AWAKENING Book V: The Cartographer Of Nothing?ChainLink / TetherUSBINANCE:LINKUSDTuti682375Aid‑en Bray woke to cold earth and a ringing in his skull that didn’t belong to any timeline he recognized. No team. No satchel. No tools. No hum of fractured reality to guide him. Just wind. And the echo of his own breath. He pushed himself upright, blinking at the empty clearing. The last thing he remembered was the First Wave collapsing inward, a burst of white‑blue light, and the sensation of being peeled from the group like a sticker ripped off too fast. Now he was alone. Truly alone. He reached instinctively for his coat—its stitched‑timeline patches, its hidden pockets, its impossible geometry—but even that was gone. He wore only a plain shirt scorched at the edges, as if the universe had tried to erase him and only half‑succeeded. Aid‑en swallowed hard. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. Think.” But thinking hurt. Thinking reminded him of the Five Truths the Good Shepard had spoken—truths he wasn’t meant to hear all at once, truths that had cracked something inside him. They echoed now, faint but insistent, like a heartbeat under the soil. Truth One: You are not where you stand. Truth Two: You are not what you lost. Truth Three: You are not the fracture. Truth Four: You are the stitch. Truth Five: Rise anyway. He closed his eyes. Let the echoes settle. Let the fear burn itself out. When he opened them again, he wasn’t calm—but he was awake. Aid‑en Bray had always been a medic first, mechanic second, and a reluctant prophet somewhere in the margins. But stripped of everything, he realized something uncomfortable: He had never actually been alone before. He’d always had Dolan’s gruff certainty. Terry’s stubborn optimism. Bernie’s quiet calculations. Nollin’s wandering wisdom. Ginge’s wildfire spirit. Now he had none of them. But the Five Truths pulsed again, and Aid‑en felt something shift in his chest. Not comfort—purpose. He stood. “Alright,” he muttered. “If the universe wants me to rebuild from zero, then fine. I’ll start with zero.” He began pacing the clearing, mapping it with the precision of a man who had once stitched a collapsing timeline using only a broken compass and a prayer. He marked the wind direction. The soil density. The faint shimmer of residual energy where the First Wave had thrown him. Piece by piece, he built a plan. A way back to the team. A way to reinforce the timeline. A way to prepare for the Second Wave. He knelt and drew a rough diagram in the dirt—circles, vectors, sigils of physics and faith intertwined. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t even sane. But it was his. And when he finished, he exhaled. “That’s it,” he said softly. “That’s the path.” A twig snapped behind him. Aid‑en froze. Slowly, he turned. A silhouette stood at the edge of the clearing—blurred by dust, backlit by a faint glow. Aid‑en’s heart hammered. He didn’t know if it was friend, foe, or something in between. But then the figure stepped forward and extended a hand. In their palm lay his satchel. His tools. His coat of stitched timelines. Everything he thought the First Wave had taken forever. The voice was low, familiar, and impossibly steady. “You dropped these,” the figure said. “And we’re not done yet.” Aid‑en Bray felt the world tilt—not in fear, but in recognition.