The children were safe.
They'd been taken to a small enclave outside the ruins of Elenvale—one of the last places untouched by the White Circle's creeping hand. The villagers there, quiet and half-forgotten by the world, agreed to hide them without question. Liora had only needed to say: "They've seen the inside of Galewatch."
That was enough.
But the questions that had been clawing at her since the vision in the Veil? They refused to rest.
Her father.
She hadn't spoken that word in years.
The man had vanished before she could even walk. Her mother, Irelia, never offered more than vague answers. "He was brave," she once said. "But the brave don't always come home."
Now, between each battle, each new power awakening in her bones, Liora felt something else: *a pull*. Like strands of memory waiting to be unwoven.
They stopped near a burned-out chapel two nights after the Galewatch raid. The roof had collapsed inward, leaving a jagged ribcage of blackened beams against the moonlight. Vines choked what once was a rose garden.
"Rest here," Elias said. "We'll move before sunrise."
But Liora didn't rest.
Inside the chapel's shattered altar was an offering bowl, charred and cracked. It pulsed faintly with old magic—like a distant heartbeat.
She kneeled.
"Elias," she said without turning, "how far back do your records go?"
He leaned against a splintered beam. "Far enough to name the first High Circle necromancer. Not far enough to find his grave."
"What do you know of a man called Alric Sereth?"
Elias flinched.
"That name hasn't been spoken in over two decades."
"So it's real," Liora said quietly.
"He was your father, wasn't he?"
She didn't answer.
Elias stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Alric wasn't just a necromancer, Liora. He was *the* necromancer—the only one who ever broke the Circle's chain and lived. He defected. Took forbidden knowledge with him. They hunted him, failed, and rewrote history to erase him."
"Why?"
"Because he discovered a ritual that could do more than raise the dead."
Liora turned, eyes glowing faintly in the low light. "What kind of ritual?"
"One that made a bond permanent. A fusion of blood and soul. Necromancy... reborn."
The offering bowl shimmered suddenly—silver threads rising like smoke.
It *recognized her*.
She placed both hands on it.
The air thickened.
Then the past came rushing in like a scream underwater.
She saw her mother—young, fierce, weaving protective sigils in a candlelit room. A man with dark hair and storm-colored eyes leaned against the wall, watching her with equal parts pride and sorrow.
"We can't stay," Alric said. "They'll find us."
Irelia touched her swollen belly. "Then you go. But I won't raise her in hiding."
"She'll be hunted," he warned.
"She'll be *loved*," Irelia snapped.
The vision cracked—then warped.
Liora saw herself as a baby, her crib circled by a protective glyph. Her father stood outside it, whispering a prayer—not to gods, but to the Veil.
Then she heard his final words before he disappeared:
"If she ever calls the dead by name… I'll know."
And just like that, the memory collapsed.
Liora gasped, falling back as the bowl shattered.
Elias rushed forward, catching her. "What did you see?"
"My father…" she panted. "He didn't abandon us. He *left a signal*. He tied himself to a ritual. If I ever become strong enough to call him… he'll come."
Elias looked grim. "Then you're closer than I thought."
---
Later that night, under a sky strung with stars, the White Circle moved.
Far north in the fortress-city of Caelharrow, cloaked figures knelt in a circle carved from obsidian. A high priest stood above a chained corpse—its flesh fresh, its soul long gone.
"Prepare the transmutation," the priest barked. "Begin the Echo Rites."
The acolytes chanted, and glyphs ignited beneath them.
Unlike Liora's summons, their ritual wasn't born from communion—it was conquest. They *ripped* souls from the Veil, force-fed them into hollow vessels, and bound them with blood anchors.
The result was monstrous.
One such creature stepped forward—twelve feet tall, wrapped in metal bands and stitched flesh, its skull split by an emerald crown of bone.
"We call it the Echoborn," the priest said. "Our first success."
One of the mages trembled. "And the girl?"
"She's crossed the threshold," the priest replied. "We feel her now. Every time she summons, she leaves a scar on the Veil. We're narrowing her location."
"And the others?"
The priest sneered. "We don't need the others. She's the key. The daughter of Sereth. And once we have her…"
He stepped forward and ran a blade across his own palm, letting the blood spill onto the ritual circle.
"…the *true necro-lord* shall rise again."
---
Meanwhile, Liora stood in the rain.
The storm had arrived suddenly, soaking the earth as she stared into the distance. A single question echoed in her chest:
*How far did my father fall before the world forgot him?*
She didn't have the answer.
But she had his blood.
And it was beginning to burn.