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I look up, my vision swimming, and there she is…

This, too, is a memory from that night. She had been there, too, twelve years ago. The woman who stood silently behind the High Lord, the one to whom he’d issued that dismissive order to take me away.

Back then, she simply flicked her wrist and used sorcery to clean my clothes as I had spoiled them out of fear. Now, she is standing above me again, a calm, steady presence in the swirling chaos of my mind. The woman I have, in many ways, come all this way for. The Martyshyar .

I still don’t know why she, a sorceress turned Martyshyar, had been with my father in that dark corridor of Myrielfort. But she took my trembling hand gently in hers. She led me back to the gamekeeper’s cottage on the edge of the estate.

During that walk, I asked her if she was cursed like me. I’d never seen sorcery performed before. When I told her about my abilities, she told me that I was just like her, a sorceress. She promised she would send a bird to Firelands so they would come and take me away.

She visited me daily after that, teaching me the basics of reading and writing, to prepare me for the rigorous studies of Firelands, even though we had so little time before Spring.

She told me that she herself had once been a Firelander but had chosen the path of Martysh, and had only recently become a Martyshyar .

When envoys from Firelands finally arrived to collect me, the Martyshyar hugged me goodbye. It was the first time in my life I’d ever been hugged. It was brief, but it was the most profoundly comforting touch I had ever felt.

Over the long years that followed, in the austere halls of Fire Temple, the memory of her kindness was a candle against the darkness.

She showed me that genuine kindness exists, that there are people in the world who do not always have ulterior motives, who do not expect something in return for a simple act of compassion.

And when, a few years later, I found a book about the history and ideals of Martysh…

it reminded me of her. She embodied everything I wanted to be: courageous, strong, powerful, and yet… kind.

I’ve always wondered if Jahanwatch fostered those traits.

I certainly never found them in Myra, nor in Firelands.

But if there was a place where I could be surrounded by people like her, if there was a place that could teach me not just to be strong, but to be a glimmer of hope for someone in need…

then perhaps that is where I truly belonged.

And that’s why I am here. That’s why I am lying on this damp ground, drenched in sweat and tears, my body aching, my spirit battered. For her. For the dream she represented.

She stretches out her hand, just as she had done all those years ago in that dark hallway. And without hesitation, I grab it. A warmth spreads from our joined hands throughout my body, and the iron grip of the panic begins to recede.

She pulls me to my feet. Then, she starts walking slowly, and I follow wordlessly. I can’t feel anything but the reassuring pressure of her hand in mine. All I know is that I should not let go of this hand, that I should let her lead me wherever she wills.

We walk for what could have been a few moments or an entire lifetime. The mist swirls around us, but it no longer feels threatening. Then, suddenly, we stop. And as awareness of my surroundings slowly seeps back into my dazed mind, I realize I am standing before massive gates.

She looks at the gates, then turns her gaze to me, and a small smile touches her lips as she nods, before letting go of my hand.

I reach for her immediately, but she turns her back on me and, without a word, walks back into the swirling mist, disappearing as silently and mysteriously as she had arrived.

I want to scream, to run after her, but the thought of plunging back into that disorienting mist without her guidance is paralyzing.

The space around me is still foggy, but at least I can see the gates right in front of me.

Behind, where she vanished, there is nothing but that oppressive white. No, I can’t go back there!

But what if this is just another illusion? What if another memory hides beyond those gates? And now she is gone, and there is no one left to rescue me.

Arien… Focus… That, too, was an illusion. Her memory, the comfort… it was all in your head… You decided to fight back… In the shape of her… It was you… You can do this by yourself…

The internal voice is shaky, but insistent, and I know that I have to move on, not look back. With a deep, shuddering breath, I push open the heavy gates, the metal groaning in protest, and take a hesitant step forward.

The instant my foot touches the ground beyond the threshold, the world snaps into sharp focus. The mist is gone . Vanished as if it had never been. I find myself stepping into a massive, windswept courtyard, paved with ancient, uneven stones.

