The Protectors: Rising from Ashes [Progression Fantasy | Action-Packed | Epic Battles]

The Luminaries Sanctum loomed ahead, its towering spires clawing at the heavens, carved from stone so ancient it seemed to hum with the weight of time. Light cascaded over its surface, catching the veins of celestial energy that pulsed faintly beneath the runes etched into its facade. The doors, massive constructs of metal and magic, stood unmoving, their intricate engravings shifting like something alive.

As Elias and his family approached, the glyphs flared, exhaling a soft, silvery light, and the doors drifted open with a whisper of unseen power.

Beyond the threshold, an enchanted garden stretched out before them, bathed in the soft luminescence of flora that defied nature. Roses with silvered petals unfurled as they passed, their scent thick with something almost intoxicating, while vines of midnight blue curled and spiraled as though reaching for unseen stars.

Weightless blossoms hovered in the air, drifting lazily like fireflies. A cobbled path wound through the dreamlike scenery, its stones glinting as if woven with stardust. Streams of crystalline water snaked between the greenery, their glassy surfaces reflecting the sky in rippling shades of gold and indigo.

Alaric's voice broke the hush, deep and reverent. "Even after all these centuries... the Sanctum endures." His gaze swept across the sprawling architecture, pride glinting in his eyes.

"Can you believe we're finally here?" Selene exclaimed, her eyes sparkling as they roamed over the dazzling architecture. "I've heard so much about the Luminaries Sanctum, and it's even more breathtaking in person!"

"I know, right?" Damien added, his voice hushed with wonder. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to touch the sacred carvings. "It feels like we're stepping into a storybook! I can't wait to see what secrets this place holds."

Lucien, less restrained, darted ahead, his boots clacking against the polished floor. "Look at this place!" His voice echoed, drawing attention to the sheer immensity of the hall stretching before them. His excitement was a wildfire, impossible to contain. "The ceremony is going to be incredible!"

Morgana's cool voice cut through the moment. "Lucien." She didn't need to raise her tone for the warning to land. "Compose yourself. This isn't the place for childish outbursts."

He slowed, but the grin remained, undimmed.

Her gaze flicked to Elias then, sharp as a blade wrapped in silk. "Try to carry yourself with the dignity of a Nightshade, Elias," she murmured, the words precise, polished and cutting.

The weight of expectation pressed against his ribs, making it hard to breathe. He swallowed, his voice barely audible. "Of course, Mother."

His siblings' voices wove through the sanctum, effortless, unburdened, merging with the low hum of magic coursing through the walls. Their laughter rippled, weightless, like it belonged to a world just beyond his reach. Awe shaped their words, confidence carried their steps, an unspoken rhythm Elias had never learned to follow.

"I'll just... take a look around," Elias muttered, the words slipping free before anyone could stop him. He turned away, his steps barely a whisper against the polished floor, fading into the vast corridors that stretched beyond the soft pulse of recessed lighting.

Here, the sanctum felt different. Not just ancient, but alive. Magic pooled in every stone, seeping from the walls, threading through the air like an unseen force watching, waiting. Yet, as he wandered deeper, an unsettling stillness settled around him, as though the space itself held its breath. The faint glow of runes lining the passage dimmed as he passed, receding as if reluctant to acknowledge him.

At the corridor's end, a door loomed, taller than the rest, its obsidian surface polished to an eerie mirror sheen. Silver filigree coiled across it in elaborate, almost living patterns, and above, a name shimmered in deep crimson—Kael Duskbane. The letters gleamed wetly, as though freshly carved from something far more visceral than ink.

Something in Elias's chest tightened.

He hesitated, fingers hovering near the handle. A pulse trembled beneath his touch, not warm, not cold, just aware. The door tested him, a whisper of magic curling against his skin, probing, questioning. Then, with a slow creak, it yielded.

Scarlet light spilled from an iron chandelier above, its jagged crystals dripping a dim, fractured glow across the chamber. Shadows stretched and twisted along the stone walls, bending around the immense carvings that dominated them. The air was thick with age, carrying a metallic tang, old blood, long dried, yet never truly gone.

Scenes of war and conquest were etched into the walls, frozen in exquisite, brutal detail. Armies knelt in surrender. Cities burned, their flames captured in the rigid lines of stone. And at the center of it all stood Kael Duskbane, unyielding and unchallenged, his form towering above the chaos, his blade raised in finality. The mural behind the throne dwarfed the room itself, Kael's painted gaze piercing through centuries, his presence undiminished by time.

