Weaves of Ashes

Chapter 27: Chapter 22: Fractured Whole

Location: Starforge Nexus - The Luminari Pavilion | Dimensional Space

Time: Hours after the library explosion

Waking felt wrong.

Not the pain—Jayde expected that, catalogued it automatically: ribs aching dully, head throbbing, muscles stiff from unconsciousness. Federation training had taught her to inventory damage before opening her eyes, assess threats, plan extraction.

But this? This was different.

Crowded.

Her own head felt—crowded. Like someone else was in there, breathing too close, thoughts tangling with hers. A presence, distinct and terrified, pressing against her consciousness like a hand against glass.

(Where—where am I? What’s happening? Why can’t I move?!)

The voice wasn’t hers. But it was. High-pitched, panicked, young—everything Jayde’s tactical mind wasn’t. And yet she felt it, not as sound but as sensation, fear flooding her veins like ice water.

Incorrect. Analyze the situation. Assess—

(I’m trapped! Can’t breathe, can’t—)

STOP. Jayde’s thought cut through the panic like a blade. You’re hyperventilating. Control your breathing. Four counts in, hold, four counts out.

A pause. Then, tentatively: (Who... who are you?)

The question should’ve been ridiculous. But Jayde felt the tremor behind it, the genuine confusion and terror, and something cold settled in her gut.

Jade?

(Yes? How do you know my name? Why are you in my head?!)

Because apparently, Jayde thought grimly, we’re sharing it.

She opened her eyes.

White. Everything was white—walls, floor, ceiling bleeding together in seamless perfection that hurt to look at. Not the sterile white of Federation med-bays with their harsh lighting and chemical stench, but something softer. Warmer. The air itself seemed to glow, sourceless light filling the space.

(It’s so bright. Too bright. Where are we?)

Jayde pushed herself upright—their body responding to her will, small hands pressing against smooth floor that felt neither warm nor cold. The movement came easier than it should’ve, muscles obeying despite exhaustion.

Healed. Someone had healed the explosion damage. Recently.

”Hello, Jayde.”

She spun, body dropping into a crouch automatically—Federation combat stance, weight balanced, ready to move. Her eyes locked on the figure standing in the center of the room.

Tall. Male. And decidedly not human.

Feline features beneath a veneer of humanoid structure—elongated pupils in emerald eyes that caught the light like gems, pointed ears twitching slightly, hair in swirling patterns of brown and cream and grey that looked almost like fur. His face held an elegant, predatory cast, cheekbones sharp enough to cut.

(Pretty...) Jade’s thought whispered through their shared consciousness, tinged with awe.

Alien, Jayde corrected coldly. Non-human entity. Unknown capabilities. Treat as threat until proven otherwise.

”There’s no need for alarm,” the being said, his voice smooth and cultured. He cupped his hands and bowed slightly, the gesture formal. ”I mean you no harm.”

”Where’s Jade?” The words came out harsher than intended, this child’s voice too high and scared to carry proper authority. ”What did you do to her?”

The being’s emerald eyes crinkled slightly—amusement? ”Jade is right here. You’re speaking to her now.”

(I’m here! I’m here, I’m—wait, what does he mean?)

Jayde felt ice crawl down her spine. No. That’s not—

”Allow me to introduce myself properly,” the being continued, his tail—she could see it now, swaying behind him—flicking once. ”I am Isha-uah-ankh-antef-munkh, Guide of the Starforge Nexus. But you may call me Isha.”

Isha. The name clicked. The voice from after the explosion. The one who’d healed her.

(He helped us. He saved us. Why are you looking at him like that?)

Because in my experience, Jayde thought grimly, no one helps for free.

”Welcome to the Starforge Nexus,” Isha gestured around the white room. ”Or more specifically, the Luminari Pavilion—your contracted space within the artifact.”

Contracted. Soul-bound. The Divine Tome had dissolved into golden light, and she’d felt it sink into her chest like hooks through bone.

Trapped, something whispered. Another cage. Just prettier than the last.

”I appreciate the hospitality,” Jayde said carefully, still not standing from her crouch. ”But I’m going to need some explanations. Starting with what you meant by ’Jade is right here.’”

Isha’s expression shifted—something almost like compassion crossing those alien features. ”Perhaps you should sit. This conversation will be... difficult.”

”I’m fine standing.”

(Please, can we just listen? My legs hurt.)

Your legs— Jayde stopped. Their legs. One body. Two... what? Minds? Souls?

”Very well.” Isha settled himself cross-legged on the floor in a single fluid motion, tail curling around him. ”Then I’ll be direct. You asked where Jade is. The answer is simple: you’re Jade. And Jade is you.”

Silence.

(That doesn’t make sense,) Jade whispered. (I’m me. She’s her. We’re different people!)

”Explain,” Jayde demanded.

