The figure did not move.
It didn't need to.
It stood beyond the horizon, not advancing, not retreating, yet its presence felt closer than anything else around her. Liora's gaze remained fixed on it, her focus narrowing as everything else—the ground beneath her feet, the air, even the pressure of Cairis's grip on her arm—faded into something distant and secondary.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then a thought formed.
You know me.
It wasn't spoken aloud. It didn't even feel like a question. It was simply there, settling into her mind with quiet certainty.
And something answered.
Not as a sound.
Not as a voice in the air.
But as something that aligned perfectly with the thought itself.
You've always known.
Liora didn't flinch.
That was the first difference.
Before, every intrusion had felt foreign, like something forcing its way into her thoughts, disrupting her sense of self. This wasn't like that. There was no resistance, no friction.
It fit.
Too well.