At the heart of the chamber, a throne of bone sat in silent dominion. Its armrests curved into sharp talons, polished smooth by unseen hands. The eerie white of the structure stood in stark contrast to the onyx floor beneath it, a reminder of power won and never relinquished.

Elias exhaled slowly, stepping forward. His fingers brushed over the cold carvings, tracing the raised ridges of Kael's legend, the battles, the victories and the unwavering force of his will. The sheer presence of it all coiled in his chest, an intoxicating mix of awe and unease.

"He was a force of nature," he murmured, the words barely more than a breath.

His gaze lingered on the mural, on the way Kael's immortalized form seemed to look through him, past him, as though already deciding his worth. The weight of the room pressed against his ribs. He imagined, for a fleeting second, what it would be like to stand where Kael had stood, to have his name carry the weight of command, of fear, of undeniable strength.

But the thought soured as quickly as it came. The enormity of it dwarfed him. He was nothing like the warrior carved into these walls. What claim did he have to this legacy? To any legacy at all?

Then, as if in answer, a voice slithered into his mind, a low and commanding whisper:

"You are not ready. But you will be."

The words were spoken in a tone both chilling and familiar, sending shivers down his spine. Was it his imagination? A lingering echo of Kael's magic? Or something alive within the chamber?

He panicked, his heart racing as the strange words echoed in his mind, refusing to fade. His footsteps quickened, the air around him feeling too thick, too heavy, as though the very walls were closing in. What had he just heard? The voice was unmistakably familiar, yet foreign. Kael? No, that couldn't be possible.

He stumbled backward, breath shallow, and quickly came out of the chamber, needing space and air, anything to escape the weight pressing down on him.

His thoughts spiraled, spinning faster than he could grasp them. The sanctum seemed to warp around him, and all he could hear was the voice. His chest tightened, and his legs moved instinctively, carrying him down the winding corridors, but the voice still lingered, a shadow in the back of his mind.

He turned a corner abruptly, lost in his thoughts, and crashed into someone with a solid thud. It was like being jolted from a dream.

"Ow—watch it!" a voice snapped, sharp and sudden.

They both stumbled. Elias caught himself with a hand against the stone. The girl, less lucky, hit the ground with a soft thud, her cloak spreading out across the flawless floor.

"S-sorry," Elias muttered, flustered, extending a hand.

But she was already rising on her own, brushing herself off with quick, jerky movements. Her violet eyes flicked up to him, more startled than angry, but they quickly dropped again, as if afraid to hold his gaze.

"Just... watch where you're going next time," she mumbled, barely above a whisper.

Elias gave a short nod, awkwardly, and hurried off.

She stood there for a second, blinking, cheeks burning in the sweltering air. She'd already felt out of place, too quiet, too uncertain, and now she'd literally fallen on her face. Perfect.

"Brilliant," she muttered under her breath. "Because I really needed one more reason to look like an idiot today."

"Well, Alice," came a voice behind her, smooth and amused, "you really do have a gift for turning completely normal moments into minor catastrophes."

Alice flinched at the voice, then slowly turned. A tall girl leaned lazily against the obsidian wall, arms crossed, an elegant brow raised. Her emerald eyes gleamed with knowing, and her long black hair flowed like ink down her shoulders, every part of her seemed polished, practiced, and perfectly in control.

"I didn't mean to," Alice said, voice small.

"You never do," the emerald-eyed girl replied with a shrug, her tone teasing. "That's the magic you can do, until the real magic shows up." She twirled a loose thread from the edge of her sleeve, and with a flick of her fingers, it wove itself into a delicate embroidered pattern that hadn't been there before, faintly glowing, as if stitched with starlight.

Another girl stepped forward from behind her. She had soft golden curls and bright green eyes, lighter and more vibrant than the first girl's, paired with a warmth that made her presence feel almost like sunlight. She clasped her hands behind her back, a faint smile playing at her lips.

"I swear, you could walk into an empty room and still manage to trip over air," she said lightly.

"I didn't trip," Alice muttered again, defensive but defeated.

The girls exchanged a look, part smirk, part sympathy. The kind that said, We're only teasing... but we're not wrong.

