The cold bit deeper the farther north they went.
Snow fell in long, quiet streaks from a silver sky, blanketing the world in silence. The road they followed had long since vanished beneath layers of frost and packed ice. Every step crunched underfoot, leaving behind fresh footprints—proof they still existed in this world, still moved forward.
Liora kept her hood low, her breath fogging in steady clouds. Her magic helped fight off the worst of the chill, but she could feel it creeping in at the edges—into her bones, her thoughts, her memories.
It had been three days since they left the cathedral ruins. Three days of silence broken only by occasional conversation, the howl of distant wind, and the quiet crackle of fire at night.
Elias trudged beside her, cloaked in thick furs, spear slung across his back. His hair was damp with melted snow, and his face was set in a grim line.
They were nearing the Ghost Spine—a long jagged ridge of frozen cliffs said to hold remnants of an ancient stronghold, buried under centuries of snowfall and silence. The Ash Circle had written little about it, and the records that did remain were half-warnings, half-myths. But Liora felt it in her gut—this was where the answers waited.
As they rounded a curve along a frostbitten ridge, a soft glow caught Liora's eye in the distance.
Not firelight—too steady. Not magic—too warm.
"Do you see that?" she asked, slowing her pace.
Elias squinted. "Yeah. Could be a lantern."
Liora extended her hand, calling on her necromantic sight. The color of the world shifted—gray and muted, with a faint blue aura hanging in the air.
There were no spirits nearby. No dueling energies. Just that single light.
They approached cautiously.
As they neared the source, they found a figure hunched near the base of a snow-covered tree, cradling a small flame in a glass orb. It was a girl—no older than thirteen, maybe fourteen—dressed in tattered robes and bare feet hardened by frost.
Liora frowned. "What is a child doing out here?"
The girl looked up slowly. Her eyes were bright gold—too bright. Unnatural.
Liora's heart skipped. She knew those eyes.
The girl spoke, voice low and steady. "Are you the one they called Liora, born of the last pact?"
Elias stepped in front of Liora instinctively. "Who's asking?"
"I am one of the Watchers," the girl said. "I was left behind when the towers fell. We've been waiting."
Liora's mind raced. The Watchers were a legend even among necromancers. Spiritual custodians of forbidden magic—bound not by flesh, but duty. Some said they weren't human at all.
"You were waiting for me?"
The girl nodded. "There is something you must see. Before the frost takes it forever."
Liora exchanged a wary glance with Elias. He gave her a barely perceptible nod.
The girl stood and turned, motioning for them to follow. They did, wordlessly, into a grove of towering frost-worn pines. The trees bent under the weight of old snow, and a strange stillness pressed in from every direction.
They walked in silence until the trees gave way to a clearing.
At the center stood a stone archway, cracked and half-buried in ice. Ancient runes lined its surface, glowing faintly beneath the frost.
Liora stepped closer, her pulse quickening.
"I've seen this before," she whispered. "In my mother's journals."
The girl turned to her. "It is a gate. One that leads not to another place, but to memory."
Liora frowned. "A memory gate?"
"Your mother sealed a part of herself within it—memories too dangerous to carry, but too important to destroy."
Liora hesitated. "If I step through… will I come back?"
The girl didn't answer right away. Then she said, "Not the same."
Elias grabbed her arm. "Liora—wait. This could be a trap. We don't know what's on the other side."
"I have to know," she said. "Everything I've become… everything I've risked—it started with her. If I don't understand what she did, I won't survive what's coming."
She looked back at the girl, who only nodded.
Without another word, Liora stepped through.
The world blinked.
Suddenly, she was standing in a sunlit courtyard. No snow. No cold. Just stone pillars, golden banners, and the scent of wildflowers on the air.
Dozens of necromancers stood in formation, clad in ceremonial robes. And at the center—her mother.
Not older, not sick. But alive. Radiant. Powerful.
She was speaking to a group of acolytes, her voice firm but kind.
"…The pact is not just a tool," she said. "It's a burden. A choice made with full knowledge that you may never come back the same."
Liora stepped closer, stunned by the clarity of the vision. This wasn't just memory—it was perfect preservation.
She reached out, hand trembling.
But her mother turned—and looked directly at her.
"I knew you'd come, my heart," the vision said.
Liora froze. "You… you can see me?"
"This memory was shaped for you. A key, locked away until your magic matured."
Liora's throat tightened. "Why didn't you tell me the truth? Why leave me with nothing but whispers and warnings?"
Her mother's expression softened. "Because I loved you too much to let you follow the same path. I made a pact not just to protect our people—but to protect you. I thought I could keep the darkness at bay long enough… but I failed."
Liora's voice cracked. "Is it true? Am I marked by it too?"
Her mother stepped forward, resting a warm hand against her cheek.
"You are not marked, Liora. You are chosen. And that is far more dangerous."
The light began to fade.
"Wait—don't go!" Liora begged.
Her mother whispered, "The tower in the frost holds the final piece. Find the mirror. And whatever you do, do not let the Watchers inside."
With that, the world shattered.
Liora gasped as she stumbled backward through the gate, collapsing into the snow.
Elias was there, catching her before she hit the ground.
"What happened?"
Liora's eyes were wide, her heart thundering. "We need to find the tower. Now."
He helped her up, worry etched into his face. "What did you see?"
"Not what. Who."
She looked back toward the girl—but the clearing was empty.
No footprints in the snow. No sign anyone had ever been there but them.