The storm had passed by morning.
Mist clung to the forest floor like fingers reluctant to release their grip. Liora walked alone beneath the canopy, guided not by compass or map, but by an instinct she couldn't name—an echo in her bones that tugged her deeper into the wild.
The others remained behind. Elias had insisted she take time to recover from the vision, but Liora knew the truth: *She wasn't injured—she was transforming.*
Every necromancer heard the Veil. But now, Liora *felt* it—like warm breath on the back of her neck. Whispers curled behind her ears. Some were cries for help. Others were offers. Deals. Promises.
But one voice remained constant.
Alric Sereth.
Not living. Not dead.
*Dormant.*
She reached a clearing where the mist parted, revealing stone steps half-swallowed by the earth. Cracked pillars jutted from moss-covered ruins, forming a broken archway etched with protective glyphs long since dulled by time.
Liora approached, brushing away a tangle of ivy. Her hand paused on a worn symbol—three interlocking circles, each wrapped around a different elemental rune.
It wasn't a ward.
It was *an invitation*.
She stepped through.
The sanctuary opened below—a spiraling staircase descending into the mountain's root. As she walked, lanterns lining the walls flared to life, one after another, reacting to her presence.
When she reached the bottom, her breath caught.
A chamber carved from obsidian and moonstone waited there, its center marked by a raised altar surrounded by relics: an ancient scythe, a blackwood grimoire sealed by bone clasps, and a necklace glowing faintly with trapped soul energy.
A voice echoed from behind her.
"You've come far, child of Sereth."
Liora spun—expecting danger. But no one stood there.
Instead, the voice resonated from the walls, pulsing in rhythm with the Veil itself.
"Your blood opens doors," it said. "But only your soul may bind what lies ahead."
She stepped forward and laid a hand on the necklace. The moment her skin met the relic, a pulse rippled outward.
And the soul inside spoke.
"I was Amara. Warden of the Veil. Your father's shield and blade."
Liora closed her eyes. "Show me."
The room faded.
She saw Alric in his prime, not as the broken exile whispered about in fearful tones, but as a powerful figure standing in defiance of the White Circle. He raised the grimoire—*his grimoire*—and performed a ritual unlike any she'd seen before.
He summoned a soul—not just to command, but to *join*.
His essence merged with Amara's. Two beings, one body.
The result: overwhelming power, sharpened focus, and a temporary immunity to the Veil's cost.
But there was a risk.
If the will of either soul faltered, the fusion could fracture—and both would be lost forever.
When Liora returned to the present, the relic had gone dark.
The soul had been released.
She understood now: *This was the soul fusion technique her father created. A sacred trust between the living and the dead.*
It wasn't domination. It was **symbiosis**.
---
Elsewhere, in the obsidian halls of Caelharrow, the White Circle convened.
Twelve thrones lined a crescent chamber, ten of them filled. The other two—one cracked, the other wreathed in silent flame—remained symbols of betrayal and prophecy.
From the shadows stepped a new figure, cloaked in crimson and silver, face hidden beneath an elaborate half-mask shaped like a twisted ram's skull.
He bowed once, then raised his head.
"High Inquisitor Mavrek," one of the Elders announced. "Executor of Echo Rites. Slayer of Seven Veil-Wardens."
Mavrek's voice was smooth, almost warm, but it cut like cold steel. "I was told you summoned me for a reason beyond ceremony."
The Elder nodded. "We've found her. The Sereth heir. She has begun soul fusion."
Mavrek's gaze flared with interest. "So the old man left a seed."
"She's becoming dangerous."
"She's becoming *capable*," he corrected. "There's a difference."
One of the masked councilors snarled, "We don't need another Alric. We must crush her before the ritual reaches maturity."
Mavrek chuckled. "And what would you know of maturity? You still fear what you cannot command."
He turned to the central scrying orb. It shimmered, revealing a hazy image of Liora standing in the sanctuary chamber.
"She's made contact with a Warden soul," he murmured. "Smart girl."
"Can you eliminate her?"
"No," he said plainly. "But I can *tempt* her."
Gasps echoed across the chamber.
"You'd offer her a place among us?"
"No. I'll offer her *what her father never could*—control without consequence. Power without pain. The gift of Echo Ascendancy."
The flames at the edges of the hall flickered.
"But if she refuses…"
Mavrek tilted his head, smiling beneath the bone mask.
"…then I will unmake her, thread by thread."
---
Back in the sanctuary, Liora stood before the grimoire.
She opened it slowly. The pages turned on their own, as if eager to share what had been hidden for so long.
Spells of revival, of anchor-binding, of duality and descent. These weren't tricks or weapons.
They were **choices**. Each ritual cost something. Time. Memory. Even a piece of her humanity.
But she didn't hesitate.
She chose a soul—an old friend from Elenvale who died saving her—and whispered his name into the Veil.
The air shimmered.
He appeared beside her, ghostly yet solid, eyes wide with recognition.
"Liora…"
She reached for him—not to control, but to *merge*.
"I need you," she said. "Not as a summon. As a partner."
He nodded once.
The ritual began.