When I opened my eyes, the ceiling was unfamiliar.
Not because it was new.
Because it was intact.
I lay in my quarters—sheets tangled, throat dry, and mana core sputtering like a candle in the rain. My muscles ached in ways that didn't make anatomical sense, and my brain kept replaying that final moment.
Light. Static. Fear. And then—
Silence.
It wasn't the vision that unsettled me.
It was the echo it left behind.
There, carved just beneath my skin—subtle, humming with buried heat—was a new Pattern. A vow-shaped sigil that wasn't born from calculation or theory, but instinct. Will. Desperation.
___
Grimoire of Patterns: Votive Sigil – "The Ashen Ember"
"When hope burns out, let defiance remain."
___
It wasn't a combat spell. Not yet. But it had potential—dangerous, volatile potential. A glyph that grew with conviction. A rune powered by the act of standing back up when everything told you to stay down.
Poetic. Suicidal. Fitting.
A knock pulled me out of my spiral.
