The city of Harmony, the capital of Centrallis—a sprawling jewel set within the heart of the continent—unfolded around me like a living, breathing organism. It wasn't a place one could merely walk through; it was a city that seemed to walk through you, imprinting itself upon your mind with its chaotic rhythm and hidden depths. The winding streets twisted and turned like veins, each alley and avenue pulsing with the lifeblood of its inhabitants. It felt as though the city had a will of its own—a labyrinth designed to ensnare the unwary.

From my vantage point, I saw the stark divide that split the city in two. The **Upper District** was a realm of pristine streets, lined with elegant stone buildings adorned with intricate carvings and stained glass. Tall, well-maintained trees shaded the cobblestone paths below, and mana-fueled lamps lit the streets with a soft, inviting glow. The entire district emanated an aura of luxury and privilege, a sharp contrast to the chaotic sea of rooftops visible in the distance.

Down below, the Lower District stretched out like a tangled web of alleyways and crumbling structures. It was a different world altogether—a place where the shadows were longer and the streets narrower. Smoke from forges and chimneys hung heavy in the air, mixing with the scent of food from street vendors. The people moved in a hurried, determined fashion, their faces hard and wary, as if perpetually prepared for conflict. Even from here, I could hear the distant sounds of life: the shouts of merchants, the clatter of carts, and the occasional roar of some beast far below.

Harmony was unlike any place I had ever imagined. Its grandeur was both awe-inspiring and unnerving. Massive stone structures towered above, their facades intricately carved with depictions of long-forgotten legends and battles. Each building seemed to tell a story, a testament to the city's age and its defiance against time itself. The streets were a chaotic blend of cobblestones and ancient paved roads, worn smooth by centuries of footfall. There was a rawness to it—a sense of something ancient lurking beneath the surface, waiting to be uncovered.

As I made my way deeper into the city, I was acutely aware of the weight of my own steps. The crowd around me surged and ebbed like a tide, carrying me along with it. Merchants lined the streets, their stalls bursting with wares that ranged from exotic spices to relics that were clearly fake but nonetheless fascinating. The air was thick with the scent of incense, roasted meats, and something sharper—like ozone after a storm. It was overwhelming, a sensory assault that seemed almost deliberate.

A gruff voice barked at me, snapping me back to the present. "Watch where you're going!" A burly man with a thick beard maneuvered past, balancing a stack of crates in his arms. He scowled, muttering under his breath as he moved on.

I muttered a quick apology, my eyes dropping to avoid further confrontation. The last thing I needed was to draw attention. This wasn't my home; I was a stranger here, and Harmony did not seem like a city that took kindly to strangers. But the voice in my mind had been insistent—I needed to be here.

Seek the one who walks between shadows, the words slithered through my thoughts like a creeping vine.

She holds the key to the relic's secrets. Only she can unravel the binding threads that choke your soul.

The relic... even though I didn't possess it, its looming presence in the Oswin family weighed heavily on my mind. I was constantly aware of its importance, and it felt like it was connected to everything around me—an anchor that bound not just me, but the family, to something unfathomable and ancient. I didn't need to have the relic to feel its influence; its very existence whispered through the Oswin estate.

I continued deeper into the city, navigating the ever-narrowing streets. The architecture grew more erratic as I ventured further. Buildings leaned in close, their upper floors almost touching, casting long shadows that darkened the alleys below. Faint, muffled sounds drifted from the doorways—a cry, a laugh, the low hum of conversation. And yet, despite the city's density, it felt strangely empty.

I turned a corner and nearly stumbled upon a cluster of street performers—a band of young men and women in brightly colored clothing, juggling flaming torches and twisting themselves into impossible contortions. A small crowd had gathered, cheering and clapping. One of them, a boy with a face smeared in ash, caught my eye and winked. I quickly moved on. There was no time for distractions.

The streets seemed to wind endlessly, like a maze with no center, but the pull of the voice kept me moving, guiding me through the chaos. The hum of the crowd dimmed, replaced by a quieter, more oppressive atmosphere. The stone underfoot seemed older here, cracked and uneven, and the buildings took on a darker, more foreboding appearance.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Finally, I arrived at a small courtyard—a hidden pocket in the labyrinthine city. It was surprisingly serene, untouched by the chaos just a few streets away. The buildings surrounding the courtyard were lower, more modest, their stonework darkened with age and moss. At the center, a single, withered tree stood like a sentinel, its twisted branches reaching skyward. Beneath it, a stone bench, and on that bench sat a woman.

