CHAPTER 17: CHAPTER 17 - A FATHER’S SUMMONS

Morning light leaked through the curtains, thin and pale, painting shadows across the floor of the room. Morena sat at her desk, elbows braced on wood, her fingers resting lightly against the closed journal.

She hadn’t slept much after that odd dream. She tried to rest more, but she just couldn’t. Her mind wouldn’t allow her to calm down; her heart raced when she thought of it.

Sleep had been shallow, broken. She remembered lying down, remembered her body refusing to surrender to rest, remembered the dream—or whatever it had been.

Her hand tingled faintly, though no mark remained from the glyph that had printed itself into her palm.

It should have unsettled her more than it did, but she wasn’t one to linger in fear; she wanted to learn more about it instead, learn why it did what it did, so she wouldn’t need to feel fear.

Her mind leapt ahead of itself, connecting dots before she fully considered them. Restlessness simmered beneath her calm surface.

"Residual effect."

She murmured to herself, though the words did little to soothe.

She flipped the journal open again. The leather creaked, dry and brittle, the carved letters seemed to press against her eyes, clearer than before—as if the dream had etched their shapes deeper into her memory.

"AI."

[Listening.]

"Isolate the unknown markings specifically. Begin comparison against all known energy signatures, including the stone and pendant. Let’s see what more lies beyond their simple surface."

[Command acknowledged.]

She reached for the cracked stone, lifting the frost-slick bowl that concealed it. Cold mist curled around her fingers as she set the crystal-veined fragment beside the book.

The AI pulsed faintly in her thoughts as it measured reactions.

For a moment, nothing. Then, as her eyes traced a single marking on the journal page, the stone’s veins glowed with a slight hue; it was barely noticeable, but the AI caught it and highlighted it for her.

Morena stilled.

"...again."

She turned the page. Another marking, angular, sharp; however this time there was no reaction at all.

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Document that. Every change, every fluctuation."

[Logging.]

The AI’s tone was flat, but this little experiment had proven useful. The carvings weren’t mere letters, but held some sort of power within them, the kind that could bend energy, or at least, influence it.

She leaned closer, eyes following the strokes. Her mouth moved before she realized it, shaping half of a mark into sound. She couldn’t pronounce it properly; it sounded broken, wrong.

She caught herself and snapped her lips shut, pushing herself back and away from the note.

No. That was reckless. Too reckless.

A flicker of irritation sparked in her chest, not just at the slip, but at herself. Focus, Morena. Don’t lose yourself to scribbles on a page.

Her hand trembled slightly as she forced it back to the desk. She would not let this book tug her like a puppet on strings. She would learn to use it above all else.

"AI. Record mental interference. Mark it as a secondary effect. I want to know even the slightest of changes to my mental state, any influence at all, internal or external."

[Acknowledged.]

She planned to have the AI record her mind at all times, even when she wasn’t actively reading the book. That way she could look back at the information if something were to happen, and perhaps she could spot any changes.

She exhaled. Her eyes strayed back to the symbols, to the curve of one particular mark. Her hand twitched toward a quill. Just to copy it, she told herself. She had the AI record them, but she had never tried writing them herself yet.

Perhaps it would do something?

But before ink could touch parchment, a knock sounded at her door.

Sharp, two times.

Morena froze. The quill hovered an inch above the page before she set it down carefully and hid the book in her drawer. Only then did she give the door any attention.

"Enter."

The door creaked open to reveal one of the household maids. A young woman, auburn hair pinned neatly, eyes lowered in the practiced humility of service. Even so, Morena saw the faint nervousness in her step, the way she wrung her apron once before speaking.

"Lady Morena."

The maid greeted softly with a slight bow.

"Your father has returned. He requests your presence... immediately."

Morena blinked once as she processed the words the maid had said.

Her father.

Lord Ravenscroft.

He was not a man to be kept waiting. His word carried more weight in the city than coin or steel. He was both shield and spear to their House. For him to return early, unannounced—it meant something.

For him to want to see her, that was troublesome.

"Very well."

Morena said, her voice calm and respectful as she spoke to the maid.

"Tell him I will come."

The maid dipped into a curtsy before withdrawing, her steps hurried but careful, as though afraid to offend by moving too quickly or too slowly.

The door shut behind her.

Morena lingered only a moment, hand resting lightly on the desk’s surface. She had been in this world only a few days. While she had adjusted somewhat, could she go undetected in the presence of her father?

Would he notice anything off about her? Could he tell she was no longer the daughter he knew? What could he possibly want? Why meet her right after returning?

Too many questions buzzed in her head, too many things she wanted to know.

She caught herself and withdrew her hand, expression smoothing to impassivity once more.

She strapped her knife to her belt, adjusted her coat, and swept from the room with silent steps.

The corridor beyond was unchanged—no crawling symbols, no shifting lights, only the ordinary stone walls and oil lamps. Yet she still glanced at the far end once, half-expecting it to stretch and warp again.

It didn’t.

Her boots carried her forward, each step steady, controlled. Outwardly, she was composed—daughter of House Ravenscroft, trained in etiquette, a noble’s bearing draped over a sharp mind. Inwardly, a storm brewed.

But her father had summoned her. And that, above all, demanded her attention.

Morena descended the stairs, the faint hum of the AI in her head quietly logging her heart rate, her breathing, her posture.

She ignored it.

The house smelled faintly of wood and polished steel. Voices murmured distantly from the main hall. She straightened her spine as she neared, smoothing her hair with one practiced sweep of her hand.

Lord Ravenscroft awaited.

And whatever his purpose for summoning her now, she would face it with the same resolve she had faced everything else—head high, eyes steady.