The portal closes behind us with a sound like tearing silk. I stumble slightly as my feet touch solid ground, fingers still gripping his arm to steady him. The journey through the gateway felt like walking through an ice-cold waterfall—a momentary shock of disorientation followed by clarity.
We stand in a large circular chamber with walls of pale stone that seem to glow from within. Twelve archways lead outward like spokes from a wheel, each marked with a different symbol carved above it. High above, a domed ceiling shows a painted night sky with constellations I don't recognize.
"Welcome to Haven," Eryndisa says, stepping forward. The other robed figures spread out, taking positions near different archways. "The heart of the Twilight Accord."
Beside me, he sways, his face ashen. Two of the figures immediately move to support him.
"Take him to the healing chambers," Eryndisa commands. "The corruption is advanced. Prepare the silver salts and moonfire essence."
Panic rises as they begin leading him away. "Wait! I'm staying with him."
"Aria," he manages, voice barely above a whisper, "let them help. I'll be… fine."
"You need rest yourself," Eryndisa says, tone softening slightly. "The energy you expended on the ridge—it's left you dangerously depleted."
As if to confirm her words, a sudden wave of dizziness crashes over me, threatening to bring me to my knees. My vision blurs for a moment before my System display flashes an urgent warning:
CRITICAL ENERGY DEPLETIONCurrent Energy: 8/100Warning: Further magical attempts may cause permanent damage
I grit my teeth, trying to steady myself, but the world sways dangerously. I can't let myself fall apart now—not when Thorne needs me.
"I want to see him treated first," I insist, my voice strained but firm, stubbornly following as they lead Thorne through one of the archways.
A sigh, but no resistance. We travel down a short corridor that opens into a room filled with beds arranged in a half-circle. Shelves line the walls, stocked with bottles, dried herbs, and strange instruments I don't recognize. Three people in pale blue robes—different from the gray of Eryndisa's group—move quickly about, preparing what looks like a bath filled with steaming silver liquid.
He's laid carefully on one of the beds. A woman with short gray hair and keen eyes examines the corruption spreading across his chest and neck.
"Stalker venom," she announces. "And something else… darker. This is no ordinary corruption."
"Can you help him?" My voice is too sharp, too desperate.
A studying glance. "You performed a purification ritual, didn't you? Rudimentary, but effective enough to slow the spread. That bought him time." A nod of approval. "I'm Sylvi, head healer. And yes, we can help him, but the process isn't pleasant. You should wait outside."
"I'm staying," I say firmly, folding my arms.
The healer exchanges a glance with Eryndisa, who shrugs slightly. "She's definitely Mira's daughter."
The healing ritual is indeed unpleasant to watch. They immerse him in the silver bath, which causes the corruption to writhe visibly beneath his skin. He grits his teeth against the pain, refusing to cry out even as the black veins pulse and seem to fight against the treatment. The healers work methodically, applying different salves and chanting in a language I don't understand.
I stay silent in the corner, my eyes glued to the scene unfolding before me. Every movement, every detail, I take in with a level of focus that feels almost unnatural. Without even thinking, my Observe ability activates, providing an analysis of the ritual:
[OBSERVE ACTIVATED]
Healing ritual: Silver purification with moonfire essenceComponents detected: Silver salts, distilled moonlight, purified water, essence of nightshade, blood of healer (willingly given)Purpose: Draw corruption to surface, separate it from host, neutralize demonic essenceSuccess probability: 87%
The ritual proceeds with careful precision. The room is filled with an air of tension as the healer works, casting glowing sigils in the air and murmuring incantations under their breath. Time stretches on for what feels like forever as the silver bath swirls around Thorne, his body trembling with the intense energy of the purification.
It takes over an hour, but eventually, the process reaches its end. Thorne lies unconscious, his breath steady but shallow. The once violent, angry black veins that marred his skin have faded into thin, almost insignificant gray lines. The corruption is no longer pulsing through him, but the extracted demonic essence remains—a viscous black substance floating ominously in the silver bath. It hovers like a dark cloud, contained but still undeniably malevolent, as if waiting for something to stir it back into life.
