Thorne didn't know how he survived the rest of the day.

Classes passed in a haze, the words of the professors slipping past him like water through clenched fingers.

By the end of it, he could barely remember a single term from The Theory of Magical Constructs and not a blessed word from Alchemy and Potion Brewing either, despite the professor dramatically waving around three separate sets of arms.

His mind wasn't here.

It was pacing far ahead of him, somewhere in the deep corridors of the unknown.

By the time classes ended, his nerves were frayed raw. He barely muttered a goodbye to Elias and Rowenna before retreating into the solitary refuge of his room.

There, the pacing began.

Back and forth across the cramped space. Leather soles whispering against stone. The vast galaxy that floated beyond his enchanted window spiraled in its endless, silent rotation, mocking his growing impatience.

Every few minutes, his core would surge unbidden, and his eyes would flare, casting flickering blue-white reflections across the walls. He knew the agitation was visible. Knew it unsettled anyone who saw him. But he couldn't stop. Couldn't still the gnawing at the back of his mind.

What would she say?

What did she know?

Why had she called him?

Time lost meaning.

At some point, unable to bear it any longer, Thorne grabbed his bag and cloak and slipped out into the corridors of Umbra House. The halls were quieter now, older students milling about with deliberate, languid steps. Some gave him wary glances as he passed, the steady light burning in his irises drawing attention he didn't want.

He ignored them and activated his evolved stealth skill, trying to hide from unwanted stares.

Crossed the Mid-Tier convergence, where the ancient sigilwheel spun lazily rotating threads of aether. And finally stepped into the cool breath of the open courtyard. It wasn't truly dark yet. The sun clung stubbornly to the horizon, smearing the clouds in molten orange and bruised purple.

But close enough.

It was time.

Thorne pulled his cloak tighter around him, buried his hands deep in his pockets, and strode across the courtyard toward the eastern edge of Aetherhold. The crystal tower shimmered ahead like a needle spun from frozen light, its upper floors vanishing into the swirling mists that clung to the castle's peaks.

He didn't hesitate.

His boots struck the crystal steps one after the other, his breath steady, heart hammering louder with every pace.

Up.

And up.

And up.

The spiraling staircase wrapped around the tower's inner walls, no rails to protect the unwary from a long, fatal fall.

Only the faint hum of magic kept the steps solid beneath his feet.

Higher and higher he climbed, the bustle of the courtyard shrinking into distant memory below him.

Tonight, something waited.

And he was ready for it.

Thorne raised his hand and knocked once.

The door opened almost immediately, as if Marian had been standing just beyond it, waiting.

She didn't speak. Simply inclined her head and stepped aside, allowing him to enter.

Inside, the air felt... different.

Thicker. Warmer. As if the tower itself breathed.

Thorne stayed rooted to the entrance, gaze sweeping over the space.

It wasn't what he expected. It wasn't the classroom he had visited a few hours ago. The interior was stark, elegant, crystal floors underfoot, translucent walls pulsing faintly with threads of magic like veins beneath skin.

No desks. No chalkboards.

Just a single, arched doorway glowing softly at the far end.

Marian gestured for him to follow, and he did, boots silent against the gleaming floor. They passed through the archway and immediately the world changed.

The air shifted.

The magic intensified, vibrating faintly against his skin.

Beyond the doorway lay a chamber unlike anything he'd expected. It resembled a living room, if the word could stretch to describe it. Rich darkwood furnishings, plush, worn sofas, shelves packed with ancient tomes and relics. A fire crackled in a low hearth, even though he hadn't seen any chimneys on the tower from outside.

Thorne's hand hovered near one of his hidden daggers without thinking.

Marian caught the motion and smiled faintly, as if approving of his caution.

"Sit," she offered calmly, waving to a deep chair near the hearth.

Thorne shook his head. His voice was hard when he spoke.

"Who are you?"

Marian lifted a single finger, her meaning clear:

Not yet.

Frustration coiled through him, but he stayed silent, hands clenched at his sides.

Her gaze drifted to the translucent walls. Outside, the last breath of sunset surrendered to night, and the sigils woven into the walls pulsed softly, like a heartbeat just beneath the surface.

Marian raised her hand. On her finger, a ring glinted set with a large, pearlescent stone, like a fragment of a full moon. With a casual grace, she traced a shape in the air.

Thorne felt it before he saw it...

Aether rushing through the pearl. Sigils in the walls igniting one by one, cascading outward in a spiral of silent light.