She was striking—dark hair cascading in loose waves down her back, her eyes a deep, penetrating shade that seemed to see straight through me. She wore a simple, elegant dress of dark fabric that clung to her figure, a contrast to the austerity of the surroundings. She looked up as I approached, a faint, knowing smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"You've come," she said, her voice smooth and calm, as if she had been expecting me all along.

I hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. "I was told to meet someone here. Are you... her?"

She simply gestured for me to sit beside her on the bench. I sat, keeping a cautious distance. Up close, she seemed even more enigmatic, her age difficult to pin down. She had the grace and wisdom of someone far older, yet her features were youthful, almost timeless.

"Who are you?" I asked, unable to contain my curiosity.

Her smile widened, but she didn't answer. Instead, she studied me with those piercing eyes, as if measuring something unseen.

"You seek knowledge about the relic," she finally said. It wasn't a question.

'Can I even trust her? But the voice has been silent so I guess I can.'

I nodded, feeling a knot of tension in my chest. "I need to understand it. What it is, where it comes from... why it chose my family for the trial."

She looked away, her gaze drifting to the twisted tree in the courtyard. "The relic doesn't 'choose' in the way you think. It's a conduit, a tether between our world and another. It obeys laws that are not easily understood, and it has a will of its own—a will that has been shaped by the desires and fears of every Oswin who has been bound to it."

Her words sent a chill down my spine. "A will of its own? But I've heard... it feels like it's trying to consume everything around it."

"Consume? It has no appetite like you mortals. It craves completion, a connection to the forgotten roots buried in shadow and starless voids," the woman's voice became softer, almost a whisper, as if the very air around her feared to carry the words further. "It's bound by old covenants, ones that reach beyond our understanding. The relic is but a fragment—a piece of something much larger. To wield it is to grasp at the strands of fate itself, and those who seek to master it often find themselves mastered in return."

I absorbed her words in silence, the weight of their meaning settling over me like a shroud. "You speak as if the relic is alive," I said, my voice hushed. "As if it thinks and feels."

"In a way, it does," she replied, her eyes narrowing slightly. "It resonates with those who carry it, molds itself to their thoughts, desires, and fears. But it is not alive in the way we understand life. It is an echo—an echo of a will that once was and may still be. And it remembers, Aric Oswin. It remembers the hands that have touched it, the blood that has been spilled for it."

The mention of my name sent a jolt through me. "How do you know who I am?"

She chuckled softly, a sound like the rustling of leaves in the wind. "Names are powerful things, and they carry their own weight. Yours is no different. I have my ways of knowing, just as I know you do not truly belong to the name you wear."

Her words struck deep, unraveling a thread of unease within me, sending shivers down my spine.

'Now I am mad creeped out, god just send me back to earth please.'

It felt as though she could see through the façade, into the core of my being where Elijah still lingered—where the merging of two souls had yet to fully settle. I fought to maintain my composure. "And who are you? What role do you play in all of this?"

"My identity matters little, but you may call me Elyndra," she answered, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree. "I walk between the shadows of this world and others. I've seen the rise and fall of many who sought to control what they could not understand. But you..." Her gaze sharpened, focusing intently on me. "You are different. There's something... incomplete about you, something that does not yet belong."

She stood up, moving with an effortless grace that seemed almost unnatural. "The path you walk will not be an easy one, Aric Oswin. You will face choices that will define not just your fate, but the fate of those around you. If you wish to unlock the true potential of the relic and its secrets, you must be prepared to pay the price."

I rose to my feet as well, feeling the intensity of her words weighing down on me. "What price?"

Her smile returned, enigmatic and unsettling. "Everything comes with a cost—especially knowledge. The relic binds, but it can also break. And sometimes, the breaking is what is needed to see clearly."

She turned to leave, her form blending into the shadows of the alley beyond the courtyard. "When the time comes, you will understand. Seek me again if you dare to venture further into the darkness."

I stared at the spot where she had vanished, her form swallowed by the shadows of the narrow alley. The unsettling feeling of her knowing smile lingered in my mind, twisting my thoughts into knots.

'Alright, Elyndra. What kind of cryptic nonsense was that? "Pay the price," "walk the path," and "venture further into the darkness." Do they all go to the same school of vague ominous cringe warnings or something?'

...