Amelia
Vasha waited for me in a chamber carved entirely from obsidian, lit only by the soft blue glow of floating glyphs that rotated above the floor in a slow, deliberate circle. The space wasn’t still; it pulsed with a coiled, almost living stillness, as if it were holding its breath and watching me breathe.
It smelled like ash and old parchment, like the inside of a sealed tomb that hadn’t been opened in centuries. I wasn’t sure if I had walked here or if I had been pulled, but I knew I hadn’t come by choice. My thoughts were splintered and scattered, like shards of glass suspended in fog. Every second seemed to slip sideways. I remembered arriving, but I couldn’t say from where. I remembered screaming, but I didn’t know when or why.
She didn’t rise. She just turned her head slightly
