The other side of Reincarnation

What follows, again, is something I only pieced together much later — the Church’s own account of what its knights found, or didn’t find, at the edge of my domain.

　Seraphiel led the four of them into the region on foot, deliberately avoiding the main roads that had carried both lost units to their ends — a cautious approach, born of decades of quiet, effective service rather than any dramatic instinct for heroics.

　”The reports mentioned unmappable terrain somewhere in this stretch,” Cassian said, consulting a set of notes that had grown steadily less useful the closer they’d traveled. ”My own compass has been behaving erratically since yesterday evening.”

　”Define erratically,” Aldric said, blunt as ever.

　”Spinning, occasionally. Pointing confidently in three different directions within the span of an hour. I’d call that erratic.”

This is where our patrols would find them, if they’d come much closer. This is the edge of my domain, whether they’ve fully realized it yet or not.

　Valerius, quietest of the four, was the one who actually spotted it first — a shimmer in the air, subtle enough that a less trained eye would have dismissed it as heat distortion or simple fatigue.

　”There,” he said, the first full sentence he’d offered in nearly an hour of travel. ”That’s not natural.”

　The other three followed his gaze, and Seraphiel’s expression sharpened into something considerably more alert than her earlier measured caution had shown.

　”A barrier,” she said. ”Deliberately constructed. Large-scale, given how far it seems to extend in either direction.”

　”Do we enter?” Aldric asked, already shifting his stance toward something more combat-ready.

　Seraphiel considered the question carefully, studying the barrier’s edge with the specific patience that had kept her alive through decades of exactly this kind of assessment.

　”No,” she said, finally. ”We have no knowledge of what constructed this, what it’s designed to do, or what waits beyond it. Entering blind, after already losing two full units to this exact region, would be reckless past the point of acceptable risk.”

　”High Priestess Selwyn specifically instructed information first,” Cassian added, in quiet agreement. ”This qualifies as information. We don’t need to breach it to report its existence.”

　”Agreed,” Seraphiel said. ”We observe. We document. We return with what we’ve learned, and let Selwyn decide the next step with proper context, rather than four knights making an irreversible decision alone, out here, with no support.”

　Valerius, still studying the barrier’s shimmer with quiet, careful attention, spoke again.

　”Whatever built this understood exactly what it was doing. This isn’t crude work. This is deliberate, sophisticated, and almost certainly maintained rather than simply cast once and abandoned.”

He’s not wrong.

Whoever eventually reads this report is going to understand, at minimum, that something out here knows precisely what it’s protecting.

　They spent the better part of a day cataloguing what they could observe from a careful, respectful distance — the barrier’s approximate scale, its subtle effect on instruments and direction alike, the specific quality of unease it produced in anyone who lingered too close without actually crossing it.

　”This is beyond our mandate,” Seraphiel said finally, as the light began to fade. ”We report back. Let Selwyn and the Church’s own scholars determine what this actually represents, and whether it connects to our lost units or to the broader anomaly activity she’s been tracking.”

　”Efficient,” Aldric said, sounding faintly disappointed, though he fell into step with the others regardless.

　”Efficient keeps us alive,” Seraphiel said, ”which I intend to remain, given how thoroughly this region has already claimed better-prepared parties than us.”

　They turned back the way they’d come, the four of them retreating from the edge of a domain none of them yet understood was mine, carrying nothing more than confirmation that something significant and deliberately hidden existed exactly where their institution’s lost people had vanished.

They don’t know yet.

They don’t know what it is, who built it, or what’s actually inside it.

But they know it’s real, now, and that’s not nothing.

Whatever Selwyn does with that information — that’s a thread I’ll need to keep watching, same as everything else.

Vahlreth and Skorne waiting somewhere north.

The Church, now genuinely curious about my own front door.