I run through possibilities. Plans. Every one ends with Mara in danger.
Think.
But thought brings me nowhere. Only the same loop: they believe I’m someone I’m not. They want me to lead them. They threaten her if I refuse. They threaten the world if I do.
The door opens.
Creed and Vex enter wearing different clothes—long robes of deep crimson fabric, old and ceremonial. The sight triggers something beneath my ribs. Flickers at the edge of recognition I can’t quite grasp.
“We’re taking you somewhere,” Vex says. His earlier deference has shifted into something darker. Expectation weighted with centuries. “Perhaps this will convince you.”
“Don’t get your hopes up.”
“Oh, but we will. You see, it never occurred to us that the ritual was interrupted.”
“What ritual?”
“That is why you have lost your true vision,” he continues, ignoring me. “But if we complete it, you’ll be fully restored. Back to yourself. And then you will see. You will understand!”
Nothing he’s saying is making any sense, but his eyes are burning with manic fervor. There’s no point in trying to reason with him. To tell him that he’s wrong.
The guards unlock my restraints. Four of them, all watching with weapons drawn. I calculate my odds.
They’re poor.
I stand.
Creed leads. Vex follows behind me. The guards form a tight box around us.
We move through corridors I haven’t seen before, then out into the compound before entering a doorway cut into the side of the hill that forms one boundary of the facility. Here, stone replaces sterile white. The air grows colder. Damper. We’re descending into older places—natural rock instead of construction. Torches flicker in iron sconces. Actual flame, not the glowing globes I’ve seen elsewhere.
The fire calls to something in my blood.
My hands flex. The suppression devices whine higher, compensating for power they can’t fully contain.
Something is changing.
Something inside me.
We reach a massive iron door carved with symbols that pull at the edges of memory. My fingers twitch. The pattern meanssomething. Should mean everything.
Creed pushes it open.
Beyond is a cavern. Vast. Natural stone formations twist overhead like frozen waterfalls. But at the center—
The space has been made into a burial chamber. Shadowy figures line up against the walls, and low chanting fills the air as we step further into the space. It rings through my brain, low and resonant as I take in my surroundings. Gold gleams in torchlight. Tapestries hang from walls, depicting battles I almost recognize. Dragons in flight. Warriors with blades of fire. Weapons displayed in careful arrangement. Treasure stacked with care.
All of it surrounds a raised dais of chiseled stone.
On it rests a figure carved in eternal sleep.
My breath stops.
It’s giant-sized. A warrior in full plate armor, hands folded across his chest. Dragon-wing motifs cover every surface. The face is serene. Strong. Regal.
Andfamiliar.
Wrong. All wrong. This face shouldn’t exist here. Shouldn’t be carved in stone like the dead—
