She is who?

The clearing held its breath.

Samantha's question hung in the air — fragile, aching.

"Those things I saw… they seemed like memories. But they weren't mine. Whose were they? What's all of this supposed to mean?"

Alaric stepped closer, but not too close — like he knew that what came next would shake something in her. Like he had delivered this truth before, and it had never landed softly.

"They are memories," he said gently. "Memories from far beyond your years."

Samantha frowned. "But… how?"

Alaric's gaze softened.

"The soul," he said, "never forgets."

Her stomach turned. There was something final in the way he said it. Like a door creaking open in her mind — one she couldn't close again.

Alaric went on. "It's too much to explain here, too vast to compress into this moment. But what matters now is this—" He paused. "You, or at least the person you once were, was… important. Extremely so."

Ron blinked. "Oh. Cool. No pressure."

Alaric barely acknowledged the comment. His eyes remained on Samantha.

"She was as powerful as she was beautiful," he said. "A force that moved people not through fear… but through grace. Through presence."

Samantha said nothing, but her throat tightened. She didn't know why that hit her — only that it did. Like her soul flinched at the memory of someone else's name.

Alaric's voice dropped to something more reverent, almost wistful.

"She was supposed to be the bridge — the connection between our land and worlds beyond. Her gifts allowed her to walk freely between dimensions. But more than power, it was her nature that made her worthy. She invited peace. Unity."

He paused.

"Her light made others feel seen."

The air grew heavier. Samantha could feel her hands trembling. Ron was still beside her, watching everything unfold like a movie he hadn't bought a ticket for.

Alaric looked toward the trees now, almost like remembering aloud.

"For a while, all was well. She guided our people, inspired them. We called her The Priestess. That was the name she chose. She never liked titles of worship. She only wanted to serve."

M nodded solemnly. "She was our anchor."

Samantha swallowed hard. "What… happened to her?"

Alaric's expression darkened.

"Ramiel," he said. The name struck like a crack of thunder. "And the Council."

Ron mumbled, "I knew the Council would be shady. No good ever comes from something called The Council."

But no one laughed.

Alaric's jaw clenched. "We were brothers-in-arms once. Ramiel, M, and I. Friends. Family. And all of us — devoted to her. We believed in her vision."

M's voice was quiet. "I trusted him with my life."

"Something shifted," Alaric continued. "We didn't see it soon enough. One moment he stood beside her, guarding her… the next…"

Samantha knew what came next. She didn't know how — but she did.

Her voice was barely a whisper. "He betrayed her."

Alaric met her eyes. "Plunged a dagger into her back. In exchange for the promise of ultimate power."

Ron groaned. "Boo, Ramiel. Not cool, dude."

No one laughed again — but this time, the edge of Ron's voice was sharp. Protective. Angry.

Alaric exhaled slowly, as though releasing centuries of grief.

"The consequences were immediate. The land began to split, physically and spiritually. Worlds blurred. The fabric between dimensions frayed. Our people fell into chaos."

"And the Priestess?" Samantha asked.

"She used the last of her strength," M answered quietly. "Her dying breath… was not a scream. It was a seal. She closed the gates between worlds. She held the line so that what remained of us could survive."

Alaric nodded. "She chose the people over vengeance. Over pain. Even as she bled out."

Silence pressed into the clearing like fog. Samantha didn't realize she was crying until she felt the tear drop from her chin. Ron gently placed a hand on her back.

"And now," Alaric said, his voice changing again — from grief to purpose — "we come to you."

Samantha's head snapped up.

"You were born the same hour she died," M said. "In a different place. A different life. But something... happened."

"We believe," Alaric said, "that part of her soul — fractured from the force of her sacrifice — bled into you."

She shook her head. "That's not— I'm not— I'm me. I don't remember any of this. I don't even know how to hold a knife, much less carry ancient power."

"You don't have to remember," Alaric said. "Because your soul does."

Those words sank in deep. A strange shiver ran through her body, and for a moment, the tree in the clearing blurred again with the one in her dreams.

"You're telling me…" she began, breath shaking, "that she's inside me? The Priestess?"

"No," M said gently. "She is you."

Samantha stepped back. The earth tilted. It was too much.

She looked to Ron, who looked absolutely out of his depth, but still grounded. Still there. His presence, messy and chaotic and deeply human, was the only thing keeping her from floating into the sky.

Alaric watched her with quiet patience.

"She is you," he repeated. "And now… we need your help again."