The candle flickered again.
Elias barely noticed. He'd been hunched over the cracked leather binding of a book older than the city itself, muttering translations under his breath.
He was exhausted. And yet, something compelled him to keep reading.
In the margin of his notes, a simple symbol he'd absentmindedly sketched earlier—a spiral within a cresent moon—seemed to pulse.
He blinked.
The air wavered and thickened.
And then—
He was standing.
Not in his cluttered study, not even in any of the places he knew of. He stood before a round, ancient table in the dark, lit only by the stars in the sky.
Eight chairs empty. Two filled.
Across from him, a young blonde woman beamed, wide-eyed with excitement.
"Oh wow, you're here!" she said brightly, practically vibrating in her seat. "I was really excited to meet you!"
Elias opened his mouth, but no words came. He felt out of place, like a misplaced book.
Then he saw her.
At the head of the table stood a woman dressed in flowing white. Her skin glowed faintly, like moonlight reflected on glass. Her hair fell in soft waves, white as freshly fallen snow. Her sea-green eyes—impossibly calm—fixed on him, and Elias felt the breath catch in his throat.
This wasn't a sorcerer or summoner.
This was something older.
He dropped his gaze instinctively, then straightened himself, brushing invisible dust from his coat.
"My lady," he said slowly, voice low with disbelief and awe. "I… don't know how I came here."
The woman—Floren—stepped closer. The hem of her white gown touched the floor, her presence filling the space like a tide washing in.
"You came because you saw," she said, her voice smooth and elegant, every word carefully spoken aloud. "And you followed."
"I… I didn't mean to intrude, my lady," Elias said, bowing his head slightly. "There was a symbol. A book. And then—"
"You answered," Floren said. "That is enough."
"Oh!" the blonde girl piped up, waving from her chair. "Hi! I'm Mira. I also kind of accidentally-on-purpose ended up here. She came to me in a dream," she added in a whisper, leaning toward Elias. I was convinced I'd been chosen to be a saint or cursed for poking too far into old prophecies."
"You're very energetic," Elias said cautiously.
Elias turned back to Floren, heart still thudding. "My lady, forgive me… but what is this place?"
Floren's gaze didn't waver. "This my domain, a space between reality and dreams."
"I… see," Elias said, though he didn't.
With a faint motion, Floren gestured to the chair beside Mira. The air shimmered above it. A soft glyph appeared, glowing with quiet power.
"You may sit," she said. "The gathering has begun."
He hesitated only for a moment, then moved toward the chair, pulling it out gently and lowering himself into it. The chair itself felt solid—but the air around it hummed with something deeper.
He looked again to Floren.
"If I may ask, my lady… why us?"
Floren's expression remained serene, unreadable.
"Because you saw," she repeated. "And because you will see."
Mira leaned over to him. "It's okay to be confused. I was too. Then I got used to it. Then it got weirder. But fun-weird! Mostly."
Elias let out a breath. "That's… reassuring."
Floren seated herself once more at the head of the table, folding her hands before her. Her gaze passed over both of them—calm, commanding, like the deep ocean before a storm.
"The second has joined," she said softly, both to herself and the ones watching.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Floren kept her face serene, her posture still, her sea-green eyes heavy with mystery—but inside, her thoughts churned like a stormy sea. Two days. It had been two days since I opened the door in the void and stepped into this role. Floren sighed inwardly.
And now two sat at her table.
Now these two look at me like I am a god. Floren continued to lampoon and she let out a small, imperceptible sigh.
She didn't move immediately. She let the moment hang, weighted with silence and symbols, because that was what she imagined someone with her position might have done. Stillness. Poise. Ominous grace. All those descriptions from stories she had once read, the legends she once listened to and heard—she was pretending to be that.
Pretending...
It wasn't a lie. Not quite. It was just… necessary.
Mira was already fidgeting. Of course she was. Her hands fluttered on the table, her legs swung under her seat. She had enough compatibility to follow her own path, and yet she listened. That was what mattered.
And now there was Elias.
Floren turned her gaze to him, carefully—not too fast, not too warm. Measured. Let him feel the weight of her attention. He sat quietly, watching everything with sharp, cautious eyes. His wariness... He reminds me of myself. She inhaled slowly.
"You're a student," she said, her voice quiet but shaped with intention. "Of truths others do not know or believe are real."
He blinked. Mira perked up immediately.
She moved her hand to the surface of the table—black and smooth and unnervingly responsive to her thoughts. A soft ripple bloomed beneath her palm. The wood shimmered. A card rose from it, blank.
She slid it toward Elias.
"You've entered," she said, carefully keeping her voice level.
He hesitated.
Floren resisted the urge to fidget, to break character, to exhale too loudly. I feel absurd and powerful all at once, like a child wearing an king's robes and praying no one noticed the garment was not theirs...
Elias looked at her again. Not just at her face—at her mask. At what she was pretending to be.
"My lady," he said slowly. "If I walk away… what happens?"
I don't know! I'm new to this too! Floren screamed inwardly.
But she knew what she was supposed to say.
"The world goes on," she said. "But you'll hear it. Sooner or later. The whisper that brought you here. You'll follow it again."
Elias nodded, not convinced—but intrigued. He didn't touch the card yet.
Floren lowered her hand and turned her gaze outward. Beyond the gathering space, the void pressed in—patient, infinite, waiting. She could feel the third thread vibrating now, tugging faintly. Someone else was close. Someone she hadn't met, but who would see her and expect meaning. Power. Control.
A Seeker.
She'd been one for less than 48 hours.
And already, people thought she was divine.
No one had warned her how lonely that would feel.
"This place," she said aloud, more to ground herself than anything, "is not a sanctuary. It's preparation and a gathering for the inevitable."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Elias stared at the blank card before him. Its surface shimmered faintly under the starless light, pulsing like the heartbeat of the space itself.
He reached out.
The moment his fingers touched it, the dark material seemed to drink in the light. Then, slowly, a mark emerged upon its surface—elegant and strange:
A spiral nestled within the curve of a crescent moon.
The symbol shimmered in quiet silver. Elias felt its weight immediately—not physical, but symbolic, as though the mark had settled inside him as well. It radiated the same subtle gravity he felt from Floren herself.
He looked up at her, questions rising in his eyes.
Mira leaned toward him with a grin, eyes bright. "That's hers ," she whispered. "It means you're allowed back. It means you're now one of us."
Floren inclined her head ever so slightly. "Keep it close. It will allow you to come back here."
The card was not a tool. It was a key.
Elias nodded, slipping it carefully into his coat pocket, as if it were both fragile and sacred.