Isha’s ears flicked once. ”When Shyenho gave birth to you fifteen years ago, something happened. Forbidden magic—a curse, ancient and powerful—activated the moment you drew breath.”

Cursed. The word landed like a stone. Before I was even born?

”Your soul was shattered,” Isha continued quietly. ”Torn apart by forces that should have killed you instantly. One fragment remained in the infant’s body—Jade, as she’s known on Doha. Another fragment... crossed dimensions.”

(No,) Jade’s thought came small and terrified. (No, that’s not—)

”The Federation,” Jayde heard herself say. Flat. Cold. Already seeing the pattern.

”Yes.” Isha’s emerald eyes held something like pity. ”You lived two lives simultaneously. Jade on Doha, suffering in the pits. Jayde in the Federation, engineered and enslaved. The same soul, experiencing parallel hells.”

Sixty years. The number felt hollow. Sixty years of Federation slavery. Fifteen years in the pits. All because—

”Who?” Her voice cracked—this child’s vocal cords not built for the rage trying to claw its way out. ”Who cursed me?”

”I don’t know.”

Liar.

The thought must’ve shown on her face because Isha’s ears flattened slightly. ”I tell you the truth, Jayde. Whoever laid that curse did so with immense power and careful planning. They covered their tracks well.”

”But you have suspicions.”

A pause. ”Yes.”

”And you’re not going to share them.”

”Not yet. Not until I’m certain.”

(He’s trying to protect us,) Jade whispered. (Can’t you feel it? He’s—)

Manipulating us, Jayde finished coldly. Classic technique. Dole out information slowly, keep the target dependent. I’ve seen this before.

”I understand your mistrust,” Isha said gently. ”Lawrence taught you well.”

Jayde’s blood went cold. ”Stay out of my memories.”

”I cannot. The soul contract grants me access—it’s how I understand you, how I can guide you properly. But I take no joy in your pain, Jayde. Your memories...” His voice softened. ”Sixty years of betrayal. I’m sorry.”

Sorry doesn’t unkill people. Sorry doesn’t unbreak trust.

”Fine.” Jayde forced her muscles to relax slightly, still ready to bolt. ”So Jade and I are fragments of the same soul. What does that mean? Are we supposed to merge? Become one person?”

(No!) Jade’s panic spiked sharp. (I don’t want to disappear! I don’t want to—)

Calm down. Jayde pushed the thought out firmly. Panicking won’t help.

(Easy for you to say! You’re stronger, older, you’ll be the one who stays and I’ll just—)

We don’t know that.

”Your fear is understandable,” Isha interjected smoothly. ”But premature. You’re not ready to merge—neither of you is. You’re incomplete.”

Jayde’s tactical mind latched onto that. ”Incomplete how?”

”There are other fragments. Scattered when your soul shattered. I don’t know how many—three, perhaps five. They’re lost across dimensions, hidden in places I cannot yet see.”

More pieces. Her mind spun, calculating. More versions of me, living gods-know-where, experiencing gods-know-what.

”As you grow stronger,” Isha continued, ”you’ll need to find them. Reintegrate them. Each piece will make you more whole, more stable. Eventually...” He spread his hands. ”You’ll become what you were meant to be.”

”Which is?”

”Powerful.” Isha’s emerald eyes gleamed. ”Immensely powerful. But that’s all I can say.”

He’s hiding something. Of course he was. They always did. ”And if we don’t find them?”

”You’ll remain fractured. Unstable. The seal on your Crucible Core—”

”Wait.” Jayde straightened. ”Seal? I’m Voidforge. I don’t have a core.”

”You’re not Voidforge.” Isha’s voice carried absolute certainty. ”You never were. Your Crucible Core exists—intact, undamaged. But it’s sealed.”

(We’re not broken?) Hope flickered through Jade’s consciousness. (I’m not... defective?)

”Sealed by whom?” Jayde demanded. ”The same person who cursed me?”

”No. Someone else intervened—someone very powerful. They stabilized your shattered soul after the curse, held you together long enough to survive. But your divine talent...” Isha’s tail lashed once. ”It was too strong. A fractured soul couldn’t handle it. You would’ve burned out at your Kindling Day, destroyed yourself from within.”

Divine talent. Another piece of information carefully parceled out. What am I?

”So they sealed your core in layers,” Isha continued. ”Each layer protects you, keeps your power manageable. As you collect your fragments, as your soul strengthens, you’ll be able to unlock them safely. One by one.”

”Convenient,” Jayde said flatly. ”Very convenient. Mystery curse, mystery savior, mystery power. And you want me to just... what? Thank you? Trust you? Go hunting for soul fragments like a good little puppet?”

(He’s not trying to hurt us!)

Yet, Jayde amended. He’s not trying to hurt us yet.

Isha sighed, the sound very human despite his alien features. ”I expected suspicion. Given your history, it would be foolish not to question me.”