Alice bit her lip and looked away, her fingers curling into the edge of her sleeve. It always felt like this. Like she was trying to breathe in a room already filled by other people's brilliance. They never meant to make her feel smaller... but they did.

Before any of them could speak again, a voice sliced through the air.

"Enough."

They all froze.

From the corridor ahead, a tall woman emerged, cloaked in slate-gray robes that whispered across the stone floor. Her presence quieted even the magma's crackle. Her face was calm, but the calm of deep waters that had known storms.

All three girls straightened instinctively.

"This is not the time or the place for childish distractions," the woman said, voice cool and composed. "Look around you. We are gathered here in the honor ceremony of our Protectors. You were chosen to stand here. Earn that place."

Her gaze didn't waver as it locked on Alice. Not with anger, but something deeper. Wearier.

"Stop hiding behind excuses. Be still. Be strong. Be a Greenleaf."

Alice's throat tightened. She bowed her head.

"Yes, Mother."

The woman turned without another word, footsteps silent as smoke as she walked ahead.

Alice stood bathed in the soft glow of the sanctum lights, staring at the floor.

"You know," said the green-eyed girl, voice low and teasing, "that was almost a compliment."

Alice didn't answer. She just stood there for a few seconds, frozen in the soft luminescence of the sanctum, her arms wrapped around herself as if bracing against more than just the silence. The weight of her mother's words still clung to her like an echo she couldn't shake.

The others walked on without a backward glance, laughter trailing faintly behind them.

With a quiet breath, Alice finally moved. Her boots scraped softly against the stone as she fell into step behind them, trying not to think about how much heavier her footsteps always felt.

The corridors twisted ahead, veins of light flickering across the smooth obsidian walls etched with ancient runes. The air carried the scent of cold stone, iron, and an ever-present weight of forgotten power, dense and stifling.

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Her mother's voice broke the silence, crisp and unwavering. "This sanctum holds centuries of memory. It will not tolerate weakness." She didn't turn around, but her words were for Alice.

"This is where our greatest protectors honed their craft. Magic runs deeper here than anywhere else. It responds only to those worthy of wielding it."

The other two girls walked in perfect rhythm with her words, elegant, sharp, unshaken. Alice's shoulders tensed as she tried to match their pace, her movements more effort than instinct.

"If you're ever to be more than an afterthought, Alice," her mother continued, "you'd do well to pay attention."

A soft laugh echoed beside her. "Let's hope she doesn't set her robes on fire again."

The golden-haired girl chimed in gently, her voice laced with amusement. "Or embarrass us in some new, creative way."

Heat pricked at Alice's face. She curled her fingers into her palm, the sharp press of her nails grounding her. The air, once thick with the scent of aged parchment and flickering incense, now felt stifling. Each carved pillar, each intricate tapestry, loomed over her like silent judges, whispering the same truth she had heard a hundred times, she wasn't enough.

As they passed an arched doorway, something flickered at the edge of her vision. She slowed, her breath catching as her eyes locked onto the name etched in glowing script above the frame: Eryndor Sagefall.

The door was different. Carved symbols wove across the wood, their delicate lines glimmering like threads of captured starlight. Energy hummed faintly beneath her fingertips as she reached out, tracing the sigils.

She hesitated for a moment, glancing back at her family as they continued forward, oblivious to her lingering. Taking a deep breath, she stepped closer, her fingers grazing the runes etched into the wood. The hum of latent energy sent a shiver through her, and before she could overthink it, she slipped inside.

The air shifted immediately. It was warm and alive, as though the space still breathed with Eryndor Sagefall's magic. Shelves lined the walls, their contents untouched yet humming with presence, potion vials catching the dim light, spellbooks whispering with faintly glowing titles. A heavy tome lay open on the central desk, pages curling slightly as though a breath of unseen magic had only just passed through.

Alice hesitated, her pulse quickening. She reached out, fingertips skimming the aged leather of the book. The space around her didn't feel abandoned. It felt as if the wizard had merely stepped away, his magic still here, still watching, still expecting.

Her throat tightened. The meticulous arrangement, the weight of carefully measured ingredients, the unwavering purpose in every detail, it was everything she lacked.

Her hand hovered over the page. "He never questioned himself," she whispered. "Never doubted what he was meant to be."