The floor trembled under his boots.

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The world twisted, turned inside out and then reformed.

The chamber was still there but outside the windows…

Thorne stepped closer, breath catching.

The world had changed.

Towering trees, their trunks thicker than castle walls, rose into an endless sky. Their leaves were a deep, shimmering blue, like the surface of an untouched ocean. Mist, soft and pink, curled around their roots, hiding the forest floor. The trees were so colossal, the tower itself looked like a child's toy in comparison.

Thorne couldn't tear his gaze away.

It wasn't just the size. It was something deeper. An ancient, humming wrongness. These trees were old. Older than kingdoms. Older, maybe, than time itself. They weren't just part of the forest. They were the forest. Alive in a way no mortal creation could be.

Marian joined him at the window, her reflection faint in the glass.

"A primordial forest," she murmured. "Untouched by civilization. One of the few places left where mortal feet have never walked."

Her voice was low, reverent.

Almost… sad.

Thorne looked more closely, and he believed her. These trees didn't merely grow. They remembered. Something about them felt wrong and beautiful all at once.

Alien.

Forgotten.

Marian turned toward him, her green eyes catching the shimmer of the starlight outside.

"Come," she said softly. "Let us sit. We have much to discuss."

Marian moved fluidly to a tray atop a low table. With a flick of her wrist and a breath of aether, a tea kettle stirred to life, steam curling gently from its spout.

"Please, sit."

Thorne remained standing. His body coiled like a spring, his instincts screaming at him to stay sharp, stay distant. His eyes flicked toward the two armchairs beside the fire, but he didn't move.

Marian poured two cups of amber liquid, her movements deliberate, composed. She took one for herself, settled into one of the chairs, and then looked at him calmly. "You don't have to drink, if that's what you're worried about," she said with the faintest hint of amusement in her tone. "But you look like you haven't slept in a week. Sit, Thorne."

He hesitated for a moment longer, then with a sigh relented. Moving cautiously, he lowered himself into the chair opposite hers, keeping his spine straight and his eyes on her.

"You're the reason I'm here," he said at last, voice low and steady. "You're the one who sent the invitation to Aetherhold."

Marian took a sip from her cup, then nodded.

"Indeed."

"You knew who I was. From the beginning."

Her green eyes sharpened. "From the moment I saw your pendant."

Automatically, Thorne's hand drifted to his chest, where the cool weight of the silver pendant lay hidden beneath his uniform. "This?"

"I made it," Marian said, softly. "Long ago. For your mother."

The words landed like a strike. Thorne stiffened. For a moment, he didn't speak at all.

"You?" he finally managed. "Why?"

Marian set her cup down gently. She sat back, folding her hands in her lap. Her gaze drifted to the crystal wall, where night had now fully fallen. The stars began to appear, faint and sharp, casting pale reflections through the translucent structure of the tower.

"History has a way of repeating itself," she said quietly. "When I saw you in Valewind, when I felt the aether shivering around you, I knew. I knew before you said a word. But when I saw the pendant, I was certain."

Her voice was gentler now, touched by memory.

"After you left, I searched. I asked questions. I followed the trail I hoped I'd never have to follow again. And what I found…" Her voice wavered slightly. "What I found confirmed my fears."

She looked at him, truly looked at him now. No longer as a teacher. No longer as a stranger.

"When I discovered Alera was gone…" Her throat caught. She closed her eyes briefly. "I was devastated."

"You knew her," Thorne said, his voice hushed.

Marian gave a slow nod. "She was like a sister to me. We grew up together, Thorne. Our families, along with others like us, formed a hidden community, a refuge for those of the Elder Blood. We lived in secrecy, surrounded by enchantments and layered wards, far from cities and prying eyes."

"And then?" Thorne asked, though he already knew. He could feel it in the aching weight of her words.

"We were found," Marian said simply. "One night, the wards failed. Someone betrayed us. The hunters came. Mages, mercenaries, soldiers, they knew what they were looking for. It was a massacre."

She fell silent for a long moment, the firelight flickering against her pale face. The pain wasn't loud in her voice, but it was etched in every word.

"Alera and I were the only ones who survived."

Thorne swallowed hard. His hands clenched over the arms of the chair. The room was quiet save for the crackle of the hearth and the faint humming of the crystal walls.

"I lost everything that night," Marian said, staring into the flames. "My home. My family. My future. And then… I lost Alera, too."

A long silence stretched between them.

