She stood tall and silent, carved from mist and moonlight.
Anacaona's presence pressed against the air like gravity had rules for everyone except her. Her eyes were depthless—spirit-bound pools of silver-blue that shimmered with ancient memory. Not rage. Not warmth. Something older. Something regal.
Malik stared.
"You're real," he whispered.
"I am bound," she replied, her voice like wind through hollow bone. "And now… I am yours."
Naomi, still leaning in the doorway, took a step back. "Malik, you summoned a ghost queen. That's a ghost queen, right?"
Anacaona inclined her head toward her. "Child of fire. You walk beside a Gatewoken. You would do well to speak with reverence."
Naomi blinked. "Yep. Definitely a ghost queen."
Malik stood slowly, gaze never leaving Anacaona's.
"I know your name," he said. "But not your story."
"You once knew," she answered. "And you shall again. But memory is not a scroll to be read—it is a door that must be earned."
"I remember the gate," he said. "And the army."
Anacaona nodded. "Fragments. More will come."
Naomi stepped forward. "What are you exactly? Are you his summon?"
"I am his guardian," Anacaona replied. "His bloodbound. His second blade. I served him in death, and I rise again to shield his name."
Malik swallowed. "And what name is that?"
She lifted her chin. "Ashen Sovereign."
The moment the name left her lips, the chalk sigil on the floor flared white-hot and vanished into the wood. The air rippled.
Something—somewhere—had heard.
And it did not approve.
Malik flinched as the window rattled in its frame. Naomi's eyes widened. Anacaona's spectral form turned, her hand rising.
A pulse of cold swept through the room.
"Something stirs," she said. "A Warden has marked you."
Malik's heart jumped. "A Warden?"
"Guild enforcers," Naomi said, voice low. "They monitor Echo surges. We're probably flagged."
Anacaona reached behind her and drew a weapon from her back—not a sword, not quite. It was a spear, carved of bone and starlight, glowing at the haft, cold at the tip.
She turned to Malik.
"You must learn to stand within your own boundary. To hold your will like a blade."
"I don't know how."
"You remember."
"I don't—"
"Then I will show you."
She stepped forward, the air parting around her as if unwilling to touch her essence. She placed the butt of her spear against the center of Malik's chest.
His eyes widened.
The room fell away.
He stood in darkness.
Not empty. Full. A vast, cold pressure pressed in on him from every angle.
Then light bloomed beneath his feet—sigils, runes, chains. All swirling around a central glyph.
It pulsed once.
Then shattered.
Malik gasped as the pressure collapsed into a single point, deep inside his ribs.
And there, pulsing like a second heartbeat, was Echo.
But not raw. Not wild.
Refined. Dark. Whispering.
He stepped forward. The runes followed.
"I don't understand," he said.
Anacaona's voice came from nowhere and everywhere.
"You are Gatewoken. A soul carried forward through death. Bound by Obeah. Freed by Echo. You are of two worlds—and this is your bridge."
"Control it… or be consumed by it."
The runes surged.
Malik raised his hands.
And let go.
He returned to the room in a blast of pale light.
Naomi jumped back. "Malik!"
He stood, eyes glowing faintly. His hands were steady.
Anacaona nodded. "You have touched your core. It is enough—for now."
Before he could respond, the front window exploded.
The glass didn't just shatter. It disintegrated—reduced to powder midair as a figure stepped through the dust.
He wore Guild robes—black and silver, high collar, runes glowing along his gloves.
His face was calm. Detached.
"Malik Graves," he said.
Malik's posture stiffened. Naomi shifted to his side.
"I am Warden Elias of the Western Gate. You have triggered a Tier 3 Echo Event and failed to report it."
Malik didn't move. "Was anyone hurt?"
"Not yet."
"What do you want?"
Elias stepped forward. "By Guild mandate, you are to be detained and processed for Echo stabilization."
"And if I say no?"
Elias' eyes darkened. "Then I detain you by force."
Anacaona moved.
Fast.
Inhuman.
Her spear struck the ground, and a wall of spiritual flame rose between Elias and Malik.
"You shall not touch him," she said.
Elias' eyes narrowed. "Unauthorized summoning. Unlicensed protection. Tier 4 threat."
He raised his hand.
A seal appeared—a sun split by a blade.
Malik stepped forward. "Wait."
Naomi grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?"
He didn't answer.
He walked past the flame.
Stood face to face with Elias.
"I won't be detained," he said. "But I'm not here to start a war."
Elias studied him.
Then nodded once.
"Very well. But understand—eyes are on you now, Malik Graves. Your next ripple may cause a flood."
And just like that, he vanished.
No flash. No noise.
Just… gone.
Malik exhaled.
Anacaona stepped to his side.
"You showed restraint," she said. "That is rare."
"I'm not ready," Malik replied.
"You are never ready. You just decide."
Naomi approached. "So now what?"
Malik looked at the remains of the window. The glowing symbols still fading from the floor.
He closed his eyes.
"Now… we find out why they're so afraid of who I was."
That night, Malik dreamed again.
This time, he stood in a library made of bones.
Floating tomes. Whispering walls. A clock with no hands.
And at its center—
A mirror.
He approached.
But this time… it didn't show a battlefield.
It showed a door.
And from the other side, something knocked.