The envelope hadn't been there when she left.
Elian noticed it as soon as she returned to the inn a plain, unmarked, unsealed envelope resting beneath her door. She paused in the doorway, heart thudding. The envelope hasn't been there when she left. Who would have dropped it here. The others were still downstairs in the lounge, chatting, and Mira was taking a shower.
No one else had been in here. She was certain.
She closed the door gently behind her and picked up the envelope. It contained an old, single piece of parchment, so thin she thought it might crumble beneath her fingers.
One word was written in an elegant, ancient writing:
CHOOSE.
No name. No return address. No ink smudges. Just the weight of something immeasurable behind that word.
Elian sat slowly on the edge of her bed, still gripping the parchment. Her mind raced, was this another prank from the group? Was it a warning or a message?
But something about it felt weird.
She placed it carefully on the bedside table and tried to brush it off.
Later that evening, she stepped out for air. The inn felt too small, too stuffy for her. Her thoughts were run wild.
The night was quiet, except for the rustling of leaves and the distant town bells. She wandered toward the square, wrapped in her coat, head down as she walked down the street.
Suddenly she felt it again, that pull. Not from a place, but from within. Her chest ached, her palm tingled. A faint shimmer of memory flickered before her eyes. Stones, blood, a whispered name…
The world tilted slightly.
A voice echoed in her mind not one she heard, but one she remembered.
"You swore to me to be with me, even in death."
She stumbled to a stop beneath a rusted iron lamp, clutching tightly to it's post. Her breath fogged, the street was empty.
But the air was no longer still.
A chilled wind blew. The cold wind made her skin prickle. Something unseen moved at the edge of her senses.
Elian's lips parted. A whisper escaped, not knowing why she said it or how she remembered:
"Damian…"
And he answered....
At Midnight ...
Beneath Veyruhn Cathedral.
The storm arrived without warning.
It did not strike the surface.
It struck below.
Water surged through the ancient crypts, though no rain touched the world above. Runes sizzled with red light, Stones trembled.
Damian's eyes opened in the dark.
He rose slowly, the weight of centuries sliding from his limbs like dust. Nyra watched from the shadows, her form flickering like flame in wind.
"She called for you," she said, voice thick with dread.
"Yes she did, she has remembered enough," Damian replied.
Chains groaned and broke in one pull.
The tomb sighed with power.
"She is not ready."
Damian turned toward the ceiling toward the sky, to face the world of the girl who called to him.
"She chose me," he said, voice like thunder barely restrained. "And now… I would do the same."
And as the clock above struck twelve, the storm broke into the world. A storm no human saw coming.....
To be continued....
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