In the years since, people have asked me when the war truly began.
They expect me to say it was the day HelixCorp struck the caravan.
Or the day Ulgrath'Ma showed itself to the sky.
They are wrong.
The war began when we sat in a circle and chose who would walk back into the fire.
The war council was not announced.
It did not need to be.
Grief had already gathered us.
We met beneath a canopy of woven branches and spirit-lanterns dimmed low out of respect for the dead. Elders sat beside fighters. Parents beside children old enough to understand that silence can be louder than screaming.
The wounded rested nearby, watched over by healers whose hands shook only when they stopped moving.
I stood when the murmuring faded.
I remember thinking, briefly, that I did not look like someone who should be believed.
Then the Echo stirred.
"I will not dress this in hope," I said. "Hope gets people killed."
A few nods. No objections.
"HelixCorp took our children because they believe Eden can be harvested without consequence," I continued. "They are wrong. But Ulgrath'Ma does not care about right or wrong. It cares about light."
Mara folded her hands. "You believe you can turn that against them."
"Yes," I said. "But not by force. By misdirection."
Elias stepped forward then, eyes bright despite exhaustion.
"I've been thinking since the attack," he said. "About your Echo dives. About how Ulgrath'Ma sees."
He knelt, sketching shapes into the soil — spirals, fractures, converging lines.
"It doesn't track bodies," he said. "It tracks resonance. Presence. Significance. If Kailen can dive deep enough into the Echo, I can anchor that signal to a device. We won't blind Ulgrath'Ma."
He looked up slowly.
"We'll lie to it."
A ripple went through the circle.
"Redirect its attention," Zara said. "Make HelixCorp the brightest thing in its world."
"Exactly," Elias replied. "We give it a star to follow."
Silence followed — heavy, thoughtful.
Finally, Mara spoke. "How many?"
I did not answer immediately.
Because saying the number made it real.
"Ten," I said at last. "No more. No less."
No one argued.
Because they already knew who would be chosen.
The device took a full day and most of a night.
We built it away from the camp, deep enough that if it failed, it would only take us with it. Eden watched closely as we worked — roots curling nearer, spirits clustering like curious birds.
Elias led with steady hands and faster thoughts. The core was HelixCorp tech scavenged from the caravan attack, stripped of its cruelty and repurposed with stubborn ingenuity.
"This thing used to cage light," he muttered. "Now it's going to sing."
Orion helped without being asked.
He moved with quiet focus, summoning small spirit-constructs to hold pieces in place, to cool overheated components, to guide delicate alignments that human hands could not manage alone.
Amu sat beside him, legs crossed, palms open, breathing slow and deep.
The girl's presence stabilized the space around us. Where emotions spiked, they softened. Where frustration flared, it dimmed.
I realized then that Amu was not draining chaos anymore.
She was teaching it how to rest.
When the frame was complete, Elias gestured for me to step forward.
"This is the part I can't do," he said.
I placed my hands on the device.
It was warm. Alive in a way machines should not be.
"Don't go too far," Zara warned quietly.
I nodded.
And dove.
The Echo opened like an ocean remembering it had once been sky.
I did not sink as deep as before. I could not afford to. I found the current Ulgrath'Ma had left behind, a vast, hateful wake carved through resonance itself, and touched it.
Elias anchored the connection.
The device screamed once — a high, crystalline note — then settled into a low, steady hum.
Orion gasped.
"It's… beautiful," he whispered. "Like a fake star."
Elias laughed shakily. "A convincing one."
I stepped back, dizzy, blood at my nose.
"Good," I said. "Now let's hope it lies better than we do."
The third day was for farewells.
Those are never efficient.
Zara embraced Mara without words. Two leaders acknowledging that one might not return.
The healer, Sela, pressed her forehead to her partner's and whispered promises neither of them believed.
The water mage, Neris, laughed too loudly as she hugged her younger brother. "Don't steal my boots," she told him. "I'll know."
The earth mage, Tovan, knelt and placed his palm against the soil, murmuring thanks as if Eden itself were a parent seeing him off.
The three rangers — survivors of the FOB — checked their weapons in silence. They did not say goodbye to anyone. They had already done that once.
Orion stood apart until Amu stepped forward.
They did not hug.
They leaned their foreheads together, breathing in sync.
"Bring them back," Amu whispered.
Orion nodded. "All of them."
Then she looked at me.
"Don't you dare turn into a legend," she said fiercely. "I hate legends."
I smiled. "I'll do my best to disappoint you."
When it was time, Orion closed his eyes.
The ground shimmered.
Spirit horses emerged — ten of them — each shaped subtly to its rider. Some broader, some sleeker, some calm as stone, others vibrating with barely restrained motion.
They bowed their heads as one.
We mounted.
The camp stood watching, friends, lovers, children, elders, all waving, all pretending this was not a farewell.
As we rode out, I did not look back.
I had already memorized their faces.
The spirit horses carried us silently into Eden's depths, hooves never touching the ground.
Behind us, the device began to hum louder.
Ahead of us, HelixCorp waited.
And somewhere beyond sight, Ulgrath'Ma lifted its head — and turned, curious, toward a light that did not exist.
That was the moment the lie took hold.
And the moment there was no turning back.