Judge Lirien's words cling to me like cobwebs as I leave the library, her laughter echoing in the hollows of my skull. The corridor stretches endlessly, its walls lined with mirrors that catch the flicker of torchlight. My reflection wavers—a smudge of smoke, a flicker of flame—before settling into the familiar lines of my face. Mother's eyes. Father's jaw. A patchwork of two people, one I never knew.

The spiral staircase groans beneath my feet, the sound a dull counterpoint to the storm in my chest. "Your father is a man who loves cages," Lirien had said. "The ones he builds for others, and the ones he's trapped within."

I pause at the landing, my fingers brushing the locket at my throat. The silver is warm, as if it holds a fragment of the sun. Mother's locket. Father's gift. A relic of a time when he still smiled at me over chessboards and star charts.

The villagers' voices rise unbidden in my memory.

"Fathers hate to see their daughters lose their innocence," Marla had said, pounding linens against the rocks. Her hands were raw, her knuckles cracked from scrubbing bloodstains. "It's natural, girl. Don't take it to heart."

Natural. As if Father's coldness could be explained away by something as simple as time. As if the distance between us were a river I could cross with patience and understanding.

But it wasn't just distance. It was a chasm, carved by secrets and silences.

I reach my chambers and push the door open, the hinges protesting with a soft whine. The room is dark, the hearth cold. Father banned servants from lighting it after I scorched the rug practicing fire sigils at thirteen. "Magic isn't a child's game," he'd said, though we both knew the truth: the flames had died the moment I touched them.

The mirror above the washbasin catches my reflection as I cross the room. Mother's eyes stare back—light brown, flecked with gold—framed by Father's sharp cheekbones and the Vale brow, stubborn as iron. I trace the locket's engravings, wondering if her face ever mirrored this same war of features. Did she hate the parts of herself that echoed him? Love them?

The villagers' curiosity had always been a thorn in my side. "The Grandmaster's daughter," they whispered, as if I were a specter. "Looks just like her mother, doesn't she?"

But their fascination wasn't with me. It was with him. The man who had carved his name into history with a dagger and a dream. The man who had once been a father before he became a legend.

I sink onto the edge of the bed, the weight of the day pressing down on me like a stone. My fingers ache from clutching the laundry basket, my shoulders stiff from the villagers' stares. Even now, their voices follow me, a chorus of pity and curiosity.

"Fathers hate to see their daughters grow up," Old Nessa had said, her spine bent like a question mark. "Better to pretend you're still knee-high and begging for fairy tales."

But this wasn't a fairy tale. This was a prison, its walls built of expectations and silences.

I rise and cross to the wardrobe, pulling out a nightgown of soft, worn linen. The fabric smells of lavender and lye soap, a faint reminder of the springs. I change quickly, the cool air raising gooseflesh on my skin.

The mirror catches my eye again as I turn back to the bed. This time, I study my reflection more closely. The high cheekbones, the stubborn set of my jaw—all Father. But the eyes, the curve of my lips—those are Mother's. A patchwork of two people I barely knew.

I blow out the candle and crawl beneath the blankets, the weight of exhaustion dragging at my limbs. Sleep comes swift as a thief, pulling me under before I can resist.

The dream is the same as always.

One moment, I'm staring at the pillow; the next, cold stone bites my bare feet. The Eidolon Spire looms, its jagged peak tearing at a sky choked with ash. No stars. No moons. Just the Spire, pulsing like a rotten heart.

Come.

The voice isn't Judge Lirien's. It's the groan of tectonic plates, the hiss of wind through dead trees. The Spire's shadow stretches toward me, liquid and hungry.

"Enter, and claim what you are."

I dig my heels into the stone. Lirien's warning coils in my gut: "Your loved ones will rot from the inside out."

But the Spire's pull is a hook behind my ribs. How many nights have I wandered this dream? How many mornings have I woken with grit under my nails and the taste of rust on my tongue?

"Your father fears what you'll become," Lirien's voice taunts, though she's nowhere to be seen. "But fear makes even great men small."

The Spire's gates yawn open, revealing a throat of darkness. I see Father there, his back to me, Duskrend gleaming in his hand.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"You will not go there, Tia. That is an order."

The ground shudders beneath me, a deep, resonant groan that vibrates through my very soul, as if the earth itself is alive and writhing. Cracks race toward the Spire, jagged and hungry, fracturing the ground like shattered glass. For a heartbeat, the Spire wavers—not stone, but smoke. A phantom. A taunt. A challenge.

I take a step.

Another.

The earth stills, and I freeze, my breath trapped in my chest. The air is heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth and something far older, something metallic and sharp, like the tang of blood on a storm wind. The grass beneath my feet sways in the moonlight, tall and untamed, its blades brushing against my ankles like the whispers of long-forgotten secrets. It's too quiet here, too still, as if the world itself is holding its breath, waiting.

I lift my gaze to the Temple. It looms before me, a jagged monolith against the bruised and starless sky. Four towers rise in a diamond formation, each one a different height, their peaks clawing at the heavens like talons. The tallest tower, the one farthest from me, pulses faintly, its surface etched with runes that bleed silver light.

