At first, nothing. Then…blinding flashes of memory. Not all my own. The hag whispered in the dank dungeon, her cold, skeletal fingers tracing runes in blood on my forehead. “Ora est kel ohira. Ora est kel näkt los. Ora est meheem.” Then her eyes lit with a burning light, something that hadn’t happened in the dungeon but seemed more real now than the memory. Then she spoke in perfect Issosian in a monotone chant, “You are the destiny. You are the dark lady. You are for him.”