Thorne looked down at his hands, at the faint shimmer of aether that always clung to him now. He muttered, barely above a whisper, "I have so many questions."

Shock was beginning to loosen its grip, replaced by a strange detachment, a numb curiosity. There should have been emotion, sorrow, maybe relief, or even joy. He had found someone who had known his mother, someone who had shared her life. But instead, it all felt distant, like listening to someone recount the story of a stranger.

His mother. A woman he remembered only in pieces, fleeting laughter, a soft lullaby, the smell of her hair when she hugged him close. A ghost with no face.

Marian's memories felt more real than his own.

He looked up again. "When you said you lost her... what do you mean?"

Marian's eyes dimmed slightly. She leaned back, her shoulders heavy.

"We were too different from the start," she said, her voice soft, reflective. "Even as children, she was the careful one. The quiet heart, kind to everyone. And I..." she gave a small, self-deprecating smile "... I was the storm. Always looking for trouble. Dragging her into it. She never complained. Just… fixed the messes I made."

She paused, reaching for her cup again, though she didn't drink.

"After the massacre, everything changed. I was furious. Hollow. I wanted to become powerful. Strong enough to never be helpless again. To protect her. To protect us."

Her voice caught, but only for a second.

"She wanted the opposite. Alera didn't want to fight. Didn't want to harm, or kill, or level. She hated it. She believed that if she tried hard enough, she could live like it never happened. That we could hide and find peace."

Thorne's gaze sharpened. That… sounded right. It sounded like her.

"She met your father not long after," Marian said. "Kearan. He wasn't Elderborn, but he was good. Smart. Grounded. And… he loved her. That was enough for her."

Marian's hand curled into a tight fist in her lap.

"They settled in that quiet village, far from everything. A place no one would ever look. I visited when I could. Checked on her. On you."

"You saw me?" Thorne asked quietly.

Marian nodded. "Only once. You were just a baby, sleeping in her arms. She wouldn't let me hold you."

A pause. Her mouth pressed into a thin line.

"I think she was afraid that if I touched you, you'd end up like me. Pulled into the same path. She wanted you to grow up free. Safe. Untouched by all this." Her gaze turned distant again. The firelight danced across her face, but the shadows under her eyes deepened.

"When I joined Aetherhold's faculty, that changed everything. Being here… it binds you. You can't just leave whenever you wish. You're watched. Monitored. And being in contact with another of our kind, another Elderborn, especially one in hiding? It was too dangerous. For her. For you."

She exhaled slowly, her voice quieter now. "So I stayed away. For years."

Then, barely above a whisper: "I shouldn't have."

The words trembled as they left her.

"I should've visited. If I hadn't kept my distance…" She trailed off, her eyes glinting with a sorrow too deep to voice.

Thorne didn't speak.

He didn't know what to say. The knot in his chest wasn't anger or grief, just weight. Heavy, suffocating weight.

"She was my family," Marian said finally. "And I left her alone. Maybe if I hadn't..."

Her voice cracked. She closed her eyes and drew a trembling breath.

"Maybe she'd still be alive."

Thorne didn't blame her.

How could he? He'd lived too long with the understanding that sometimes, even your best wasn't enough.

Marian stared into the hearth, the fire reflected in her green eyes like twin suns dimmed by ash.

"Mages are powerful," she said at last. Her voice was flat. Tired. "More powerful than I ever dreamed of being. But power doesn't make you omniscient. Or infallible."

She tilted her head, almost as if speaking to herself now.

"All those years of training. All these spells I've mastered. The circles I've carved into the world. And yet..." her voice faltered, the line of her jaw clenched with quiet fury. "What did they give me? What good is it when the ones I love still die?"

Thorne watched her, silent. The words echoed something buried in his own bones. That same hollow weight. That same ache for the unreachable.

But while Marian stared into the fire, grieving ghosts long gone, Thorne's thoughts turned elsewhere.

Bea.

A flash of her face in his mind's eye, the laughter, the dark curls, the nights they whispered plans beneath a moth-eaten blanket. For years he'd clung to the hope like a thread wound around his heart.

And now, sitting in the glowing silence of this impossible tower, in front of the only person alive who had known his mother, who had once seen him as a child, he had to say it aloud.

"My sister," Thorne said, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Bea."

Marian looked up.

Her expression shifted instantly, the grief wiped clean by the sudden alertness in her eyes.

"She's alive," he said. "I don't have proof. But I know. I can feel it. And I believe she's here. In Aetherhold."

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