The vision shifts like smoke.

You are standing in a cathedral of knowledge. Shelves climb toward a ceiling lost in shadow, stuffed with tomes bound in leather and stranger materials – scales, skin, something that might be woven moonlight. The air smells of dust and secrets. Candles float in the air, their flames burning a cold blue.

This is Seraphine’s domain. The Library of Whispers. You remember helping her build it, though the memory feels distant, like something that happened to someone else.

You move through the stacks, and you realize you are searching for something. Or someone.

You find her in the deepest alcove, hunched over a table covered in ancient texts. Her midnight robes are disheveled. Her silver-threaded hair hangs loose and unwashed. She has been here for days. Weeks, perhaps.

She does not look up as you approach.

“I know what you’re planning, Varek.”

Her voice is calm. Too calm. The voice of someone who has moved past fear into something colder.

“The old texts speak of it. The Binding of Souls. A ritual that grants immortality to one by consuming the life force of others.” She turns a page with trembling fingers. “You need four souls, don’t you? Four founders, bound to the gem. And when the time comes, you’ll drain us all to live forever.”

She finally looks up. Her eyes are red-rimmed, hollow.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out? I built this library to hold every secret. I created the gem to preserve truth.” Her laugh is bitter. “And the truth, Varek, is that you’ve been planning our deaths since the day we laid the first stone.”