Alice closed her eyes, the present moment slipping away as the weight of her past pressed in on her. Memories, haunting and unresolved, rose to the surface, a reminder of the struggles she had never fully overcome.

The memory of Eldergrove lingered in her mind, pulling her back to another time, another place.

The Order of Eldergrove rose like a bastion above the world, its twisting towers carved from ancient trees, bound together by roots older than memory. Jade light pulsed faintly through the wood, a heartbeat of the magic that thrummed in every stone and every petal. This sacred place was not just a coven of witches and wizards; it was a living, breathing entity, where enchantment flowed as naturally as the wind through the leaves.

To the outside world the members of Eldergrove were a force of nature, masters of the arcane. Within its halls the Greenleaf family stood at its pinnacle, feared, revered, untouchable.

Alice sat alone on the cold stone steps outside the great chamber, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the rough surface. The night's chill seeped into her skin but she didn't move. Inside the air hummed with magic, her sisters' voices weaving spells that crackled through the air. The great stained-glass windows pulsed with green and blue light, flickering in time with their spellwork.

Catherine's magic was flawless, her words carving through the air like a master artist's brushstrokes. And Elara burned bright, her raw power untamed, the bursts of her energy rattling the very walls.

Alice curled her fingers into her palms. A quiet shadow. That's all she was. Always watching, always behind.

Her unique violet eyes glimmered with longing as she listened to the vibrant energy of her sisters' magic, a stark reminder of her own limitations. She felt like an echo in their wake, the forgotten link in the family chain. No matter how hard she tried, her spells never sparked with the same brilliance; they sputtered and faded like dying embers, leaving her feeling small and unseen.

She exhaled softly and let her fingers drift back to the stone as she absentmindedly traced a spiral she had drawn countless times since childhood. A simple loop curling inward then outward again like an unbroken cycle. The motion was soothing and familiar and it gave her something tangible when everything else felt so distant.

Then, beneath her fingertips, the stone pulsed.

It was subtle so faint she almost didn't notice. A whisper of warmth brushed against her skin barely more than a breath. Alice froze with her heart quickening as she stared at the faint shimmer now threading through the lines she had drawn. The spiral glowed for the briefest moment as a flicker of violet light bloomed from its center before fading into nothing as if it had never been there at all.

She blinked. Had she imagined it?

A sharp voice broke through her thoughts. "Alice!"

She turned sharply as her mother strode toward her with emerald robes trailing behind like rippling waves. Matilda Greenleaf's presence commanded the space and her staff glowed faintly as if drawn to her very essence. Even her footsteps carried an echo of power.

"What are you doing out here?" Matilda's voice was brisk and clipped. "Your sisters are practicing their craft. You should be inside learning from them."

Alice hesitated and shifted on the cool stone steps before rising to her feet. "I thought... I thought it would be better if I stayed out of the way."

Matilda's sharp gaze lingered on her and the verdant shimmer of her staff flickered like an unreadable thought behind her eyes. But when she finally spoke her voice carried an unusual softness though it did not lose its weight. "You won't grow stronger by hiding Alice. You're a Greenleaf. Power is in your blood."

Power is in your blood. The words wrapped around her as heavy as the air before a storm. But so was tragedy.

Alice turned her gaze toward the distant treetops where moonlight caught the charred remains of blackened bark. The scars of the Great Fire of Eldergrove still lingered and stood defiant against time. The scent of burning wood no longer clung to the air but she could almost taste the smoke on her tongue as if memory alone could summon it.

The fire had come like a beast unchained and wild and ravenous and unnatural. No one knew where it had begun only that it devoured faster than any ordinary flame fueled by something beyond their understanding.

She had been just a child small enough for her mother to carry but old enough to remember the heat licking at her back and the screams twisting through the night. Shadows had danced against the inferno's glow with distorted figures that might have been running or falling or disappearing.

And her father.

Alistair Greenleaf had stood at the heart of it all with his hands raised and his voice unshaken as he cast ward after ward and wove barriers of light against the ever-consuming dark. He had held them back long enough for the others to escape and long enough for Matilda to run with Alice clutched against her chest. His last words were lost in the roar of collapsing wood.

The next morning there had been nothing left of him. Just smoldering remnants drifting in the wind.

Alice rarely spoke of him. She barely even remembered his face beyond the faded portrait in their home, beyond the aching silence that had settled into Matilda's voice whenever she spoke of him.

