's memories guiding his steps even as Jack's strategic mind calculated risks and contingencies.
At the eastern boundary, where a weathered stone marker indicated the trail toward Settlement Seventeen, a shadow detached itself from the deeper darkness of the tree line.
Lyra wore practical traveling clothes now—leather reinforced with light metal plates at vital points, her silver-streaked hair confined beneath a hood. Two packs rested at her feet alongside her weapons.
"You came," she observed, a hint of approval in her tone.
"Did you doubt I would?"
"Many have second thoughts when morning brings reality to night's decisions." She handed him one of the packs.
"Provisions, basic tools, a bedroll. The essentials for frontier travel."
Jack shouldered the pack, adjusting the weight distribution with practiced movements that surprised his companion.
"You've traveled rough terrain before," she noted.
"In another life," he replied truthfully, the memories of weekend hiking in Yosemite overlapping with Tarkhan's limited experiences beyond the settlement.
Lyra studied him for a moment but asked no further questions. Instead, she pointed eastward, where the first pale light heralded dawn.
"We should reach the riverside trading post by midday. From there, we can follow the water route north before turning east again. Less chance of encountering imperial patrols."
Jack nodded, taking a final glance back at Eastward Hope. The settlement was beginning to stir, thin columns of smoke rising from morning hearth fires.
Somewhere among those humble dwellings, Anya would be going about her day, maintaining the fiction of normalcy while her grandson vanished into legend or obscurity.
"She'll be safer without your presence drawing attention," Lyra said, correctly interpreting his hesitation. "The Diviner's interest in you was obvious to anyone watching carefully."
"I know." Jack turned away from the settlement, facing the wilderness beyond. "Let's go."
They set a brisk pace as dawn broke fully across the landscape, revealing a world that took Jack's breath away despite Tarkhan's familiarity with it.
Unlike Earth's carefully mapped and conquered wilderness, this frontier felt primal—alive with possibilities and dangers in equal measure. Ancient trees towered alongside species he couldn't begin to classify, their trunks spiraling in mathematically improbable patterns.
Luminescent fungi clung to shadowed hollows. Creatures chittered and called from the undergrowth, some with voices unnervingly close to human.
After an hour of steady hiking, Lyra broke the companionable silence. "You should tell me the truth of who you are."
Jack nearly stumbled. "What do you mean?"
She didn't break stride or turn to look at him. "I've trained with elite imperial guards for two decades. I can read body language like scholars read text."
"Your movements, your reactions—they're not consistent with your history. You're Tarkhan Lavenius, yes, but you're someone else too."
The pendant warmed against Jack's chest—not as a warning, but as reassurance. The matrix required trust to function properly.
"If I told you my consciousness came from another world entirely, merged with Tarkhan's during his fever, would you believe me?"
"Ancient Transmigration," Lyra said without hesitation or disbelief.
"There are records in the Imperial Archives of similar occurrences throughout history. Usually during periods of great change or need."
Jack's surprise must have been evident, for she continued: "The Guard's training includes study of all potential threats to imperial stability. Transmigrated souls are rare but significant because they introduce unpredictable knowledge and perspectives."
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "They're considered particularly dangerous to established order."
"And that doesn't concern you? Walking alongside such a 'threat'?"
"I served the established order for twenty years and was discarded like waste when no longer useful." The bitterness in her voice was controlled but unmistakable.
"Perhaps a threat to that system is exactly what I've been seeking."
They continued in silence for another mile, the terrain gradually sloping downward toward what Tarkhan's memories identified as the Serpentine River—a major trade artery connecting the scattered frontier settlements.
"My name was Jack Morrison," he finally said. "I was a software engineer—someone who built thinking systems using logic and mathematics. I died in an accident and awoke in Tarkhan's body during his fever."
Lyra nodded, absorbing this information. "That explains your analytical approach to cultivation. You see patterns where others see only chaos or corruption."
"My professional life was spent finding order in massive amounts of data," Jack confirmed.
"Cultivation energy flows according to principles not unlike algorithms—rule-based systems that can be understood and modified if you can identify the underlying logic."
"And that's why you can implement Jaro's theories when others failed," Lyra concluded. "You're not constrained by conventional cultivation doctrine."
Their path crested a small rise, revealing the glittering ribbon of the Serpentine River below. Nestled at a bend in the waterway was a collection of structures—the trading post Lyra had mentioned.
From this distance, Jack could make out docked river boats, storage buildings, and the bustle of commerce.
Lyra held up a hand, signaling a halt. "Before we descend, there's something you should know about Settlement Seventeen and our potential recruit."
Jack waited, sensing the importance of whatever she was about to reveal.
"The scholar I mentioned—his name is Verik Solem. He was once a promising academic at the Imperial College of Celestial Mechanics before being expelled for heretical theories concerning the twin moons' influence on cultivation energy." She pointed skyward, where the pale ghosts of both moons were still visible in the morning sky.
"Conventional doctrine holds that moonlight is merely reflected sunlight with minimal cultivation significance. Verik proposed that the moons generate their own energy frequencies that can dramatically enhance cultivation when properly aligned."
"And the Conclave rejected this because it threatened their control over advancement," Jack surmised.
"Precisely. If cultivation could be accelerated through freely available moonlight rather than closely guarded techniques and resources..." She left the implication hanging.
"What makes you think he'd join us?"
"Three reasons," Lyra replied methodically.
"First, his theories complement your father's research on harmonious energies."
