The light swallowed her whole.
Not blinding—just vast. Endless. Like stepping into the memory of the universe itself. Elara didn't feel her feet touch the ground; she wasn't even sure she had a body for a moment. She drifted, weightless, suspended in a quiet warmth that felt like an embrace from something ancient and familiar.
She blinked.
And suddenly, she stood in a different world.
A field of silver flowers stretched in every direction, gently swaying in a wind she couldn't feel. A sky of violet dusk hovered above, painted with swirling constellations she recognized from the glowing plain—but here, they pulsed like heartbeat rhythms.
"What… is this place?" she whispered.
"It is the memory of your beginning."
Elara turned sharply.
Aeryn stood beside her, no longer glowing like an echo but solid, living, real. Her robes brushed the tops of the silver flowers as she stepped forward.
"You are seeing the world as it once was," Aeryn said softly. "Before the curse. Before the fall."
Elara's breath caught.
Far in the distance, a village shimmered—soft lights glowing like fireflies. Children played in the fields, their laughter drifting through the air. Adults walked with baskets or tools, smiles easy and warm.
They looked normal.
Human.
"Who are they?" Elara whispered.
Aeryn's eyes softened. "Your ancestors."
Elara's heart stopped.
Her feet carried her forward without permission, drawn to the distant warmth. When she stepped closer, she noticed something—small glimmers of light danced at the villagers' fingertips as they worked. A woman weaving flax threads murmured a soft chant, and the threads twisted themselves into braids with graceful ease. A child waved their hand, and a dandelion puff reassembled itself midair before floating off again.
Magic.
But gentle.
Natural.
Beautiful.
"This was the Lightbearer lineage," Aeryn said, standing at her side. "A family gifted not with destructive power, but with harmony. They could mend what was broken. Balance what was wounded. Heal what was fractured."
Elara watched a young man touch a wilted flower. It bloomed instantly, color returning like a blush.
Her throat tightened. "I come from this?"
Aeryn nodded. "Your blood remembers, even if your mind does not."
A shift in the wind—this time Elara felt it, cold and sharp—cut through the serenity. She shivered.
"What happened to them?" she whispered, too afraid to ask and too afraid not to.
Aeryn's gaze dimmed with sorrow. She lifted her arm and swept it across the air.
The peaceful village blurred.
Darkness seeped into the edges of the sky, staining it. The silver field withered. The laughter fell silent. People turned, startled, afraid.
A voice—a deep, broken, anguished voice—rose like a scream carved from grief.
The figure appeared at the edge of the dying field.
Nareth.
Not the twisted wraith Elara had faced in the cavern. This was a man—young, furious, shattered. His eyes were swollen with heartbreak, his hands trembling violently as shadows writhed around him.
"No…" Elara whispered.
Aeryn's face was grim. "Before he was the First Cursed One, he was one of us. A Lightbearer. A gifted healer. But when he lost the one he loved, darkness found him in his grief."
Elara watched Nareth collapse to his knees in the vision, clutching a small pendant.
"Her name was Lira," Aeryn whispered. "She was everything to him."
The sky cracked like glass.
Shadows surged outward, swallowing homes, twisting magic into something violent and wrong. The villagers screamed as the curse lashed out in tendrils—binding, choking, corrupting.
Elara's chest burned. Tears blurred her vision.
"These were my people," she cried. "He destroyed them."
"He didn't mean to," Aeryn murmured. "But grief can drown goodness. And in his despair, he tore apart what he once vowed to protect."
The vision flickered. The corrupted magic spread, staining the land like ink. The Lightbearers stumbled, their gifts fading beneath the dark tide.
Aeryn turned to her, eyes shining with unbearable empathy. "Only a few survived. They hid, burying their lineage under ordinary lives. That was your family, Elara. They carried the remnants of magic without knowing its name."
Elara pressed a hand over her racing heart. "And now… I'm the last one?"
Aeryn nodded. "The last with awakening light."
The vision softened, dissolving into white brightness.
The plain returned—the starry ground humming beneath her feet.
Arin rushed to her instantly, catching her hands. "Elara! Are you okay? You disappeared—I couldn't reach you—I—"
She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. He held her fiercely, as if he feared she might fade again.
"I saw them," she whispered, voice breaking. "My ancestors. Their magic. Their fall. Everything."
Arin stroked her hair gently. "I'm here. Whatever you saw… you're not alone."
She exhaled shakily, grounding herself in his warmth.
Aeryn stepped forward, expression soft but solemn. "Now you understand why the Thread calls to you."
Elara looked up, meeting her gaze.
"What happens now?" she whispered.
Aeryn lifted her glowing hand.
"Now… you choose your path."