The dream began in silver.

Not the gentle shimmer of moonlight, but a blinding, living silver — fluid and endless, rippling like water over glass. Evelyn stood in it, barefoot, her reflection stretching infinitely beneath her. The air hummed, charged with power that was both familiar and foreign.

“Where am I?” she whispered.

Her voice didn’t echo. It simply was.

Then, from the light, a figure began to take shape — tall, graceful, cloaked in white that shimmered like mist. Her hair ...