In her dreams Kalia wore white.

It had been that way for as long as she could remember. The same white robe whispering across the ground like spider webs and the same smooth silk kissing her skin with gossamer lips. They had become a reassuring comfort as she grew older, an unchanging reassurance she had not strayed from the path laid out for her.

For she had always known there was a path.

Her goddess’ messages came rarely at first, gentle whispers that faded with the light of dawn. But as time passed, and her body grew into the bulky mess she considered more of a curse than a blessing, the dreams came more and more regularly.

They became her prayer. More intimate than the blood-letting ceremonies at the temple and the arcane rituals the priests practiced, while simultaneously lacking the easily deciphered meaning that the priests handed down from on high. What she wouldn’t give for the level of certainty and clarity she saw in the holy paladins and the squires she trained alongside.

But she knew her goddess walked with her as the singing filled the dark tunnel around her. Soft notes strummed against the strings of her body as the goddess’ beauty filled her with warmth. Music always accompanied these special dreams; a divine chorus which swaddled her like a warm blanket — embracing her in safety.

The rustle of her cloth on the ground shushed in time with the melody while a solitary torch in her outstretched hand throbbed with holy light. The walls of the tunnel reflected no light. Instead they drank it in greedily and shrouded her steps in shadow. A large door emerged from the darkness ahead to tower over her, and she wondered what purpose could draw her here.

The Fifth Trust was a stronghold, hidden beneath Izael’s temple in labyrinthine catacombs. It had been breached only once in recorded history, and her temple solemnly vowed it would never happen again.

Her feet plodded onward, and she wondered how to get past the vault doors without the high priest’s key, but — with the logic of dreams — the impregnable doors swung wide with a slight wave of her hand. Her hips swung in time to the rhythm of heavenly music and she stepped over the smooth steel to make her way into the stacks.

A maze of shelves and glass cabinets threw mad shadows as her torch flared brighter, the music likewise increasing in tempo as a current of dread grew in the mounting disharmonies. The Trust was one of Kalia’s favorite places; fetching books and scrolls for the priests was a punishment to the other squires, but she secretly relished it with an unspoken joy and a fear it would be taken away. Yet as her feet dragged her onward she suddenly wished to be somewhere else— anywhere else.

The rows of shelves stopped as she reached the center of the vault, desks spreading in rough circles around the center of the temple. And there stood a marble plinth with a solitary tome radiating hatred toward her in a miasma of gloom accentuating the fact she did not belong here.

The enchanted glass protecting the tome burned at her eyes, symbols of power flashing an angry chorus. She could imagine the countless priests and wizards that had spent their lives spelling the glass against any who would steal from the goddess.

Kalia remembered the last time the seals were removed, when the high priest needed to reference an arcane piece of historical lore during the trade conference with Norastir. Then it required a conclave of acolytes to allow access to the priceless treasure. Yet now she moved toward the plinth and the layers of magic bent effortlessly around her fingers as she reached out to lay her hand upon the cool glass.

A tinkle of renewed music burst forth as her hands guided the pages to open. Page after page of arcane symbols and cramped notes presented themselves to her and she struggled to read through the ache in her eyes. The tome stopped on a page of astrological diagrams as the headache increased in intensity— even the music taking on a dire tempo as it thundered in her veins.

She wondered what her goddess might be trying to communicate as the page began glowing with starlight. Magic leaked from the pages to illuminate the darkness of the vault. The thud of her heartbeat was the only answer, however, as the music abruptly stopped. Kalia could feel the dream ending, her vision fraying as a pounding echoed in the silence.

She pounded her fist on the glass in frustration, but the pages reversed their course despite her protests. A loud slam as the book snapped itself shut caused her to jerk back in fear and she saw more than felt herself fall.

A second slam of her head against the rough stone made her cry out in pain, a bright light assaulting her eyes through the sheets of her bed. Dawn had come.

A soft knocking at the door was the only noise, and the remnants of music that still floated through her mind held no comfort this day. Instead it resembled a dirge, the church bells sounding daybreak in the distance seeming to toll with a resounding doom, doom, doom.