The tower had no stairs. Just darkness, pulsing and alive, like it was breathing her name.

Liora didn’t remember falling asleep. Only the rush of wind, the shimmer of ancient runes, and Kael’s voice echoing in her mind:

“Don’t answer it... unless you’re ready.”

She woke in her dorm, but nothing was the same.

Her wrist burned.

A swirling symbol now pulsed faintly beneath her skin — like ink and light had merged into a secret language. A whisper that had made itself permanent.

She covered it with her sleeve.

“Nice of you to show up,” grumbled Fira, her fire nymph roommate, who was combing flames out of her hair in the mirror. “You missed Dreamcraft class. Again.”

Liora didn’t answer. The mark was pulsing now — in rhythm with her heartbeat.

Boom. Whisper. Boom. Whisper.

In the hallway, students parted like she was carrying a curse. Or maybe they sensed the shift.

Only Kael didn’t move.

He stood near the spiral garden, eyes locked on her wrist — even though she hadn’t shown it.

“You opened the door,” he said softly.

She nodded. “And something followed me back.”

Kael’s jaw clenched. “You’re marked. It’s not a gift, Liora. It’s a binding.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” he said, stepping closer, “that the Otherworld has claimed you. You’ve been chosen by something ancient. And it won’t let go.”

Liora’s pulse quickened. “Can I stop it?”

Kael’s gaze softened, just slightly. “I don’t think you’re meant to.”

The bell tolled — a low, magical chime that vibrated through the bones.

A message appeared in the air, written in gold:

“Liora Windthorn. Report to the Headmistress. Immediately.”