"Second, he's reportedly constructed devices to capture and store lunar cultivation energy—technology that would be invaluable to our efforts. And third—" she hesitated, "—he's half-Vexari."
Jack accessed Tarkhan's memories for context. The Vexari were a non-human race that maintained an uneasy peace with the Elthas Kingdom.
Humanoid but distinctive with their pale blue skin and four-fingered hands, they possessed natural cultivation abilities that humans could only achieve through rigorous training.
"A half-Vexari scholar," Jack mused. "No wonder the Imperial College found reason to expel him, regardless of his theories."
"The Conclave tolerates no challenges to human supremacy in cultivation matters," Lyra confirmed.
"Verik's mixed heritage alone made his academic success threatening to many pure-blooded cultivators."
Jack fingered the crystal pendant, which had remained inert since their departure from Eastward Hope. "Do you believe he's matrix-compatible?"
"We won't know until you're in proximity. But if he is—" Lyra's eyes gleamed with strategic calculation, "—his knowledge of lunar energy could provide a cultivation advantage the Conclave won't anticipate."
They began their descent toward the trading post, the morning sun warming their backs. Jack felt a curious mix of trepidation and anticipation.
Each step took him further from Tarkhan's past and deeper into a future neither Jack Morrison nor Tarkhan Lavenius could have imagined individually.
The trading post grew larger as they approached, revealing its cosmopolitan nature. Unlike the homogeneous population of Eastward Hope, this riverside hub hosted a diverse array of traders, travelers, and frontier entrepreneurs.
Jack spotted broad-shouldered Northlanders with elaborate braids, olive-skinned Desert Confederacy merchants in flowing robes, and even a cluster of Vexari traders, their blue skin distinctive among the human crowds.
"We should blend in here," Lyra murmured as they joined the flow of traffic on the main approach.
"Just another pair of travelers passing through. We'll resupply, gather information, and depart with the afternoon river barge heading north."
Jack nodded, though he found himself scanning the crowds with growing interest as they entered the settlement proper.
The scents of unfamiliar foods, the cadence of different dialects, the architecture that borrowed from multiple cultural influences—all of it appealed to both Jack's curiosity about this new world and Tarkhan's sheltered perspective.
They were navigating through a particularly crowded market section when the pendant abruptly flared with heat against Jack's chest. He stopped so suddenly that a trader behind him cursed in an unfamiliar language.
"What is it?" Lyra asked, instantly alert.
"The pendant," Jack whispered. "It's reacting. Strongly."
Lyra's hand moved casually to her weapon. "Verik isn't supposed to be here. This is unexpected."
Jack turned slowly, trying to identify the source of the resonance. The pendant grew warmer as his gaze settled on a covered stall near the river's edge, where a slender figure in a hooded cloak was examining what appeared to be astronomical instruments.
"There," he murmured.
Together, they approached the stall with practiced nonchalance. As they drew nearer, Jack could see that the browsing customer was indeed Vexari, or at least partly so—blue-tinged skin a shade paler than the full-blooded traders he'd observed earlier.
The pendant's pulsing intensified, becoming almost uncomfortable against his skin. There was no doubt—this was their second potential matrix member, encountered far earlier than anticipated.
"Excuse me," Jack said, stepping forward. "I couldn't help noticing your interest in astronomical devices."
The figure stiffened, face still shadowed by the hood. "Mere curiosity," came the reply—a voice cultured and precise, with the barest hint of an accent. "One finds so few quality instruments in the frontier markets."
Jack reached for the pendant, drawing it from beneath his shirt. The crystal gleamed in the sunlight, pulsing visibly now with inner light. "Perhaps we share more than casual interest in the heavens."
The hooded figure went perfectly still, eyes—a startling violet—fixed on the crystal. Then, with deliberate care, he set down the brass instrument he'd been examining.
"Jaro's design," he said softly. "I never thought to see it completed."
Jack exchanged a quick glance with Lyra before responding. "You knew my father?"
A bitter laugh escaped the hooded man. "Knew him? I helped him formulate the initial theorems on harmonic cultivation matrices."
He pushed back his hood, revealing close-cropped silver hair that contrasted sharply with his youthful face. The distinctive Vexari features were subtle but unmistakable—slightly pointed ears, angular cheekbones, and those remarkable violet eyes.
"Verik Solem," he introduced himself with a slight bow.
"Former Imperial College researcher, current political exile, and apparently—"
he nodded toward the pulsing crystal, "—a harmonic match for whatever matrix you're assembling, Tarkhan Lavenius."
Before Jack could respond, shouts erupted from the settlement's northern entrance. Imperial guards—not the local variety, but elite units in distinctive crimson armor—were fanning out through the market, methodically checking identification papers.
"Imperial inspectors," Lyra hissed. "They shouldn't be this far into the frontier without prior notification."
Verik's expression darkened. "They're not here by chance. Word must have reached the capital about your activities in Eastward Hope."
He glanced toward the river. "The afternoon barge won't depart for hours."
"We need an alternative," Jack said, mind racing through possibilities.
A slow smile spread across Verik's face, revealing slightly pointed canines—another Vexari trait. "Fortunately, I have transportation that doesn't adhere to imperial schedules."
He gestured for them to follow. "Quickly now. I believe we have much to discuss about harmonious matrices and the future of cultivation—assuming we avoid arrest in the next few minutes."
As imperial shouts grew closer, the unlikely trio slipped away from the market and toward what promised to be either salvation or a trap—with Jack's newly forming matrix hanging in the balance.