The path to the Spirit Oracle could not be walked—it had to be remembered.
That was the first thing Solene said as she prepared Aria and Elena for the journey. She spoke in riddles that morning, brushing ancient symbols in white ash onto their skin, murmuring words in the Old Tongue.
"You're not traveling forward," she had said. "You're traveling inward."
Aria stood now at the edge of a grove she didn't recognize—but her soul did. It pulsed with memories older than her body, places passed down through blood and spirit. The moonlight hung thick in the trees even though it was midday, and the air vibrated with magic that felt both intimate and overwhelming.
Beside her, Elena adjusted the satchel strapped to her shoulder. Her face was drawn tight with focus, the dark veins from her last encounter with Mara nearly gone but not forgotten. She hadn't spoken much since the storm had passed—but her eyes stayed on Aria, like she was memorizing her sister's every breath.
