The wind howled louder now, as if it had taken offense to Liora's awakening. The moment she stepped away from the memory gate, the temperature dropped further, and the air felt heavier—charged, like the sky held its breath. Her limbs ached from the cold, but her mind burned with purpose.
They trekked northwest, guided not by maps, but instinct—hers sharpened by the vision, and Elias's by years of survival.
"Are you going to tell me what happened back there?" Elias asked, his voice barely audible over the wind.
Liora glanced sideways at him. Snow clung to his lashes, and his brows were furrowed beneath his hood. "It wasn't just a memory. She was there. My mother."
Elias grunted. "You're sure?"
"She spoke to me like she knew this day would come. She said the tower holds the final piece. And warned me to keep the Watchers out."
"She also didn't mention how to find it, I assume."
Liora let out a slow breath, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her dagger. "No. But I know it's close. I can feel it."
They crested a ridge—and there it was.
Half-buried in snow, wrapped in twisted trees long petrified by frost and time, the tower jutted from the ice like a broken spine. It looked like it had been torn from another era. Its base was wide and layered in pale bricks, some cracked and shifted by frostquakes. Icicles hung from blackened window frames, and ancient symbols were etched deep into the foundation—symbols that pulsed softly with familiar energy.
Elias let out a low whistle. "That's a damn mausoleum if I've ever seen one."
"It's not dead," Liora said, staring at the tower with something like awe. "It's waiting."
They approached the frozen doorway. A circular handle sat in the center of a tall iron door, layered with chains so old they flaked at her touch.
Liora reached into her cloak and pulled a small black talisman from her belt—a charm made of bone and silver, left to her in her mother's will. Until now, it had never responded to her touch.
But as soon as she placed it against the chains, they writhed—shivering like living things—then broke apart with a metallic sigh, falling away into the snow.
The door creaked open.
Inside, the tower was not empty, but preserved.
Everything was clean, untouched by time. Shelves lined with old books. Tables stacked with runes and parchment. A spiral staircase wound upward into darkness. Warmth seeped into the air the moment they crossed the threshold—as if the tower recognized her.
Elias stepped in behind her, eyes scanning. "There's power here. Stronger than any place we've been."
She nodded. "We're inside a memory sanctum. Not like the gate—this is living memory. Constructed by a necromancer who wanted more than death could offer."
"Your mother?"
"No," Liora said. "Someone older."
A soft thrum echoed from above. A hum so low it wasn't sound—it was feeling. A pressure in the chest, in the marrow.
They ascended the stairs slowly, Liora running her fingers along the rail. Her magic buzzed beneath her skin, reacting to something near.
At the top floor, the room opened into a circular chamber, lit by a soft glow from an orb suspended mid-air. Around it were mirrors—dozens of them, of every shape and size, but one stood apart. It was tall, cracked, and bound in obsidian and bone. Faint pulses of silver light flickered across its surface.
"That one," Liora said, pointing.
Elias stepped closer. "I don't like mirrors that hum."
Liora ignored the comment and placed her palm flat against the surface.
Her body jerked as images burst into her mind—not memories of her own, but of another life entirely. A man's life. His voice. His magic. A name she'd never heard but somehow knew: **Veylan.**
One of the first pact-bearers. One of the originators of necromantic fusion—binding spirit to flesh not through force, but willing union.
She gasped, pulling her hand away.
"What is it?" Elias asked.
"I saw… a man. A necromancer who could merge his magic with the spirits he summoned. He didn't dominate them. He *trusted* them. And they lent him their strength."
Elias raised an eyebrow. "You mean like…"
"Yes," Liora said, eyes wide. "Like fusing."
She looked at the mirror again, her voice growing soft. "But he died. Not from battle. From heartbreak. He tried to bring someone back… someone he loved. And it broke the pact."
Elias rubbed the back of his neck. "You're saying this is a warning?"
"I think it's more than that. It's a choice. If I keep going down this path, I'll become what he was—maybe stronger. But I could lose myself."
A long silence settled between them.
Then Elias asked, "Do you regret it yet? Making the pact?"
Liora turned toward him. For once, her answer didn't come easy.
"I don't know. But I think I'm starting to understand the cost."
Her eyes flicked toward a leather-bound journal resting beneath the mirror's frame. She picked it up and flipped through its pages—lines of ancient script interspersed with diagrams and spells.
At the back was a page marked with a black ribbon.
A family crest.
Not hers.
But it bore a symbol she'd seen once in a dream—an inverted tree with roots that bled into fire.
She whispered the name written beneath it.
"Valenn."
Elias stepped beside her. "That mean something to you?"
"It's a name my mother whispered in her sleep when I was a child. I always thought it was just… nonsense. A ghost from her past."
She looked up.
"I think it's my father."
Elias's eyes widened. "You never mentioned him."
"I never knew him. I was told he died before I was born. But this—this is his mark."
Her hands trembled, and for the first time in weeks, it wasn't from fear or magic. It was grief.
Suddenly, the tower shuddered. A deep rumble echoed from below.
Elias was already at the stairs. "Something's coming."
Liora stuffed the journal into her pack and followed. As they descended, the warmth in the tower fled. Lights flickered. The door below creaked.
And standing in the entrance, snow blowing in around her, was the golden-eyed girl from before.
Except now… her eyes were black. Fully black.
Her voice was no longer that of a child.
"You were warned," the girl said, stepping inside. "And now you've brought the key to the lock."
Liora drew her dagger, her other hand already crackling with blue spiritfire.
"No more riddles. Who are you?"
The girl smiled, and when she spoke again, the walls trembled.
"I am the one your mother sealed. The one your father feared. And now…"
She raised her hand.
"…I am free."