Not a Damsel in Distress!

Silence.

That was the first thing Samantha noticed after the door closed behind Alaric.

A quiet so thick it felt intentional—like the very air wanted her to listen.

She lay in the center of the room, wrapped in borrowed linen sheets. Moonlight filtered through slatted windows, painting the walls in soft silver stripes. Somewhere deep in the temple, the faint hum of power continued to pulse like a heartbeat. Alive. Ancient.

But not threatening.

Not here.

She exhaled slowly, tension spilling from her shoulders in careful doses. Her mind raced through the chaos of the past hours—the shadow creature, the cloaked figures, Ron's panic, the portal, this place…

This temple.

It should feel strange. Alien.

But it didn't.

That's what terrified her most.

This wasn't just déjà vu. It wasn't some vague sense of familiarity. It was something deeper. Older. The way her body moved through the halls. The way her fingers itched when she passed the carved sigils near the doors. The way the pendant she wore pulsed slower now, like it, too, had finally come home.

She sat up, barefoot on the cool stone floor. The room was simple—smooth walls of warm stone, shelves carved directly into the surface, a soft woven mat beneath the bed. A basin of clear water shimmered by the wall.

She stared at her reflection in it.

Not her face.

Not exactly.

The angle shifted—just slightly—but the eyes looking back didn't feel like hers. They were… steadier. Sharper. Still her shape, her outline… but something beneath was trying to surface.

She gripped the edge of the basin, chest tightening.

"I'm not her," she whispered. "I'm just me."

> "You are more than you remember, child."

She froze.

The voice wasn't harsh. Not cold, like the ones in her dreams. Not that razor-edged whisper that followed her in the night.

This one was… warm.

Soft.

A voice that carried care.

Like rain on dry soil. Like a mother humming to a baby she thought was asleep.

She turned, heart hammering.

"Who's there?"

Silence.

She stood fully now, stepping back from the basin. The voice hadn't come from outside the room. It hadn't come from any direction at all. It had bloomed inside her—just behind her ears. Just behind her memory.

The pendant was warm again. Not hot. Not painful.

Just present.

She opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

It was empty. But not abandoned. The torches along the wall flickered gently, and the stone beneath her feet glowed faintly where she stepped, as if welcoming her.

Drawn without knowing why, she walked.

Through curved corridors.

Past open archways.

Deeper into the temple's heart.

Until she reached a set of massive double doors.

Smooth. Dusty. Carved from dark stone veined with gold. Symbols etched deep into their surface, some glowing faintly as she approached.

They hadn't been touched in a while.

She didn't hesitate.

She placed her palm against the center—

The doors groaned softly—like they knew her—and began to open.

The room beyond was vast.

No candles burned, yet it was bathed in soft, golden light.

The air smelled faintly of old incense and something sweet—jasmine, maybe.

There were no decorations. No clutter. Just stone walls, high ceilings, and at the center…

A raised platform.

Upon it, a single cushion.

Faded velvet. Deep blue. Slightly worn.

And something about it made Samantha's chest twist.

She didn't know what this place was.

But her bones did.

Her steps were quiet, reverent, as she walked inside. Dust stirred at her ankles, floating in the stillness. Despite its emptiness, the room didn't feel cold.

It felt rested.

Forgotten by others.

But not by her.

She stepped onto the platform, kneeling on the cushion as if by instinct.

And the moment she did—

Peace.

It rolled through her body like warm waves. Like she had finally stopped holding her breath for the first time in centuries.

Her fingers loosened.

Her heart slowed.

She hadn't realized how heavy her fear had been until now.

> "This was yours."

The voice again.

This time, closer.

Not outside her.

Within.

"Who are you?" Samantha whispered, eyes darting around the empty space.

No answer.

She sat there, breath soft, searching the stillness for something to grasp. A shape. A shadow. A sign. Anything.

"Why does this place feel like it's waiting for me?" she asked. "Why do I remember walls I've never touched?"

Still nothing.

Her hands curled in her lap.

She was tired. So tired. And she'd been so many things today—afraid, overwhelmed, confused—but this?

This emptiness?

This silence?

It felt cruel.

"Please…" she whispered. "If you're there. If you've been watching… just say something."

And then—

She felt it.

A hand.

Not physical. But real.

Not on her skin.

But on her soul.

And then the voice again—gentler now, more real than before.

> "Come, child. You have much to learn."