The wind howled low across the plains outside the Cryptgrove, dragging with it a blanket of ash that painted everything in shades of gray. Liora sat with her back against a boulder, cloak wrapped tight, arms folded. The sky had shifted to an ominous orange hue—sunset, maybe, but in this part of the world, you could never tell. The horizon bled like a wound that refused to scab.
Elias poked at their fire with a stick, the flames crackling softly in protest. Sahria slept nearby, finally at peace for once, her breaths slow and steady beneath the layers of wool and cloth.
But Liora… Liora couldn't sleep. Not with the crystal soul fragment pulsing just beneath her ribs. Not with the voice of her mother—now quiet—still echoing in corners of her memory that had long been hollow.
"Can't sleep?" Elias asked without looking at her.
Liora exhaled. "Didn't think I'd sleep again after today."
"You absorbed your mother's soulprint. That's not exactly a bedtime story."
"It was only a piece of her. A memory, a flare of her power, some lingering instinct." Liora tilted her head, watching the flames. "But it's… more than I've ever had."
Elias leaned back on his palms, staring at the stars beginning to pierce the haze overhead.
"My mother used to say we're not made of flesh and bone alone," he said after a pause. "That a person is stitched together by moments—both the ones they lived and the ones others remembered for them."
Liora glanced at him. "Did she die in the Cataclysm?"
"No. She died long before that." He smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Slipped on a wet rooftop and cracked her skull."
Liora blinked. "That's… anticlimactic."
"She would've thought so too." He gave a small laugh. "I always expected her to die in some blaze of magic and fury. But sometimes life just… stops."
For a moment, silence settled again. The fire hissed.
Then Liora said softly, "Do you remember her?"
He turned to look at her. "Every damn day."
They sat in that quiet for a while, the fire's warmth softening the cold that had crept into their bones.
Then Elias cleared his throat. "So what now? You've got part of your mother's power. What's next?"
Liora's brow furrowed. "She whispered something to me before it faded. *'Find the Anchor. He lives still.'*"
"The Anchor?"
She nodded. "I think… I think it's my father."
"Kaeron Vell," Elias muttered. "The one they used to call the Chainbreaker."
"The same." Liora's fingers brushed the amulet hanging at her neck. "If he's alive, then maybe there's a chance to—"
A sudden sound broke the stillness.
Not wind. Not flame.
Footsteps. Soft, deliberate.
Elias had his bow in hand in a flash. Liora stood, staff gripped tight, soulfire flickering at her fingertips.
From the shadows beyond the firelight, a woman stepped into view.
She was tall, draped in travel-worn robes, and carried no weapon. Her skin was the deep, weathered bronze of someone who had lived under harsh suns, and her eyes were a striking, unnatural gold.
"Peace," she said, raising both hands. "I mean no harm."
"Then keep walking," Elias warned.
But Liora narrowed her eyes. There was something familiar in the woman's stance, in the quiet confidence she carried.
"You've been following us."
"Yes," the woman replied. "But not as an enemy."
Elias snorted. "Most enemies don't advertise either."
The woman ignored him. Her gaze remained locked on Liora.
"You bear Elahraun's fire," she said softly. "And Kaeron's shadow."
Liora's breath caught. "Who are you?"
"I was once called Isareth," the woman said, stepping forward, lowering her hood. "I served your mother as her ward. Her hand. Her blade."
Liora's staff lowered slightly. "You knew her?"
"I *bled* for her." Isareth looked at the fire, eyes distant. "I was there the night she was betrayed."
Liora swallowed. "Then you saw who did it."
"Yes," Isareth said, voice hardening. "And if you mean to carry your mother's legacy… you must be ready to face the one who destroyed it."
Elias stepped between them. "You're assuming she wants revenge."
Isareth's eyes flashed. "It is not about vengeance. It is about *balance*. The White Circle has returned. The Obeah Queen gathers her forces. The past is clawing back into the light."
Liora's mouth was dry. "The White Circle…?"
"They were behind the collapse," Isareth said. "A council of necromancers, spiritbinders, and blood-mages who believed the dead should *rule*. Your mother fought them. Your father defied them. They're rising again."
"And my father?"
Isareth hesitated, then nodded. "He's alive. But not whole. They bound him with chains of soul-iron. If you want to find him, you'll need more than your mother's gift. You'll need allies. Power. Purpose."
Liora looked down at her hand. The flames danced across her skin, casting flickers of red and gold.
"I have purpose," she whispered.
Isareth's smile was sad. "Then you'll need to make a choice. There's a village two days from here—Dereth Hollow. The White Circle has agents there. Find them. Root them out. Make a mark."
Liora looked at Elias, then at Sahria, still sleeping.
Then back at Isareth. "And if I choose not to?"
"Then your mother's death will remain a whisper. And your father will rot in silence."
She turned and vanished into the mist.
Liora stared after her.
Then sat down again.
The fire hissed louder now.
Elias watched her carefully. "You believe her?"
"Yes."
He tilted his head. "Then what now?"
She met his eyes. "We head to Dereth Hollow."
And in the quiet that followed, something stirred beneath her skin—power, growing, rooting deeper.
She could feel her necromancy shifting. Evolving.
She was no longer just raising the dead.
She was starting to hear them.