Zelgra’s stare didn’t waver. She watched Riley with a steady, unblinking focus, the kind reserved for truths that could change the shape of a conversation, or a life. There was no accusation in her eyes, but no softness either. Just a quiet, deliberate scrutiny, as though she were assessing whether Riley was dangerous, valuable, or something far more complicated.

  Riley shook her head quickly. “A mage? Me? No. The tower just… reacted when I touched it. Probably some leftover charge.?Anyone?could’ve?done it.”

  Zelgra?leaned back slowly, thick fingers drumming once against the table. “Riley. Buildings?don’t?level themselves. And ore?doesn’t?respond to just anyone.”

  “It was probably a fluke,” Riley insisted. She tried to keep her tone light and casual, but her pulse was hammering in her throat. “I?don’t?know anything about magic. I?can’t?cast spells. I?can’t?even sense magic.?I’m?just… figuring things out as I go.”

  Zelgra?didn’t?look convinced. “You’re hiding something.”

  “I’m not,” Riley said, too quickly.

  Zelgra’s?eyes narrowed. “You’re either a mage… or something close enough that the difference doesn’t matter.”

  Riley swallowed hard. Her mind spun with thoughts of Alistair’s questions, the portal residue, the tower reacting to her touch, the claw marks on her door. Everything tangled together until she?couldn’t?tell which part frightened her most.

  “I’m not a mage,” she said again, quieter this time. “I’m just trying to survive.”

  Zelgra?studied her for a long moment, then sighed and lifted her ale. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But if?you’re?going north,?you’ll?need more than luck.”

  “I’ll manage,” Riley said, trying to make it sound like conviction instead of hope.

  “You’d better,”?Zelgra?muttered. “The Dynasty doesn’t leave loose ends.”

  The words lodged in Riley’s chest like a stone.

  She drained the last of her ale and stood. “Thank you,?Zelgra. For the drink. And the warning.”

  Zelgra snorted. “If you make it back alive, I’ll knock the price down on ore. Consider it motivation.”

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”

  Zelgra?snorted. “Go get some sleep, girl.”

  Riley nodded, gathered her pack, and stepped out into the cooling evening.

  ***

  The innkeeper barely looked up when Riley slid a silver coin across the counter. “Private room?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She handed her a key and pointed down the hall. “Second on the left.”

  Riley’s stomach growled loudly enough to make her chuckle. “Kitchen’s still serving.”

  She?didn’t?need to be told twice.

  Minutes later she sat at a small wooden table, hands wrapped around a steaming bowl of stew. Real stew, thick, savory, filled with vegetables and meat.

  She ate slowly, savoring every mouthful. She calculated her remaining coins, barely enough for this meal, the room, and a cup of tea in the morning. After that,?she’d?be?broke?until Garron paid her for the bandits’ horses.

  But?she’d?have rations. A pack. Supplies. And most of all, knowledge.

  This was great progress.

  When the bowl was empty, she lingered a moment, letting the warmth settle in her chest. Then she climbed the stairs to her room.

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  The room was small but clean. The fact that it was private felt like a luxury.

  Riley sat on the edge of the mattress, unlacing her boots, letting the quiet settle around her.?Zelgra’s?warning echoed in her mind, but it?didn’t?change anything.

  She had to go north.

  First back to the tower. Then back to the place?she’d?woken up to look for clues of magic. and the mage who might have cast it.

  She lay back, pulling the wool blanket over herself. The softness felt like another luxury.?It brought her thoughts to the items?she’d?bought earlier. They were simple things, but they would help her and dare she say, bring a smile to her face. The leather backpack meant she could finally travel without juggling loose bundles or tying everything together with rope. The soap promised the small dignity of feeling clean again. The spoon just made her feel like a normal person again. The oversized wool blanket would keep her warm?on?cold nights when the tower’s stone walls conducted the winter air. The metal cooking pot meant hot meals instead of cold berries and whatever she could scavenge. The wooden tea mug promised a warm drink in the mornings. And seven days of real-food rations would keep her moving, keep her alive long enough to reach the tower again.

