That night, Lirienne did not sleep.
Though his arms were a home,
and his body spoke to her without words —
something was pulling her away.

She gently slipped out of Isilvar’s embrace.
There was no light.
Only darkness and the scent of candles
that in this chamber never fully died.

She was naked.
She walked barefoot over the cool stone floor
until she stopped before the wall.

And there it waited.
The pentagram.

The same one she had once painted —
in this world or another.
The same one she had seen on the book’s cover.
The same one that breathed.

She stared for a long moment.
Then she reached out
and touched it.

It pulsed with light.
Not ordinary light — inner light.
A dark shimmer, as if the air itself trembled.

She felt its heartbeat under her fingers.
As if it were recognizing her again.
Not a symbol — but a being.
Alive. Awake.

She turned.
Isilvar was no longer asleep.
He sat at the edge of the bed — barefoot, naked, present.
In the half-light his rune glowed on his solar plexus,
and hers — the four on her neck — warmed softly, unmistakably.

She touched them.

He rose.
Approached her slowly, quietly.
Took her hands and said:

“Promise you will not force them open.
You are still human.
If you do it too soon — the energy will kill you.”

She looked into his eyes
and nodded.

Then she turned back to the wall.
Placed her hand on the pentagram
and whispered:

“Please… don’t let me forget you.
Come to me tomorrow… as you truly are.”

And then, from deep inside her body,
from the very bottom of memory,
she heard her own voice whisper:

“You will not forget.”

He embraced her — firm and gentle all at once.
Led her back to the bed.
Loved her for a long time.
Not to silence the voice.
But to lift it with her.
So she would not be alone in it.

And still — she did not sleep.
She lay in the quiet, watching the darkness.

For even when everything was silent,
her own soul kept repeating one thing:

“You will not forget.”