“Hello, Dr. Minlund? It’s me Hol… oh, yes, that’s why I was… calling. Okay, I’m on my way!”

  The bridge swayed gently behind them as Ariel, Fornaskr, and Shika stepped onto the soil of the new island. The shift beneath their boots was immediate: from the solid, heat-scorched stone of the Volcanic Wastes to soft earth that yielded slightly underfoot.

  Moisture clung to the air, cool and heavy, carrying the faint tang of salt and iron. The sound of their steps was swallowed by the fog that blanketed everything in pale silver. For a moment, Ariel felt as though they had walked not forward, but downward into the slumber of something ancient.

  Fornaskr tested the ground with his heel, the faint squelch of wet moss breaking the silence. “The air is thick here,” he muttered. “Feels like walking through a long-lost memory.”

  Ariel glanced around. Shapes loomed through the fog: pillars, arches, remnants of walls whose stone glistened with moisture. The architecture felt alien. Each block was massive; too large to have been built by human or Sylari hands. The carvings that adorned them were winding and intricate, etched in deep grooves that shimmered faintly as the mist drifted across their surface.

  “It’s heavy,” Ariel said quietly. She pressed a palm to one of the stones. It was cold, slick beneath her fingertips. “Like it's… burdened with something.”

  She wasn’t sure why that word came to her, but it fit. The entire island seemed to hum with some invisible weight, as though time itself had thickened and pooled here, resisting movement. Each breath carried a sense of suspension, a pause drawn too long.

  Fornaskr crouched beside a toppled pillar half-buried in moss. He scraped away the growth with his gauntlet, revealing a faint pattern beneath. The symbol spiraled inward, not unlike a whirlpool—but with lines that forked and converged unpredictably, more organic than geometric.

  “These aren’t the marks of the forge,” he said, voice low. “Look. No containment circles, no symmetry.”

  Ariel knelt beside him. The carvings gleamed faintly in the filtered light. Her heart gave a small lurch of recognition she couldn’t explain. The pattern reminded her of something. Something she had seen glowing in the depths of the Hugteikn, the runic structure that connected the realms.

  “They’re close to the symbols on the Hugteikn,” she murmured. Her brow furrowed as recognition struck deeper. “No… not close. They are the same.” She traced one spiral, realization dawning. “Tyna was hiding this place for a reason. She didn’t want anyone to find these.”

  Fornaskr glanced at her, uneasy. “Then we must tread carefully. Tyna wouldn't give this place up so easily if that was the case.”

  Ariel pulled her hand back, uneasy. The grooves seemed deeper than they should be, like the stone had been carved not by tools but by erosion… as though the symbols themselves had eaten their way into the surface. She adjusted her stance and lifted her staff, holding it at the ready, just in case Fornaskr’s warning proved right.

  They began moving forward, their path winding through the mist-veiled ruins. The air was unnervingly still, broken only by the distant drip of water echoing from somewhere unseen. Shika padded ahead, her small body low to the ground, nose twitching as she sniffed the damp air. Occasionally, she let out a soft chirp. A warning, perhaps, or a question.

  As they walked, the shapes of the ruins grew grander. Massive archways rose from pools of stagnant water. Pillars tilted at odd angles, their reflections warping across the surface like broken memories. Everywhere Ariel looked, there were runes on walls, on the undersides of fallen stones, even carved into the roots of long-dead trees that had once forced their way between the cracks. Each symbol seemed to hum faintly in her chest, resonating just beyond hearing.

  Fornaskr broke the silence. “Whoever lived here… they built for the ages.” He brushed his hand across a slab of stone, tracing the grooves of its carvings. “This hasn’t weathered naturally. The lines are too clean. Something preserved it.”

  “Magic?” Ariel asked.

  “Maybe. Or something like it. Whatever power this place held, it wasn’t meant for mortals.”

  Ariel’s gaze drifted across the fallen city. The ruins gave her the sense of being watched… perhaps by memory itself. She could feel echoes pressing against her awareness, faint as the breath of wind through a flute.

  Then came a sound that was distant, soft, and utterly out of place. A voice? No, not quite. More like the echo of one. It shimmered through the mist, distorting as it traveled. She froze mid-step.

  “Did you hear that?” she whispered.

  Fornaskr shook his head slowly. “Nothing.”

  But Shika heard it. The red panda stiffened, ears flat, eyes wide. A low growl rumbled from her chest. She turned her head toward the sound, fur bristling.

  Ariel knelt beside her and stroked her head. “Easy, girl,” she murmured. “It’s just echoes.”

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  Even as she said it, she didn’t believe it.

  The sound came again. A faint metallic scraping, followed by what could have been laughter, stretched and slowed until it barely resembled human tone. Then silence. The kind that feels deliberate.

  They continued forward, slower now. The path sloped downward, leading them through a series of broken courtyards and narrow corridors choked with mist. The deeper they went, the stronger the feeling of distortion became. Even the air seemed to ripple faintly, as though the world here wasn’t entirely aligned with itself.

  Shika stopped again, her tail puffed out, a low whine slipping through her teeth. Ariel glanced down and felt a surge of empathy; the animal’s instincts were keener than her own. If Shika was afraid, then something was wrong.

