The garden walls were draped in mist, the moon hanging low and heavy over the academy's quiet rooftops. Liara had barely changed out of her training robes. Her skin still carried the warmth of exertion, but her heart beat faster for another reason entirely.
She'd seen him again—not in sleep this time. A flicker. A presence. Just beyond the cloisters.
The man from her dreams.
Not a whisper in her mind this time, not a vision that faded with dawn—but real, tangible. She could still feel the trace of his gaze against her skin.
She followed that pull now, past the glowing sigil stones, her breath shallow. It was like walking through memory. Her feet moved before her thoughts could catch up.
The eastern courtyard lay empty—until it wasn't.
He stood beneath the old marble archway, where ivy curled like ancient script. Tall, composed. Every line of him precise, like he had been carved from dusk and starlight.
His hair was long, catching the faint light with glints of silver and gold—not dull, but luminous, like threads spun from some forgotten celestial forge. His presence was quiet and commanding, a kind of stillness that made the world hold its breath.
Eyes met hers—eyes she'd only ever seen in sleep, and even then, never this clearly. They were the color of distant thunderclouds lit by the sun, stormy and strange, as if hiding galaxies behind their surface.
Liara stopped breathing.
"You..." she whispered. "You here again '.
He didn't move. He didn't need to. Just standing there, he seemed to alter the space around him. The air shimmered faintly, like the world couldn't quite decide if it was waking or dreaming.
"You've been in my head. In my dreams," she said, stepping closer, her voice brittle but defiant.
"I've been where I was allowed," he said, softly. His voice was a rich, low cadence—like smoke curling over stone. "Until now."
Every part of her screamed for answers, but her words tangled with awe. "Who are you?"
He tilted his head, almost curious. "Does it matter, if you already know me?"
"I don't know you," she snapped, though her voice shook. "I don't even know if you're real."
He reached into the folds of his cloak—black with threads of something luminous stitched in subtle patterns—and pulled out a pendant. Ornate. Ancient. The design at its center pulsed faintly when he held it toward her.
Her hand trembled as she took it. The instant her fingers closed around it, her sigils flared to life.
Pain—sharp, bright—lanced through her arms, and yet she couldn't drop the pendant. Her breath caught.
"What is this?" she gasped.
"A key," he said, his expression unreadable. "One of many."
He stepped forward then, and for the briefest second, he was close enough for her to see the smallest details: the constellation-like scar near his throat, the faint golden shimmer beneath his skin where light touched him.
"You're not ready for the answers," he said. "But they're coming for you anyway."
Before she could speak, the courtyard darkened. A tremor passed beneath their feet. The wards were shifting.
"Wait—" she began.
But he was already gone.
No swirl of wind. No magical burst. Just… absence. Like he had never been there at all.
Only the pendant in her hand remained—warm, pulsing, and humming with a truth she could almost touch.
Liara sank to the cold stone, heart racing.
For the first time, she has no clue what going on.
And now, nothing would be the same