"He'll sleep now," Sylvi says, wiping her brow. "The worst is over, but he'll need at least two days of rest before he's back to full strength."
My legs nearly buckle with relief. A steadying hand catches my arm.
"Now it's your turn," Eryndisa says gently. "You need rest and nourishment."
Too exhausted to argue, I allow her to lead me through a different archway into what appears to be residential quarters. The room is simple but comfortable—a bed with clean linens, a small table with a pitcher of water and a bowl of fruit, a window overlooking what appears to be an enclosed garden bathed in soft twilight.
"Where are we exactly?" I ask, sinking onto the edge of the bed. "This doesn't feel like anywhere in the Veil Lands."
"That's because it isn't," she explains, pouring a glass of water. "Haven exists in what we call the Between—not fully in any one realm, but connected to many. It's a sanctuary created by the founders of the Twilight Accord centuries ago."
I drink gratefully, suddenly aware of how parched I am. "And what exactly is the Twilight Accord? He mentioned it, and so did my mother in her memories, but neither explained what it actually is."
She settles into the chair across from me. Now that I have a chance to study her, the resemblance is clearer—the same high cheekbones and straight nose as my mother, though her eyes are gray rather than blue.
"The Accord is an alliance of those who believe the barriers between realms should be maintained but permeable—controlled passages rather than sealed walls or open floodgates," she explains. "We stand in opposition to both the Covenant, who would seal all passages permanently, and the Purifiers, who would destroy anything they deem 'unnatural' from other realms."
"And my mother was part of this alliance?"
"Mira was more than just a part of it. She was to be its leader." A shadow passes over her face. "Until she met your father."
I tense. "What do you know about him?"
"Enough to know he's dangerous," she says carefully. "Azrael is ancient, powerful, and patient. He seduced Mira not out of love but because he sensed her potential as a gatekeeper. He needed her bloodline to create something unprecedented—a child who could open pathways between realms at will, without rituals or sacrifices."
"Me," I say quietly.
"Yes." Her gaze is sympathetic but unflinching. "You are the product of a calculated union, Aria. But that doesn't define who you are or what you choose to do with your gifts."
The pendant grows warm against my skin again, as if responding to her words. I touch it absently.
"She left you memories," Eryndisa observes, nodding at the pendant. "Blood Memory magic was Mira's specialty."
"She left me warnings, mostly. And instructions." I hesitate, then ask the question that's been bothering me since Millhaven. "If you're my aunt, why didn't she mention you? Why didn't she send me to you when she realized she was in danger?"
Pain flashes across her face. "Because we were estranged when she died. I… disagreed with her choices. Particularly her decision to hide you rather than bring you to the Accord for protection and training."
"She was trying to protect me," I say defensively.
"By keeping you ignorant of your heritage? Of your potential?" Eryndisa shakes her head. "Mira believed she could hide you in plain sight, mask your abilities so completely that even you wouldn't know what you were capable of. I argued that you needed to understand your power to control it." Her voice softens. "It seems we were both right and both wrong. Her methods kept you hidden longer than I expected, but without training, your first attempt at creating a gateway nearly tore apart the veil between worlds."
I wince, remembering the chaotic vortex on the ridge. "That wasn't exactly planned."
"Few things are, when it comes to power like yours." Eryndisa stands. "Rest now. We'll talk more when you've recovered your strength. Food will be brought to you shortly."
As she reaches the door, I call out, "Wait. One more question. The people in Millhaven—are they really safe?"
She pauses. "We evacuated them to another settlement under our protection. The village itself…" She hesitates. "The breach you created destabilized the area. Several smaller portals opened in and around Millhaven in the hours after your attempt. We managed to close most of them, but the central one remained. It's being monitored."
"So I put all those people in danger," I say, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on my shoulders.
"You acted out of necessity, without training," Eryndisa corrects. "The responsibility lies with those of us who should have found you sooner." She gives me a measured look. "But it does demonstrate why you need proper instruction. Power without control is a danger to everyone, including yourself."