  Ariel crouched, pressing her palm to the ground. The soil was slick, cold, and pulsed faintly beneath her hand. Closing her eyes, she reached inward, calling up the flow of Chloromancy that had become second nature to her.

  The connection struck her like a knife of static. There was no rhythm, no heartbeat. Only chaos. Her magic reached out and was met by shrieking distortion, a pitch so high it cut through her thoughts. For a brief moment, she heard something like voices of fragmented syllables, broken laughter... the sound of weeping. She gasped and pulled her hand back, heart pounding.

  Fornaskr was beside her in an instant. “What happened?”

  She pressed a trembling hand to her temple. “It’s alive,” she said softly. “But wrong. Like it’s trying to remember how to… be.”

  He looked around, jaw set. “Then we tread lightly. This island appears to have a mind of its own.”

  They resumed their exploration, though the silence now felt heavier. Ariel avoided touching the ground again. Instead, she focused on the runes. The deeper they went, the more they appeared, clustered along walls and arranged in spiraling patterns on the floors. In some areas, the carvings were almost beautiful, their lines flowing like vines across the stone. But in others, they twisted into chaotic tangles, their symmetry broken by deep gouges, as though something had clawed through them.

  After a time, the pair came upon a vast plaza. The mist pooled low here, thick and motionless. In its center stood an obelisk half-sunken into the earth, its surface covered in the strange symbols. Water lapped softly at its base.

  Fornaskr approached it cautiously, studying the obelisk. “The placement of the stones,” he said after a moment, “it’s deliberate. The ruins form a pattern. See how the pillars circle outward? This wasn’t random collapse.”

  Ariel joined him, her eyes tracing the layout. “You’re right,” she said. “The design’s too intentional. Whatever this place was, it served a purpose… something more than worship.”

  He nodded slowly. “The structure has function, even if we can’t read it. We should stay alert.”

  The question of what this place was hung between them. Ariel had no answer. She glanced at Shika, who had moved a few steps ahead, peering into the mist beyond the plaza. Her fur bristled again, her stance low and wary.

  “Shika,” Ariel called softly. The red panda turned, chittering uneasily. Ariel smiled weakly. “It’s okay, girl. We’re right here.”

  But Shika didn’t relax. Her gaze was fixed on something Ariel couldn’t see; a point deep within the mist. The distorted sounds returned then, closer than before. They no longer felt like echoes. They were near.

  A soft whisper drifted through the air. Indistinct, like a voice half-remembered. Fornaskr drew his weapon in one smooth motion, eyes narrowing.

  “There,” he said under his breath. “Something moves.”

  Ariel strained to listen. The whisper changed. A single syllable, rising and falling like the tide. Then, clearer:

  “Ariel?”

  Her name. Spoken softly. Warmly. So familiar it ached. Her breath stopped. For an instant, every muscle went rigid.

  Fornaskr turned sharply toward her. “What is it?”

  She barely heard him. Her gaze darted through the fog, heart hammering. The voice had been too close. The tone, the cadence… it was impossible, and yet she knew it as intimately as her own heartbeat.

  “No,” she whispered. Her throat tightened. “That can’t be real.”

  The voice came again, closer, trembling this time. “Ariel.”

  Tears welled in her eyes before she realized they were there. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but she couldn’t move. It wasn’t the terror that rooted her, though. It was longing.

  Fornaskr stepped forward, his posture protective. “Who’s there?” he called, his deep voice echoing through the plaza. “Show yourself!”

  Only silence answered. The mist absorbed his words, heavy and impenetrable.

  Ariel took a trembling step forward. “Holly?” The name slipped out before she could stop it, torn from her by instinct.

  No reply. Only the faint sound of breathing from somewhere within the fog. A shape flickered at the edge of sight, too distorted to define. Shika whined, pressing against Ariel’s leg. Her small body quivered, and Ariel could feel the rapid thump of her heart even through her clothing.

  “Stay behind me,” Fornaskr said, raising his weapon. “Something’s toying with us.”

  But Ariel barely heard him. Her heart felt like it was being pulled in two directions—one toward safety, the other toward that familiar voice. The ache in her chest was unbearable.

  She took another step into the mist.

  “Ariel,” the voice said again, breaking on her name. This time it was softer, pleading.

  The fog shimmered faintly, curling around her like breath. Every hair on her body stood on end.

  Fornaskr reached out to stop her, but she didn’t move further. Her voice came out as a whisper, almost prayer-like. “Why do you sound like her?”

  The mist offered no answer.

  The silence that followed pressed down on them until even the faint ripple of water beneath the obelisk stilled. Ariel could feel her pulse in her ears. Shika whimpered softly, burying her face against Ariel’s leg.

  For a long, fragile moment, no one spoke.

  Then the voice came once more, barely more than a breath.

  “Please,” it whispered. “Come back.”

  Ariel went cold. The sound was so heartbreakingly familiar, so full of love and sorrow, that it hollowed her from the inside. She clutched her staff until her knuckles whitened.

  For the first time since her death, Ariel felt afraid to hear her own name.