But sometimes in the quiet spaces between thoughts she wondered if he would have looked at her and seen only disappointment.

Matilda had already turned back toward the chamber, her robes flowing like liquid ivy as she strode away. She hadn't waited for a response. She never did.

Alice stayed behind, lingering in the hush of the empty space before retreating to her tower room.

The space was small, secluded, a world apart from her sisters' grand quarters. Shelves bent under the weight of old tomes, their spines worn soft from restless hands. Vials of half-brewed potions cluttered the desk, their contents long since separated into inert, useless layers. Pages of scrawled notes lay abandoned in stacks, the ink smudged from repeated touch, as if tracing the words enough times would force them into her bones.

A flutter of movement near the window caught her eye. Noir, her clumsy raven, flapped ungracefully onto her shoulder, his talons barely gripping before he settled, ruffling her hair with his beak.

Ash, the second of her familiars, perched on the windowsill, a sleek contrast to his companion. He regarded her with sharp, intelligent eyes, tilting his head as if assessing her mood.

"You're the only ones who don't expect too much from me," she murmured, stroking Noir's feathers. The bird let out a quiet croak, nudging her cheek as if in understanding.

Alice hunched over her desk, the soft glow of her enchanted lamp casting light over the worn leather of her spellbook. The pages curled at the edges, smudged with ink and ash from endless attempts. She traced the familiar words with a fingertip, then pressed her palms together, whispering, "Ignite flame power."

A spark flickered to life in her hands, a trembling ember no larger than a dim shimmer of light. Her breath caught, just for a moment, she dared to hope, but then, with a feeble hiss, it vanished, leaving only the sting of heat against her skin. Alice exhaled sharply and slammed the book shut, sending a puff of dust into the air.

Ash ruffled his feathers from the windowsill, cocking his head as if unimpressed. Noir flapped onto her shoulder, nudging her cheek in a poor attempt at comfort.

A knock echoed against her door.

Alice turned, pulse quickening as Catherine's figure filled the doorway, bathed in the soft, ethereal glow of her magic. The air itself seemed to shift around her sister, rippling with controlled power. Golden hair, woven into intricate braids, framed her sharp green eyes, which flickered over Alice's cluttered desk with mild disdain.

"The elders want all of us to perform tonight." Catherine's voice was smooth, effortless. "Even you."

Alice's fingers curled around the edge of her chair. "Do I have to?" She hated the way her voice wavered.

Catherine's lips curved, not quite a smile. "Of course. You're a Greenleaf. It's time you started acting like one." Her gaze drifted to the scattered parchment and half-mixed potions. "Unless you'd rather stay here, playing with your little projects."

Heat crept up Alice's neck, but she didn't answer. Catherine turned without another word, the soft click of her heels against the stone floor punctuating her departure. The door remained ajar, an unspoken expectation.

Noir nipped lightly at her ear. Ash let out a quiet caw, shifting his weight on the windowsill.

"I know," Alice murmured. Her hands trembled as she pushed herself up, smoothing her skirts as if the fabric could mask the storm in her chest.

The walk to the great hall was too short. The air shimmered with the echoes of spells, the very walls thrumming with old magic. Luminous threads of power pulsed through the beams overhead, casting shifting light over the gathered witches. Silks embroidered with enchantments rippled as figures moved, their gazes sharp, assessing.

Alice found her place at the edge of the crowd, fingers digging into the fabric of her sleeves.

At the center of the hall, Elara stepped forward, her expression calm, assured. She lifted a single hand, voice a steady command: "Fireborn wings, ascend to the stars."

Flames burst to life, curling and twisting into the shape of a magnificent phoenix. It spread its wings, sparks cascading like falling stars as it took flight. Gasps rippled through the crowd as the fiery bird soared, its glow painting the hall in warmth.

The last traces of Elara's phoenix drifted down like molten gold, dissolving before they touched the smooth marble ground. Applause rolled through the hall, a wave of admiration that swelled and then receded as Elara turned, her lips curving in quiet satisfaction. Her gaze flicked over Alice, indifferent, as if she were no more than another shadow cast by the enchanted torches.

Alice dropped her eyes and gripped the edges of her sleeves to steady the tremor in her hands. The tiny spark she had conjured earlier was weak and fleeting and now felt like an illusion, a mistake the universe had made before correcting itself.