From this angle, the Spire looks less like a structure and more like a weapon—a shard of darkness forged by hands that were not human. The judges' voices echo in my mind once again, their words a rasp of parchment and the crackle of dying embers. "To claim the Spire is to claim the power of the Ones Who Came Before."

Power. The word coils in my chest, a serpent waiting to strike. Power is what I've been denied, what I've been told I'll never deserve. But this—this feels different. This feels like a choice, like a door creaking open in the darkest corner of my soul. I begin to walk, the grass whispering beneath my boots. The ground feels real, each step solid and grounding, though I know this is a dream. I realize I am no longer in my pajamas, but fitted in a dark tunic. Similar to that of what I've seen my fathers guardsman wear.

The air is lighter here, easier to breathe, as if the very atmosphere is alive and watching, waiting to see what I'll do next.

The hill slopes upward, and I climb, my heart pounding in time with the Temple's faint, rhythmic pulse. At the crest, I stop. Before me stretches a bridge .It's ancient and crumbling, its stone and oak planks weathered and splintered. The middle sags dangerously, as if the weight of centuries has pressed it down. Beyond it, the Spire waits, its towers glowing faintly with that same silver light, a siren's call I can't ignore. But this is a dream. If I fall, what's the harm?

I take three steps onto the bridge. The wood groans beneath my weight, the sound echoing into the abyss below. I don't dare look down.

I move faster, my steps quick and light. The bridge creaks and shudders, each plank threatening to give way. The sinking section looms ahead, its gaps yawning like hungry mouths. I leap over the first crevice, my heart hammering. Then the next. And the next. I'm almost there.

Then the earth shakes again, harder this time. The tremor rips through the bridge, and I hear it—the unmistakable sound of stone and wood splintering. I glance back and see the bridge collapsing, its supports crumbling into the void below me. I run.

The ground beneath me begins to tilt, the Spire's towers rising higher as the bridge falls away. My destination is no longer in front of me but above me, the land beyond the bridge slipping out of reach. I scramble, my hands clawing at the planks as I climb, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Then I feel it—a hand.

It's larger than mine, the grip firm and unyielding. The figure above me hauls me up with impossible strength, pulling me onto solid ground so quickly that I'm launched over their head. I slam into the earth with a groan, the impact knocking the air from my lungs.

For a moment, I lie there, dazed, the world spinning around me. Then I feel it—a presence. I roll onto my side and look up. The figure stands over me, silhouetted against the Spire's silver light. They're tall, their form fluid and shifting, as if they're made of smoke and shadow. Their features are obscured, but I can feel their gaze on me, heavy and penetrating. When they speak, their voice is a low, resonant rumble, like thunder rolling across a storm-tossed sky.

"You're braver than I expected." The words send a shiver down my spine, not from fear, but from something else—something that coils low in my stomach and sets my nerves alight. I push myself up, my arms trembling.

"Who are you?" The figure steps closer, and the shadows around them shift, revealing glimpses of sharp cheekbones, and eyes that burn like twin embers. A mask covering the lower half of their face, and the air around them seems to hum with barely contained energy.

"A guide," they say, their voice dripping with amusement. "A guardian. A warning. Take your pick."

I rise to my feet, my legs unsteady. "What just happened?"

They tilt their head, their gaze sweeping over me in a way that makes my skin prickle. "I am afraid Tia, that you just broke the chasm between this realm and your own."

"I didn't mean to-" He cuts me off.

"Didn't you?" It takes another step closer, and I catch the scent of ozone and something darker, like the aftermath of a lightning strike.

"Every step you took toward the Spire, every breath you drew in this place—it was a summons. And here I am." Their voice is smooth, almost hypnotic, and I find myself leaning toward them despite the warning bells ringing in my mind.

"How do you know my name?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. They pull their mask down. Revealing a smile, and it's a dangerous thing, all sharp edges and promises.

"What do you want, Tia Vale?" The sound of my name on their lips again sends a jolt through me.

"How do you know my name?" I stand to my feet, backing away. My chest getting tighter by the second.

"I know many things," they say, their voice dropping to a murmur. "I know the weight of your father's expectations. The ache of your hollow, mortal veins. The dream that haunts you."

They step closer, and I can feel the heat radiating from them, a warmth that contrasts with the cold, unyielding presence of the Spire. The smoke and darkness solidifies, Distinctly male. The energy that radiated from his previous form contained. His face was young, he looked almost the same age as me. His skin was so pale it mimicked fine china. "You want power," He continues, his voice a velvet caress. "Not for its own sake, but for the freedom it brings. The freedom to choose. To be more than a shadow trailing behind your father's legacy."

His words strike a chord deep within me, and I feel the truth of them resonate in my chest.

"Who are you?" I ask again, my voice trembling. He leans in, breath brushing against my ear as he whispers, "Who do you think has been calling out to you all year long? Only for you to ignore it until its too late?"

He steps back, his form dissolving into smoke and shadow, leaving me standing alone beneath the Spire's silver light, the weight of their words lingering like a brand on my skin.