Liora woke screaming.
The sound tore from her throat before she could stop it, sharp and raw, echoing off the walls of her small apartment. She bolted upright in bed, chest heaving, fingers clawing at the sheets as though she were still falling through the dream.
It took several seconds for reality to return.
The pale morning light crept through the curtains. The hum of distant traffic filtered in through the window. Her room—unchanged, familiar—slowly grounded her.
But the feeling did not leave.
Her heart was still racing, and beneath it all, deeper than fear, something stirred.
She pressed her palm to her chest.
The mark answered.
Not with pain this time, but with a soft, rhythmic pulse—like a second heartbeat that did not belong to her body.
"No," she whispered. "Please… not again."
The dream clung to her mind in fragments.
A spiral turning endlessly.
A field of ash beneath a broken sky.
Voices chanting in a language she did not know, yet somehow understood.
Bearer. Balance. Return.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, knees trembling. The floor felt colder than usual, grounding her just enough to keep panic at bay.
In the mirror, her reflection stared back—pale, wide-eyed, shaken.
But when she leaned closer, she saw it.
Not light.
Not fire.
Words.
Faint symbols shimmered beneath her skin, etched in lines too precise to be natural, curving along her collarbone like a hidden script written directly onto her soul.
She recoiled.
"I didn't agree to this," she said aloud, as if someone might be listening.
Someone was.
The air shifted behind her.
"You never do," Kaelen said quietly.
She spun around, heart leaping into her throat. He stood near the door as though he had always been there—silent, still, impossibly calm.
"How did you get in here?" she demanded.
"You opened the door."
"I didn't—"
"You did," he interrupted gently. "Just not with your hands."
Liora stared at him, her breath shallow. "You're saying I let you in without knowing it?"
"Yes."
"That's not comforting."
"No," he agreed. "It's dangerous."
She crossed her arms, trying to steady herself. "Then why are you here?"
Kaelen's gaze softened. "Because the voices have started."
Her blood ran cold. "You can hear them too?"
He shook his head. "No. But I know when they speak."
As if summoned by his words, a whisper slithered through the room—not loud, not clear, but intimate.
You are late, it murmured.
Liora clutched her head, staggering back. "Make it stop!"
Kaelen moved instantly, gripping her shoulders. His touch was cool but grounding, anchoring her to the present moment.
"Focus on me," he said firmly. "The voices feed on panic."
"They're inside me," she cried. "I can feel them crawling under my skin."
"That's because they're not voices," he said. "They're memories."
She froze. "Whose memories?"
Kaelen hesitated—just long enough to tell her the truth would hurt.
"Yours," he said at last. "Just not from this lifetime."
He took her to the old sanctuary at the edge of the city.
It had once been a place of prayer, long before modern buildings swallowed it whole. Now it stood half-forgotten, its stone walls cracked, ivy creeping through broken windows.
The moment Liora stepped inside, the air thickened.
The mark pulsed harder.
Her breath caught. "This place feels… heavy."
"It remembers," Kaelen replied. "Like you do."
Candles lined the floor in a wide circle, their flames flickering though there was no wind. Symbols were carved into the stone—spirals, eyes, and broken lines that made her skin prickle.
"What is this place?" she asked.
"A threshold," he said. "Between what was and what will be."
She swallowed. "And why am I here?"
Kaelen turned to face her fully. His silver eyes searched her face, as though measuring her strength.
"Because if you don't learn to listen," he said, "the voices will tear you apart."
Her pulse thundered in her ears. "Then teach me."
He nodded once. "Sit."
She lowered herself to the center of the circle, the cold stone seeping through her clothes. Kaelen knelt opposite her, placing his hands palm-up on his knees.
"Close your eyes," he instructed. "Do not fight what comes. Observe it."
"I don't like this," she muttered.
"Neither do I," he said. "But the Spiral rarely asks permission."
She closed her eyes.
At first, there was only darkness.
Then warmth spread through her chest, unfurling outward like golden threads. The mark awakened fully, light spilling behind her eyelids.
Images flooded her mind.
A woman standing before a crowd, her chest glowing with the same symbol.
Hands raised in reverence—and in fear.
Fire consuming a city as the Spiral burned brighter than the sun.
Liora gasped, tears streaming down her face.
"I've seen this," she whispered. "I've been her."
"Yes," Kaelen said quietly.
"She caused it," Liora sobbed. "All of it. The destruction."
"No," he corrected. "She prevented worse."
The vision shifted.
The woman collapsed, light fading from her body as the world was spared—at the cost of her life.
The voices returned, louder now.
Bearer. Balance. End.
Liora screamed as the weight of it crashed down on her.
Kaelen surged forward, gripping her hands. "Enough!"
The light snapped back, plunging her into darkness.
When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the stone floor, Kaelen hovering over her, worry etched into his usually controlled expression.
She laughed weakly. "So… I die saving the world. Again."
"Not necessarily," he said.
She stared at him. "You said they were my memories."
"They are," he replied. "But memory is not destiny."
She pushed herself upright slowly. "Then why does it feel like the world is waiting for me to fail?"
Kaelen looked away.
"Because it is," he said. "And because some believe your failure is the only way to win."
A distant sound echoed through the sanctuary—low, guttural, wrong.
Kaelen stiffened.
"They're closer than I thought," he muttered.
"Who?" Liora asked, dread curling in her stomach.
He met her gaze. "The Hollowborn."
As if on cue, the candles flickered violently. Shadows pooled at the edges of the room, stretching unnaturally toward the circle.
A voice rose from the darkness, layered and hungry.
Bearer… come home.
Liora stood, terror and resolve colliding in her chest.
"I won't," she said, surprising herself with the steadiness of her voice.
The mark flared in response—brighter than ever.
Kaelen's eyes widened. "Liora—"
"I won't be your weapon," she continued. "And I won't be your sacrifice."
The shadows recoiled, hissing.
For the first time, Liora felt it.
Not fear.
Power.
Not destructive—but anchored, rooted in choice.
The voices fell silent.
Kaelen stared at her as though seeing her for the first time.
"You resisted them," he said softly.
She exhaled shakily. "I listened… and then I said no."
A slow, rare smile touched his lips.
"That," he said, "is something the Spiral has never seen before."
Far away, in the depths of forgotten realms, something ancient stirred.
And for the first time in centuries, it felt uncertain.