"And now," Matilda's voice rang out, carrying an authority that silenced the murmurs, "Alice Greenleaf will perform."

The words struck like a thunderclap, silencing the remaining whispers. Every pair of eyes turned toward her.

A lump caught in Alice's throat.

She stepped into the center of the hall, the weight of countless stares pressing down on her like a heavy, suffocating fog. The floor beneath her felt cold, unyielding, as if even the very stones disapproved of her presence. She curled her fingers, trying to stop the tremor that threatened to betray her.

A breath. Shaky. Unsteady.

She lifted her hands, palms facing outward, her skin damp with sweat. The room held its breath with her. Somewhere in the crowd, a muffled cough. The whisper of shifting robes. The sharp intake of air as someone braced for yet another failure.

"You can do this," she whispered. The words felt as fragile as the flickering light overhead.

"Light of protection, stand as my shield," she murmured in the ancient tongue, the syllables curling from her lips like the whisper of wind through brittle leaves.

For a moment, hope bloomed, soft and tentative. Threads of green light spun in the air before her, delicate as weaving spider silk. A translucent barrier began to form, shimmering at the edges.

Then... the glow wavered.

Alice's heart clenched as the spell buckled, the magic unraveling before her eyes. She tightened her grip, desperation surging through her veins as she poured more of herself into the incantation.

Hold. Please hold.

The barrier cracked.

A sharp snap rang through the hall as the spell collapsed, sending harmless ripples of failed energy rolling outward. The light scattered like dust caught in a breeze, vanishing into the cold air.

For an instant, so quick it might have been imagined, a flicker of violet light pulsed at her fingertips. Soft, unnatural, otherworldly. It disappeared before even Alice could process what she had seen.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Then, a snicker.

"Typical," someone muttered.

"She'll never amount to anything," another voice said, louder this time, like the hiss of a blade being drawn.

Alice stared at the empty space where her spell had failed, her breath caught between her ribs.

Matilda's expression was unreadable, but Alice could feel the disappointment pressing against her skin like frostbite. Catherine's smirk was dagger-sharp, and Elara did not even meet her gaze.

"A Greenleaf should be a master of their craft," an elder murmured, his voice laced with quiet disapproval. "This is unacceptable."

Alice wanted to shrink, to disappear between the cracks in the floor. The laughter, the whispers, the weight of their judgment bore down on her, pressing her into something small and brittle.

Matilda stepped forward, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "Alice will continue her training." Her words were crisp, final, offering no comfort, only obligation. "She will meet the expectations of her lineage."

The whispers hushed, but the weight of judgment clung to the air like a lingering spell.
Alice stood beneath the flickering light, her mother's words meant to shield her, but instead, they pressed down like invisible chains, tightening with every heartbeat—

She blinked.

The flickering vision of the Eldergrove chamber faded, replaced by the quiet pulse of runes carved into the present room's walls. The light here was colder, and the silence deeper, like it had been watching her all along.

Alice exhaled, shakily. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides as she opened her eyes fully, blinking back the emotion she hadn't realized had gathered there. The memory had passed, but its weight lingered in her chest, heavy and suffocating.

She felt small. Not just in stature, but in presence, as though every powerful witch who had once stood where she stood now looked down on her in disappointment. She was a Greenleaf by blood. But in the eyes of her coven, she was a hollow name. A silent shame.

The carvings on the walls pulsed faintly, indifferent to her presence. The silence pressed in, heavy and knowing, offering no comfort.

Then, the book flipped a page.

Alice's breath hitched. The movement had been slow, deliberate, as if guided by unseen hands.

Ink bled across the parchment, curling into elegant script right before her eyes. The letters shimmered with residual magic, forming a message that had not been there a moment ago:

I did.

The room seemed to contract around her, the air thick with something unseen yet undeniably real. Her skin prickled.

The words wavered, then changed:

And so do you.

A whisper stirred the air, but there was no voice, just the sensation of something old and knowing pressing against her thoughts. The runes on the door flared, and the heavy tome's pages snapped shut.

Alice stumbled back, her pulse roaring in her ears. The room was the same, yet something had shifted. Something had seen her. A test? A warning? Or a conversation meant only for her?

At last, she emerged from the chamber, blinking against the brighter light beyond. But her mind stayed trapped inside, looping over the words she had just seen, unable to shake their weight.