The dream ca softly, like mist slipping through cracks in stone. One mont I was lying in the quiet stillness of the Vale, the moonlight cooling my skin. The next, the world turned to fog, and the air thickened with silence.
I stood in a field of white ash. The sky was gray and unmoving, and the trees around were nothing but charred shadows of what they had once been. The wind didn’t blow. No birds sang. Even the air felt like it held its breath.
Then I saw him.
The cursed wizard.
He rose from the ash like smoke, his robes torn and scorched, his eyes glowing with sothing ancient and heavy. Not hate. Not anger. But warning.
"Luciana," he said, his voice cracking like firewood in flas.
I took a step back. My body rembered his pain. The last ti I saw him, he had pulled into his past—into the mont he was betrayed and cursed. I had barely survived it. And now, here he was again.
"Why are you here?" I asked. "What do you want from now?"
"I co not to take," he said. "But to warn."
He raised one hand, and the ash around us swirled. It lifted into the air and ford images. Shapes. Faces.
I gasped.
Aira.
My mother, walking in a place I did not know. Her hair was longer than I rembered. She wore a cloak the color of dusk. She looked tired, older—but she was alive.
Then the image shifted.
John.
His face was twisted in confusion, his hand holding sothing I couldn’t make out—a stone, glowing faintly. Behind him, the ground pulsed with red light. Cracks in the earth spread like veins.
"This is happening now," the wizard said. "Far from here. But its pull reaches even the cursed lands."
"What is that place? What are they doing?"
"They search without knowing," he said. "They open without aning. The seal that keeps the ancient doom buried is weakening. And soone you once trusted walks too close to it."
The images faded. The ash fell.
I looked into the wizard’s eyes. "Why are you telling this?"
"Because your path is tied to what they awaken. You are the Chosen, but you are not alone in this. If the seal breaks before your training ends, even your power will not be enough."
I felt cold spread through . Not fear. Not yet. But sothing deep and old. A knowing.
"What do I do?"
"Finish what you began," he said. "The Sixth Way awaits you. But do not linger. The edge of the world grows thin."
He began to fade, his body turning into mist, his voice echoing in my bones.
"And Luciana..."
"Yes?"
"Tell Orrin the na of the place you saw. The ancient ones called it *Drelun.* The Restless Cradle."
Then the dream shattered like glass.
---
I woke with a sharp breath, my body drenched in sweat. The campfire had died down to embers. The Guardian bird perched nearby, its feathers glowing faintly in the dark.
The dream clung to like smoke. I could still feel the wizard’s presence, still see the red cracks in the earth, still hear his voice in the back of my mind.
Orrin was awake. He watched from across the fire.
"You saw him again," he said.
I nodded. "He ca with a warning."
Orrin stood and ca to my side. I told him everything—the vision of my mother, John, the strange glowing stone, the red cracks in the ground. And the word the wizard had left with.
"Drelun," I whispered. "He called it the Restless Cradle."
Orrin froze.
For the first ti since I t him, fear crossed his face. Not panic, not alarm—but the kind of fear born from mory. From knowledge.
"That na hasn’t been spoken in centuries," he said. "It was buried with the curse."
"What is it?"
"It’s not just a place. It’s a gate. A scar in the world that leads to sothing darker than death."
My breath caught.
"And it’s waking up," I said.
Orrin placed a hand on my shoulder. "Then we cannot wait. Your training must be finished before that seal breaks. The Sixth Trial will begin tomorrow."
I nodded, even though my heart felt heavy.
I thought of my mother walking closer to danger. I thought of Darius holding Erya in Silverglen, unaware of the storm coming. I thought of John—what he was holding, and how little he likely understood of the danger. His ignorance didn’t make him innocent. It made him reckless.
There wasn’t ti left for fear.
Only fire.
Only fate.
And I would et both with eyes open.
---
Later that night, I sat with the Guardian bird. Its golden eyes blinked slowly as it watched .
"You knew he would co again, didn’t you?"
The bird tilted its head.
"You feel it too," I said. "The world is shifting. The past doesn’t stay buried."
The bird let out a low trill, almost like a sigh.
"If I don’t finish this in ti... will everything we’ve done be for nothing?"
The bird leaned forward, pressing its forehead gently to mine.
A warmth passed between us.
Not words. Not visions.
Just hope.
And that was enough.
Sotis, hope was the most dangerous thing of all. It made you believe you could win. That you were strong enough. That even in the face of sothing ancient and broken, you could be whole.
And still, I held onto it.
I thought of everything we had lost. Everyone. The fallen warriors at the Crossroads. The sisters who never made it to the Circle. The promises I made in silence and sealed in blood.
This couldn’t be for nothing.
---
When the first light of morning touched the Vale, I stood at the center of the ancient ring once again. The grass here always shimred faintly, like dew and starlight had beco one. The standing stones surrounding the ring humd with old power, their runes faint but pulsing, as if awakened by purpose.
Orrin joined , his staff in hand, his eyes hard with purpose.
"This next trial," he said, "is not only power. It is choice. The Sixth Way is not taught. It is faced."
I looked at him, steady. "I’m ready."
"No," he said, not cruelly. "But you must be anyway."
I took a deep breath and stepped forward.
Orrin raised his staff.
The sky dimd. The ground shifted.
And the world opened before .
Into the unknown.
Into what cos next.
---
I felt the Vale fall away. The air twisted, turned, and then stilled. I stood in darkness, but it wasn’t empty. It pressed around , whispering.
*What will you give?*
The voice wasn’t loud, but it was inside —ancient and echoing, not of the cursed wizard, nor Orrin, nor anyone I knew.
I took another step. Light flickered at the edge of my vision. Then it moved.
No, not light.
mories.
One after the other. Aira’s laughter. Darius’s hand brushing mine under starlight. Kiani’s sleepy voice calling "sister." The first ti I shifted. The first ti I killed.
All of it spun around .
*What will you keep?* the voice asked.
"I don’t know," I whispered. "But I’ll choose."
*Then choose wisely.*
A shape ford ahead—a path made of light and shadow, split in two directions.
On one side, a sword. Bloodied. Glinting.
On the other, a hand. Open. Waiting.
I understood then.
Power or rcy.
War or peace.
To wield or to guide.
*The Sixth Way is not given. It is chosen.*
I looked at the sword. My hands rembered its weight. The countless tis I had drawn it in defense. Or in fury.
I looked at the hand. My heart rembered its warmth. The tis I had been offered grace. And the monts I failed to give it.
I stepped forward.
And I made my choice.
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