The Weight of Destiny

Lucien's breath caught in his throat as he stared at the figure before him. The stranger's face was eerily familiar, yet there was something unsettling about the way their eyes burned with ancient knowledge.

Evelyn took an instinctive step back, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her dress. She had witnessed countless echoes of the past, but this felt different—this felt real.

"Who… who are you?" Lucien asked again, his voice laced with both urgency and caution.

The figure chuckled softly, their gaze never leaving his. "Names are fragile things, much like time itself. But for now, you may call me… Dorian."

A shiver ran down Evelyn's spine. The name felt significant, though she couldn't place why.

Elias's expression darkened, his usual calm exterior giving way to something more unsettled. "You're not just an observer, are you? You're not part of the past."

Dorian smirked, pleased by Elias's insight. "Ah, someone who asks the right questions. No, I am not bound to the past like the others you've seen. I exist beyond the constraints of time, much like yourselves."

Evelyn exchanged a look with Lucien. The weight of Dorian's words pressed against her like an invisible force. If he wasn't a mere illusion of history, then what was he doing here?

Alistair, still holding Isadora protectively by his side, turned toward Dorian. His sharp features hardened. "You gave us your word, Dorian. You swore you would not interfere."

Dorian spread his hands, his smirk never fading. "And I have not interfered. I have merely… observed. Much like your new guests here."

Lucien clenched his fists. "Then why are you waiting for me? What do you want?"

Dorian's eyes gleamed. "I want what has already been set into motion. You have walked into a story that is far older than you realize. A story that cannot be undone."

The chandeliers above flickered violently, casting shifting shadows across the ballroom. The frost along the windows thickened, creeping across the glass like the cold fingers of fate.

Isadora's grip on Alistair tightened. "You mean to say we have no choice? That our paths are written in stone?"

Dorian let out a low, amused laugh. "Choice? Oh, my dear, there are always choices. But some choices… bear greater consequences than others."

A cold dread settled in Evelyn's stomach. She had thought she was here to witness the past—to learn from it. But now, she wasn't so sure.

Lucien took a step forward, standing defiantly before Dorian. "Then tell us what we're supposed to do."

Dorian's smirk finally faded, replaced by something almost sorrowful. "Oh, Lucien… It is not my place to tell you. It is yours to discover. And the answer… lies ahead."

Before anyone could react, the ballroom shuddered. The walls trembled, and the chandeliers above swayed as if the very fabric of time itself was unraveling. The guests—silent, entranced figures of the past—began to flicker, their forms dissolving like mist.

Evelyn gasped as the floor beneath them gave way to an endless abyss of darkness.

Dorian's voice echoed in the chaos. "Let us see if you are truly ready to bear the weight of destiny."

And then, everything shattered into nothingness.