It was exactly as she remembered it before the world fell apart — grand, dark-wooded, and drowning in stories. Floor-to-ceiling shelves arched into a dome, and a soft, silver ladder waited to be climbed. A holographic catalog shimmered near the central table, idle and pulsing.
She didn't activate it. Not yet.
She walked instead toward the leftmost wall — not the fiction rows or the technical archives. The old family collection. She knew this side by heart.
Amy stopped in front of an old-looking bookshelf. It looked ordinary. But behind it, she'd once found a hidden room — years later, during a scavenging run through the ruins, long after the house had fused with a dungeon core.
And in that room, she'd found the pendant.
She hadn't known what it was then. Only that it was beautiful. Familiar. Nostalgic. She'd worn it every day until the moment she died.
Her heart raced as her fingers moved along the wood's edge, she reached for a slightly warped spine — a book titled "Outlasting Collapse: Tech Beyond Empires." It clicked softly.
A section of the shelf slid back, then rotated, revealing a narrow staircase downward, barely lit by ambient light from some unseen source.
She stepped inside.
The room was smaller than she remembered. Cleaner. No signs of war or overgrowth. But the space was the same. A display case stood at the far end, faintly glowing.
And within it — suspended by fine, silvery thread — was a pendant.
Her breath caught.
It wasn't... the same.
It was similar, yes — the same teardrop shape, the same iridescent sheen. But this one was different in the details. The setting was older. The chain thinner. This was not the one she had worn, fought with, bled for.
But it was close. Too close.
Her hand trembled as she reached for it, and for a moment she saw an old black-and-white portrait.
Amy froze.
Her grandmother — younger, more formal, standing beside a tall, broad-shouldered man with a gentle smile. Her grandfather. Her grandmother, young. Confident.
Wearing this pendant.
Ametrine stepped back.
'Then whose was the other one?'
Why did she have it? Why had it replaced this one in the future?
What was it?
She took the heirloom — careful, almost reverent — and cradled it in her palm.
She stepped back, breath catching, and quickly exited the room, letting the shelf slide back into place as if nothing had happened.
Only then did she realize she needed a moment.
The master bedroom — Nyxara's — was located on the upper floor, in the north wing. Amy hesitated at the door before stepping inside.
Muted tones. Soft light. The scent of lavender still hung faintly in the air. The space was as regal as it was peaceful — not overly ornate, but timeless. Her grandmother's presence lingered here more intimately than anywhere else.
Amy sank onto the edge of the bed and let her mind quiet.
What did all of this mean?
Why did her pendant match something hidden away long before the world ended?
And what was the Tear of Reverie?
For the first time since returning, Amy didn't have any answers.
Only more questions.
Nyxara's private quarters weren't just regal — they were quiet. The kind of quiet that made every breath feel like a decision.
Amy sat cross-legged on the edge of the low chaise; her eyes locked on the old business card she had retrieved from the lining of her grandmother's journal. No logo. Just a number, and a name.
She had spent the last three hours assembling the puzzle — her memories, the fragments of tech in the hidden studio, the vague references in Nyxara's old notes…
And that dream. No, that memory.
"They were supposed to call me," Amy murmured. "The day before the end."
Her finger hovered over the contact icon for a long moment. Then, with a slow exhale, she tapped.
It rang once. Twice.
A voice answered — crisp, confident. "Damon Veiss."
There was a pause. Amy let the silence sit, calculating.
"My name is Ametrine Ashryn Elaris," she said, each syllable deliberates.
Another pause — longer this time.
"…You're her granddaughter," he said, the tone shifting. "We weren't expecting contact. Not like this."
"Were you going to contact me?" she replied calmly. "Let's not waste time."
A faint chuckle on the other end. "Well. You're earlier than anticipated."
She could hear him sitting up straighter. Professional now. Curious.
"I'll need to verify a few things," he said. "But if everything aligns, would you be available Monday morning?"
"I will be," she said.
"Good. I'll have someone meet you at the front. Come prepared, Miss Elaris."
He hung up.
Amy lowered the phone slowly, staring at the now-blank screen. Her reflection blinked back from the dark glass — clear-eyed, composed.
For the first time in fifteen years, she was one step ahead.