We walked for hours after the shades vanished, each step heavier than the last. The forest was no longer quiet—it was silent. A thick, pressing silence that clung to our skin and crept into our thoughts like fog. Even the air felt heavier, as if we were wading through memories too old to name.
"I hate this place," Riven muttered under his breath. "I'd take ten armies over this cursed path."
Kael didn't respond. His jaw was tight, his eyes distant. I noticed how his fingers occasionally sparked with blue magic—subconscious defense, or nervous habit, I couldn't tell.
The disc that guided us began to flicker, its light dimming.
"That's not good," I said, watching it sputter like a dying star.
Kael examined it. "It's reacting to something. A disturbance."
"A Threadrift?" I asked.
"No," Kael said slowly. "Something older. Deeper."
That's when we found the ruins.
Carved from obsidian and silverstone, the shattered remains of a tower lay half-buried beneath moss and time. Strange markings etched into the broken walls pulsed faintly as we passed, and for the first time, I felt something pull me—not the Thread, not the relics—but my own power, reaching outward like it recognized this place.
"What is this?" I asked, touching the edge of a wall.
Kael inhaled sharply. "This is the Tower of Orraine."
I turned to him.
"Wasn't that the name in the scroll Lys showed us?" Riven asked. "The place where the Threadbearers trained?"
Kael nodded. "Before it fell. Before the last war."
I didn't realize I was trembling until Riven gripped my hand.
"This… feels familiar," I whispered.
The moment the words left my lips, the ground beneath us shifted.
A ripple moved through the soil—magic responding to memory.
Then, suddenly, we were somewhere else.
Not teleported. Not fully transported. But caught in a vision so vivid I could smell the dust and fire. The ruins rebuilt themselves in an instant, gleaming towers stretching toward the sky, voices echoing through stone halls, robes sweeping across polished marble.
And standing in the middle of it all—me.
Or someone who looked like me.
She stood in the center courtyard, surrounded by figures in ceremonial robes. Her expression was fierce. Determined. And in her hand, she held a glowing staff woven from pure Threadlight.
I gasped.
Kael whispered, "It's a memory echo… of the past. Maybe of a past life."
The vision shattered like glass—and we were back in the ruined tower, heartbeats thundering.
I clutched my chest. "What does it mean?"
"It means you're more than just chosen," Kael said. "You've walked this road before."
Riven looked at me, eyes unreadable. "And maybe this time… we finish what you started."