As my eyes adjust to the sudden clarity of view, I gape at a vast courtyard, encapsulated within towering crenelated walls and strategically placed guard towers that create an imposing sense of security. Directly in front of me stands a massive keep made of the same light gray stone as the walls.

My eyes widen in disbelief. I look back while still standing within the arched gateway.

Instead of the impenetrable fog, I see a long, stony outer space that connects what must be the outer gates of a vast castle complex to these inner ones.

There are guards stationed across it, wearing the brown garb of Martyshgards.

Have they been there all along? Have I walked right past them, blind and lost in my personal daze? Where is the mist? Is this another, more elaborate illusion ?

“Step in.” A voice startles me so badly that I nearly jump out of my skin.

I whirl around and see a young Martyshgard, clutching a roll of parchment as if it were a holy relic.

He is standing inside the courtyard, beside the gate, watching me with an air of profound boredom.

Numbly, I obey, and the moment I step fully inside the courtyard, the massive gates swing shut behind me with a resounding clang.

“Arien of Firelands?” he drones.

“That’s me!” I manage, my voice breathless. “Where… am I?”

He looks up, his expression suggesting that I lack basic observational skills. “You’re in Jahanwatch. Are there other grand fortresses in these mountains that I’m unaware of?”

Jahanwatch!

Good heavens! This has to be the inner bailey of the fortress.

A sharp, exhilarating thrill, entirely at odds with my recent near-total emotional collapse, courses through me.

Have I, by some bizarre twist of fate and mist-induced hallucination, actually found my way to the very heart of the castle?

The elation is so strong it almost makes me forget the deep pain and terror of moments ago, as if the mist has obligingly taken those with it when it vanished.

“Is this… is this really Jahanwatch?” I ask. “Is this all real, or am I dead and dreaming?” I refrain from pinching myself for empirical evidence.

He only gives me a cold look. “Do I look like a ferryman for the departed? Yes, this is Jahanwatch.”

“Where are the rest of the contenders?” I blurt out, my mind still struggling to reconcile the terrifying mist with this sun-drenched courtyard.

“You’re the first,” he replies. Apparently, the most significant achievement of my life is nothing of importance to him.

“Food and water are over there.” He gestures vaguely with his chin.

“You’ll have to wait here until sundown.

Put this on and ensure it remains on your person.

Removal will be an instant failure in these trials, and you will fall senseless and be carried out of Jahanwatch.

” He slaps something cool and leathery around my wrist and then, with an air of someone who had just completed a tedious task, sashays off .

The bracelet is made of black leather, featuring a weighty Martysh coin—the wolf and eagle’s intertwined head is carved on it—set in its center.

I blink back a sudden wave of emotion and gently touch the cool metal, feeling my heart engage in a bittersweet dance.

Determined to maintain my composure, I am acutely aware of a gnawing emptiness in my stomach, so I make a beeline for the food table, finding solace in a much-needed meal.

And what a feast it is! There are mountains of rustic bread, slabs of cheese thicker than my most comprehensive spellbook, and fruits of all kinds.

I grab a hunk of bread, slather it with a generous portion of cheese, and devour it in very unladylike bites.

Apple juice washes it down, a relief for my parched throat.

As my heart rate gradually returns to something resembling normal, I take a moment to truly appreciate the expansive courtyard.

The clang of metal on metal drifts from nearby, suggesting smith shops are not far.

In the center of the courtyard stands a sturdy stone well, where a woman is currently drawing a bucket of water before heading towards a large building with a wide chimney puffing out plumes of smoke.

On the other side of the courtyard, a series of interconnected stone structures serve as stables, with several grooms tending to several war horses.

Then it hit me again, with a fresh wave of incredulous delight: I am the first one inside. I have to physically restrain myself from doing an undignified dance right there by the cheese. Instead, I begin to walk around the courtyard, with a wide, giddy smile plastered on my face.

There is no sign of any other contender emerging from those massive gates. I can’t quite believe I am the first, and by a considerable margin, it seems. Apparently, no one else has benefited from a memory-fueled guardian angel to guide them through the mist.