  For a moment, she allowed herself to feel proud.?She’d?survived raiders. Upgraded a tower. Navigated a market. Gathered supplies. Found answers, small ones, but enough to point her forward.

  Tomorrow,?she’d?leave?Rivermark.

  And?she’d?keep going north.

  Sleep pulled her under before she could second guess it.

  The dream took her suddenly, no gentle drift, no slow fade. One moment she lay in the quiet dark of the inn, and the next she was standing in the middle of a world tearing itself apart.

  A battlefield stretched in every direction, so vast it?seemed to swallow?the horizon. The ground trembled beneath her feet, vibrating with the thunder of marching boots and the distant crash of siege movements. Smoke rolled across the plains in thick, choking waves, carrying the metallic tang of blood and the acrid bite of burning oil.

  Riley turned, disoriented, as a formation of armored soldiers charged past her. Their shields locked, their spears angled forward, they moved like a single creature, disciplined and relentless. Behind them, a second wave followed, this one composed of lighter fighters who sprinted across the churned earth with terrifying speed. Their war cries split the air.

  A roar answered them.

  From the opposite ridge, a monstrous war-beast lumbered into view, its eyes glowing with unnatural fury. Chains clattered around its neck as handlers urged it forward. It crashed into the front lines, scattering soldiers like leaves in a storm.

  Magic erupted in response.

  A line of mages raised their staffs, and the sky cracked open with light. Bolts of?blue white?energy lanced downward, striking the beast and the soldiers around it. The ground exploded in showers of dirt and fire. Riley flinched as heat washed over her, though she knew, somehow, that none of it could touch her.

  The dream lurched.

  Now she stood on a different part of the battlefield. A champion in ornate armor led a cavalry charge, his blade glowing with runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. His horse, massive, armored, snorting steam, barreled through enemy ranks. Every swing of his sword carved arcs of light through the air, cutting down foes with impossible precision.

  Above them, two mages floated midair, cloaks whipping in the wind. One conjured a swirling vortex of flame that spiraled downward, engulfing a catapult. The other raised a shimmering barrier that deflected a barrage of arrows, each impact ringing like a bell.

  The world shifted again.

  Riley found herself standing near a line of archers. Their bows were drawn, strings taut, eyes fixed on the advancing enemy. A commander shouted an order, and a thousand arrows soared upward in a dark wave. They fell like rain, but with the deadly, merciless weight of steel.

  A banner snapped in the wind nearby.

  Three red claw marks slashed across black fabric.

  The?Clawborn?Dynasty.

  Riley tried to move, to step back, but the dream held her in place.

  The scene changed once more, faster this time, more chaotic. She saw flashes: a mage collapsing as his spell backfired; a healer kneeling beside a wounded soldier, hands glowing; a line of infantry breaking under the weight of a monstrous construct made of stone and metal; a champion falling to his knees as a spear pierced his armor.

  Then the battlefield blurred, colors smearing together like wet paint.

  The dream pulled upward, rising above the carnage, above the smoke, above the screams, until the tower came into view.

  Her tower.

  Its stone was cracked, scorched, and glowing faintly with residual magic. The topmost windows flickered with light, as though something powerful pulsed inside.

  The dream carried her through the walls.

  Inside, the noise of battle dulled to a distant rumble. A man stood before a tall window, hands clasped behind his back. His posture was rigid, commanding. His eyes, sharp and intense, tracking the battlefield below with cold precision.

  Maps covered the table beside?him,?markers arranged in complex formations. He moved one piece, then another, adjusting troop lines, shifting defenses,?anticipating?enemy maneuvers with uncanny foresight.

  He paused.

  Slowly, he turned his head, as if he sensed her presence.

  Riley?couldn’t?see his face clearly, but she felt the weight of his gaze. Felt the intelligence behind it. Felt the power.

  A blinding flash of light erupted behind him, white, consuming, absolute.

  The world shattered.

  Riley jerked awake, drenched in sweat, one hand clutching her chest as though steadying her racing heart.

  Her breath came in sharp, uneven bursts.

  “I must go north,” she whispered into the dark.

  The words didn’t feel like her own.

  They felt placed, delivered, by the tower that had called to her in the dream.