In the dimensional plane of the Hall of Echoes.
The floor, made of dark glass, reflected distorted versions of Varian with each step she took. Above, the ceiling opened into a vacuum sprinkled with stars, while the mirrors surrounding the hall vibrated faintly with traces of residual magic.
Varian stood there, in the center.
Alone… until a figure emerged before her.
"Ithriel..." — she murmured, almost voiceless.
The woman stepped from the shadows unchanged. She still wore the same silver cloak with runes that seemed to glide over her skin like living ink. Her eyes, empty yet hypnotic, held that cold calm that always unsettled.
"Varian." — she said, like one reuniting with someone after a long time. — "You've grown."
"You haven't." — Varian retorted, bitterly. — "Still cold... calculated."
"That has saved your life more than once." — Ithriel moved as if floating. — "You learned from me... remember?"
Memories surged through Varian's mind.
