Then, each soul-watcher closed their eyes.
The light in the sacred circle dimmed, flickering like a thousand quiet stars waiting for breath.
Then one voice disturbed the silence, one palm over the runes of the monolith. Then followed by each.
"Urgata, the Star Reader," she intoned.
"From constellations long-dead and suns yet to burn, read the fates etched across the dark, and open the path towards the soul's trajectory."
The next took her place, voice like falling sand.
"Vaelen, the Memory Binder.
Weave echoes of lifetimes into threads unbroken, so the soul may remember its name when all else is ash."
A cloaked form swept forward, robes heavy with chains of twilight.
"Morghal, the Silence Forger.
From the black stillness between dying heartbeats, forge the bridges where souls may cross unspoken."
A tall figure, veiled in smoke, extended gloved hands.
"Thessa, the Flame Archivist.
Guard the heat of lost vows and smoldering regret; let them be light enough to guide, but never consume."
A lithe watcher stepped through shadow, voice sharp as wind.
"Drailin, the Oath-Taker.
Seal the forgotten pacts carved in blood and breath, and test if the seeker still burns true."
An armored form knelt and rose again, sword drawn but lowered.
"Vorran, the Blade Whisperer.
Speak to the wounds carved into spirit-flesh, so healing or reckoning may be chosen."
A figure surrounded by drifting petals spoke gently.
"Serilune, the Grief Gardener.
Tend to the sorrow planted in the soul's soil. Let mourning bloom only when ready."
One with eyes like empty lanterns stepped forward.
"Nauz, the Hollow Mirror.
Reflect what the soul dares not admit. Let truth echo louder than desire."
From the mist stepped one crowned in bone and branches.
"Aemur, the Threshold Shepherd.
Guide the lost from death's edge to memory's gate, or bid them rest."
A figure cloaked in humming light extended both hands.
"Lieth, the Pulse-Keeper.
Mark the rhythm of the soul-heartbeat. Judge if it matches destiny's cadence."
A robed soul-watcher drifted as though on water.
"Yzareth, the Tideshifter.
Call the soul if it drifts too far. Bind its current until the seeker arrives."
A watcher surrounded by falling ash spoke next.
"Kaelthea, the Ember Seer.
From smoldering pasts, predict what ashes may still spark again."
Then a silent, mask-wearing form stepped forward.
"Torn, the Mask of Truth.
Reveal what identity survives beyond the body. Strip all lies at the veil's edge."
A twin-voiced watcher stepped forward—one male, one female in a single body.
"Jilaryn, the Twin Flame.
Balance passion and purpose. Bind twin fates into single fire or sever them cleanly."
Next came a figure with hair of woven scrolls.
"Raveth, the Lorekeeper.
Speak only what was once forgotten. Let lost stories anchor the wavering spirit."
A shadow of shadows moved into place.
"Maarkh, the Void Listener.
Hear what is screamed in silence. Honor even the soul's unspeakable."
One of the smoke and crystal raised a chalice.
"Orsen, the Threshold Draught.
Offer memory, or take it away. Let the seeker drink and choose what burns."
A radiant, blindfolded watcher stepped forward.
"Eliya, the Blind Flame.
See not the form, only the fire. Measure the light within and none outside it."
An ancient figure with a broken hourglass.
"Thuron, the Fractured Hour.
Guard the time stolen and rewound. Make the soul account for what it has borrowed."
Another glided across the stone with robes that flowed like ink.
"Nythe, the Ink of Bonds.
Reveal the soulmarks that bind. Speak their names aloud, even those buried in shame."
A watcher with spider-silk hands came forth.
"Selathe, the Web Warden.
Trace connections—living and dead. Let the seeker see whose threads they truly sever."
One with wind chimes for jewelry stepped out into a breeze.
"Keralyn, the Breath Archivist.
Count every breath the lost have taken. Return the one they gave away too soon."
A figure bearing both frost and flame in equal halves stepped into place.
"Orryx, the Equinox Flame.
Weigh the soul between mercy and judgment. Ignite only what balances."
A watcher cloaked in mirrors, every reflection a different face.
"Zurael, the Reflection Unheld.
Show the seeker what the soul refuses to see. And show the soul what the seeker hides."
And then, all fell still as the final figure stepped forward—her presence not grander, but deeper. The bell on her wrist gave a single, cold note.
It was her grandmother; her silver hair was gone. Now, they were black, and her eyes were gold.
"Kaeth, the Last Bell.
"Last to ring when all fates are sealed. Sentinel of silence where names were never wept. Keeper of all that ends without witness, and all that was loved without voice."
Now all the monoliths were brought to silver light, and the runes from it rose above them.
The circle was sealed, their voices still echoing like ancient wind through bone and flame. Then the air shifted, growing thick, warm, and charged with a hush that tasted of smoke and memory. From the space above the circle's heart, where no flame yet burned, the runes began to gather.
It shimmered at first, like threads of gold unraveling from unseen stars. Then it twisted, wove, and spiraled downward, weaving itself into shape—strand by luminous strand—until a single, slender candle stood suspended in the air. Its wax glistened like frozen moonlight, veined with flickers of red, as if blood and fire pulsed quietly within.
The wick caught fire without spark or touch—its flame a soft silver, alive but unmoving, like a breath held between two worlds.
It did not drip. It did not sway.
It waited.
Then came the voice—not from any one of the Soul-Watchers, but from the circle itself, from the ritual now alive:
"The circle is sealed. The flame is lit. The names are spoken. The seeker may now step forward."
Then, Orren let go of Velastra's hand.,
"Ash-Shene, go with a calm heart."