After she leaves, I sink back onto the bed, the weight of everything I've learned pressing heavily on my mind. My thoughts swirl, trying to make sense of the new reality I'm facing—my heritage, the powers awakening inside me, the looming threats ahead. It's overwhelming, and I feel the need to just shut everything out for a moment.
As I close my eyes, trying to center myself, the System flashes another notification across my vision:
SAFE LOCATION DETECTED
Recovery acceleratedEnergy restoration: +2/hour (enhanced by ambient energy)Estimated full recovery: 18 hours
It's reassuring but does little to quiet the storm of questions in my head. I don't trust Eryndisa completely—her story makes sense, but there's something she's not telling me. I can feel it. And the way some of the robed figures looked at me when we arrived… it wasn't just curiosity I saw in their eyes. It was something closer to awe, or fear.
Despite my racing thoughts, exhaustion quickly pulls me toward sleep. The last thing I remember thinking is that I need to check on Thorne as soon as I wake.
I dream of doorways—hundreds of them, stretching in all directions. Each door is different—some made of wood, others of stone or metal or materials I can't identify. Some glow with inner light, others seem to absorb the surrounding light. In the dream, I know instinctively that each door leads to a different realm.
A voice speaks from everywhere and nowhere: "Choose carefully, daughter. Once opened, some doors can never be closed again."
I recognize my father's voice, though I've never heard it while awake. It fills me with a contradictory mixture of dread and longing.
"I won't help you," I say to the empty air.
A chuckle resonates around me. "You already have. Your first attempt was clumsy but effective—it weakened the boundaries exactly where needed. The next will be easier."
"There won't be a next time," I insist.
"There will be many next times, Aria. It's what you were born to do." His voice grows closer, as if he's standing just behind me. "Opening ways is in your blood. You can no more deny it than you can stop your heart from beating."
I turn, but there's no one there—just more doors stretching to infinity.
"What do you want?" I demand. "Why are you hunting me?"
"Because you are the key." A door directly ahead begins to glow red, its outline pulsing like a heartbeat. "Together, we will open the final door—the one that has remained sealed for millennia. The door to true power."
The red door creaks open slightly, a sliver of crimson light spilling out. Within that light, I catch glimpses of a world of fire and shadow, of towering citadels and vast armies. A world ready for conquest.
"I won't help you invade other realms," I say, backing away.
"Invasion?" He sounds amused. "No, daughter. Liberation. Those realms are rightfully mine—stolen from me by the so-called guardians who feared my vision. With you by my side, we will reclaim what was taken. Your mother understood, in the end."
"You're lying. She gave her life to keep me from you."
"Did she?" His voice is silky. "Ask yourself why she never destroyed the pendant. Why she left you a way to access her memories instead of simply telling you to run and hide. Mira knew that eventually, you would understand the truth—that I am not the monster they've painted me to be."
The red door opens wider. The crimson light washes over me, warm and surprisingly comforting.
"Look closely, Aria. See the world as it could be—unified, at peace under a single rule. No more conflicts between realms, no more Covenants or Purifiers or Accords fighting their endless shadow wars. Just order and harmony."
The visions within the light shift, showing scenes of different races and beings living together, of prosperity and advancement. It's seductive in its simplicity.
But then I notice the subtle wrongness—the vacant expressions on many faces, the uniformity that speaks not of harmony but of subjugation. Free will replaced by perfect obedience.
"That's not peace," I say. "It's enslavement."
The light turns harsh, the comfort replaced by searing heat. "You sound like your mother. She had the same foolish idealism before she understood the necessity of my methods."
"Show me then," I challenge. "Show me her understanding this supposed truth."
The scene within the red doorway shifts again. I see my mother standing beside a tall, elegant man with burning crimson eyes—my father. They're looking down at something together, expressions sorrowful but resolved.
With horror, I realize they're looking at me as an infant, performing some kind of ritual over my tiny form.
"What are you doing to me?" I whisper.