”How do I know YOU didn’t curse me?” The accusation came sharp. ”Soul-bound artifacts need hosts, right? Maybe you shattered me yourself. Perfect cover—play savior, bind me while I’m desperate.”

”I did not curse you.”

”Prove it.”

”I cannot.” Isha’s ears flattened. ”Not with words. In time, perhaps, you’ll see my intentions are genuine. But I understand if that time is long in coming.”

Lawrence smiled for sixty years. The memory burned. Called me sister. Planned my death every single day.

”Here’s what I know,” Jayde said coldly. ”Someone cursed me before I was born. Someone wanted me dead badly enough to shatter my soul across dimensions. I’ve suffered for seventy-five combined years because of it.” Her hands—Jade’s small hands—clenched into fists. ”Every scar, every betrayal, every moment of hell—their fault.”

(They hurt us,) Jade whispered, and her rage matched Jayde’s. (Made us slaves. Hurt us. Hurt us SO MUCH.)

”I’m going to find them,” Jayde continued, her voice dropping to something cold and precise. ”And when I do, I’m going to make them pay for every. Single. Moment.”

Isha watched her with those emerald eyes. ”Then we want the same thing. Your enemy is my enemy, Jayde. I’ll help you grow strong enough to face them.”

”Why? What do you get out of this?”

”My purpose. I was created to guide contractors to their full potential. Your success is mine.” He leaned forward slightly. ”And perhaps... redemption. My last contractor failed. Catastrophically. I wish to see you succeed where they did not.”

Truth, maybe. Or another lie wrapped in pretty words.

”I don’t trust you,” Jayde said bluntly. ”I don’t believe half of what you’ve said. But I need to unlock this core. I need to get stronger.” She forced herself to stand fully, this child’s body too small to be imposing but trying anyway. ”So I’ll cooperate. For now. But cross me—manipulate me, lie to me, try to control me—and I’ll find a way to break this contract. I don’t care what it costs.”

(That’s harsh,) Jade whispered. (He helped us...)

And Lawrence helped me for sixty years before trying to kill me, Jayde shot back. Trust is earned. Not given.

Isha rose as well, towering over her small form. But his expression held something like approval. ”That’s all I ask. Cooperation. Perhaps, in time, trust will follow.”

(He means it. I can feel it—like warmth in my chest. He’s not lying about wanting to help.)

Feelings lie, Jayde thought grimly. Tactical analysis doesn’t. We watch him. Learn from him. Use him if we must. But we never, ever—

Pain.

Sudden, searing, like her chest was tearing apart from the inside. Jayde gasped, knees buckling, small hands clutching at her ribcage as if she could hold herself together through skin and bone.

(What’s happening?! It hurts, it HURTS—)

”Jayde!” Isha was there instantly, hands hovering but not touching. ”Your fragments—they’re destabilizing! You’re rejecting each other!”

(I don’t understand, I don’t—)

The stress, Jayde managed to think through the agony. The revelation, the argument, our fear—we’re fighting ourselves.

”You must calm!” Isha’s voice cut through sharp with command. ”Both of you! You’re one soul trying to tear itself in two directions! If you don’t synchronize—”

But Jade’s terror was a tidal wave, drowning rational thought. (I don’t want to die again! I can’t, I can’t—)

You’re not dying, Jayde tried to project calm, tried to think past the pain splitting her skull. We’re not dying, we just need to—

(Everything’s ending, it’s all falling apart, I’m falling—)

”JADE!” Jayde shouted aloud, and somehow that worked better than thoughts. ”Listen to my voice! Count with me! Four counts in—”

(Can’t breathe—)

”YES YOU CAN! Four counts! NOW!” Command voice, the one she’d used on terrified recruits. ”In—two—three—four! Hold—two—three—four!”

(I—I’m trying—)

”Out—two—three—four! Again! In—two—three—four!”

Slowly, agonizingly, the panic receded. Their shared breathing synchronized. The tearing sensation eased, still present but no longer catastrophic.

(Together,) Jade whispered. (We have to do it together.)

Yes, Jayde agreed grimly. Together. Or not at all.

”Remarkable,” Isha breathed. ”You stabilized yourselves. Most fragments require external intervention for months before they can—” He stopped. ”But you’re exhausted. This is enough for today.”

Jayde wanted to argue. Wanted answers about the core, about training, about everything. But darkness was already pulling at her vision, this small body pushed past its limits.

(Sleep,) Jade murmured. (We can fight tomorrow. Rest now.)

Agreed, Jayde thought. Then, surprising herself: We survived this. We’ll survive the rest.

(Together?)

Together.

As consciousness faded, Jayde felt Isha’s hands—warm, furred, surprisingly gentle—lowering their body to the white floor. His voice followed her down into darkness:

”Rest, little phoenix. When you wake, your training begins.”