"Preparing you," my father says simply. "Mira understood that someone needed to maintain balance between the realms. That someone needed the power to open and close the ways at will. She agreed to help create that someone—you."
"I don't believe you."
"You've seen only the memories she chose to leave you. Convenient, selective truths." His voice grows colder. "Ask your new friends at the Accord about the Convergence Prophecy. Ask them what they truly want from you. Then decide who is really trying to use you."
The red door begins to close.
"Wait!" I call out. "What prophecy? What does it say?"
But the door slams shut, and the dream dissolves into darkness.
I wake with a gasp, my heart pounding in my chest. Sunlight pours through the window—real sunlight, not the twilight glow I saw earlier. My breath catches as I realize how long I've been out.
The System confirms it with a simple notification:
[ENERGY RESTORED]Current Energy: 87/100Recovery time: 22 hours elapsed
I blink, trying to clear the fog in my mind. I've slept far longer than I intended. Slowly, I sit up, my muscles stiff from the long rest. To my surprise, clean clothes are laid out at the foot of the bed. They're simple but well-made garments, similar to what the Accord members wear, though in a deep blue color instead of their usual gray. My own clothes have been taken, presumably for washing.
On the table beside the bed, fresh food has replaced what was there before—bread, cheese, and a small jar of fruit preserve. My stomach growls at the sight, a reminder of how long it's been since I last ate.
Despite my urgency to check on Thorne, hunger wins out. I eat quickly while changing into the new clothes, then head for the door.
The corridor outside is quiet but not deserted. A few robed figures pass, nodding politely but not stopping to speak. I retrace the path to the healing chambers from memory, grateful that no one tries to stop me.
Thorne's bed is empty when I arrive. A moment of panic grips me before Sylvi emerges from a side room.
"He's up and about already," she says, noting my expression. "Against my advice, naturally. Huntsmen make terrible patients."
"Where is he?"
"In the gardens, last I saw. Taking inventory of his weapons." She shakes her head disapprovingly. "As if he needs to be armed here."
I thank her and hurry back to the central chamber with its twelve archways. After a moment's hesitation, I choose the one that seems to lead toward the garden I glimpsed from my window.
The garden is larger than it appeared—a spacious enclosed courtyard with paths winding between beds of strange plants and flowers. Stone benches are arranged in small conversation areas, and a fountain bubbles at the center. What's most striking is the sky above—a perpetual state of twilight, neither day nor night but something in between, bathing everything in soft purple-gold light.
I find Thorne sitting on a bench near the fountain, methodically checking the edge of one of his knives. He looks remarkably improved—his color normal, his movements sure and steady. Only faint gray lines on his neck show where the corruption had spread.
He looks up as I approach, relief clear in his expression. "There you are. I was beginning to wonder if they'd locked you away somewhere."
"I was sleeping," I say, sitting beside him. "For nearly a full day, apparently. How are you feeling?"
"Better than I have any right to," he admits, sheathing the knife. "Their healers know their business. The corruption's not completely gone, but it's contained." He studies my face. "You look troubled. What's happened?"
I glance around to ensure we're alone before telling him about my conversation with Eryndisa and the subsequent dream. His expression grows increasingly grave as I describe the vision of my parents performing a ritual over me as an infant.
Thorne exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "A ritual over you as a child? And he said your mother agreed to it?"
I nod. "And he told me to ask the Accord about the Convergence Prophecy." I meet his gaze. "Have you ever heard of it?"
Thorne goes still. Too still.
His expression doesn't shift, but I can see it in the slight tension at the corner of his jaw. He knows something.
"Thorne?" I press.
He exhales slowly, then shakes his head. "Not here." His voice is quieter now, cautious. Like we might be overheard.
A heavy silence stretches between us.
I don't like it.
I don't like the way my pendant warms against my skin, as if sensing something I can't. I don't like the feeling in my gut, the nagging sense that I shouldn't have asked that question aloud.
I can't shake the feeling that something just shifted.
And I have no idea if it's for better or worse.