The guest room was comfortable but conservative with a bed at the center of the room, an armoire to the side, and a small writing desk under the large window that looked out over the gardens in the back of the house. Alisa paid little attention to the details, however, as she quickly bathed and dressed for bed in a sleep shirt and pants she had packed for herself. Knowing that this could very well be one of the last times she and Bren had the chance to talk, at least until the Initiation was complete, she wasn't going to waste any time. Not when what she had to speak to her brother about was so important.

Once she was ready, she crept across the hallway, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention from Chey, and gently knocked on her brother's door. She held her breath to listen, and worried that he had fallen asleep until he opened the door and let her in.

His room was not much different than hers, with his window looking out over the front yard and the city beyond. Bren had bathed as well, his brown hair dripping onto the shoulder of his shirt untucked over loose pants, and he shut the door behind her while she made her way to the bed.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asked as he leaned against the door.

"I have a favor to ask of you," she said as casually as she could as she sat on the edge of his bed. "Once we're presented and have to go our separate ways."

He watched her with that aged stare, waiting for her to continue.

"I need you to take advantage of the Parish's libraries once you've begun your studies. I need you to look into something for me,"

Bren shrugged. "Why can't you do it yourself?"

"Because I'm not going to have the time," she said, frowning. "And you heard Chey— people are going to be watching us. I don't want any extra suspicion on me."

"And I do?"

Alisa scoffed. "The moment you're presented as a Cleric candidate you can do no wrong."

Bren just shook his head but didn't challenge her further. "What do you need me to research?"

A thread on the bedspread took her attention away from her brother's stare. "I need to know who Mother was associated with during the war. Who fought with her. By her side."

"That's easy," he said. "Father—"

"No. Not Rahn. There was someone else," Alisa said quickly, her nerves getting the better of her. "Someone who helped her seal the Rift. Someone Mother was... close to."

"You could always ask Father. Or perhaps Chey? Or—"

"Rahn isn't my father," she blurted.

Bren stared at her, unblinking.

Letting out a breath, she continued, "She only just told me... before we left. Like she knew us coming here was going to resurface her past and she wanted to be the one to tell us first. Finally."

Bren just stared.

"That doesn't make you any less my brother," she reminded him, panic edging her tone. "Or me any less your sister. But now that I know, I need to know the truth."

Bren swallowed, looking paler than he did when she arrived. "Why don't you just ask her yourself?"

"I did. Well... sort of. And she said she'd tell me once I returned home. But I'm also impatient and you know she never wants to talk about her past. I'm trying to save her the trouble."

Bren still hadn't moved— she didn't know if it was from shock or if he was now afraid to approach her. "So you want me to look through the Parish libraries for accounts on the War to find out who helped Mother seal the Rift... because you believe whoever it was is your real father?"

Alisa bit the inside of her lip. "Yes."

He ran his hand through his hair— something he did often when he was nervous. Something their father always did... his father always did.

She frowned. "I'm sorry for telling you now with everything else going on and if I could have told you sooner I would have. Hell, I would have loved to know sooner..."

"Okay," he said.

"Okay?"

"Okay," he confirmed. "I'll do some research for you. I make no promises though— I don't know how long it could take or what free time I'll have to do it."

Alisa gave him a small smile as she stood from the bed. "Did anyone ever tell you you're the best brother ever?"

"Not yet," he said, watching her.

Approaching she looked down to him where he stood. He was only a head shorter than her, and she knew in a few years she could very well be looking up to him.

"Thank you," she said softly.

He met her gaze. "Did she ever tell you why?"

Now it was Alisa's turn to blink. "I'm sure she had her reasons. I wasn't about to ask her—"

"No, I mean about you getting hurt. Did she ever tell you why you got hurt when she did?"

Alisa stopped. In all that happened, she never came out and asked. But between their twin scars in her arm, and the new wound she had received, there was certainly something between them. Something she needed to make sure her mother told her as much as the identity of her father.

"She said we were connected, right?" Alisa considered. "So, maybe it's something to do with the Venandi bloodline. Maybe it's like you being a Cleric. Maybe you can find out more when you begin researching?"

Again, he was silent for a moment. "Are you scared?"

"About what?"

"About tomorrow. About the next month. About what training to be a Venandi means and what's going to change?"

"No," Alisa said with conviction. Without hesitation. "This is what I was born to do. Who I'm meant to be."

"Well, I'm scared."

"Why?" Alisa cocked her head to the side in question. "Being a Cleric is like the cushiest job in the Parish."

"Not for me," he said, shaking his head. "For you."

Alisa didn't know how to respond to that. Instead she gathered her brother in a tight hug. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be here before either of us know it."

He hugged her back tightly before releasing her. "Okay."

Bren was so often of few words she only just smiled at him. "Goodnight Bren."

"Goodnight Alisa."

She let herself out and quietly crept back across the hall to her own room where she shut the door behind her before collapsing into bed.

No, she realized as the conversation with her brother flitted through her mind. She wasn't scared about tomorrow at all.

Alisa never remembered her dreams.

She recalled having a nightmare once, when she was young yet still old enough to remember. A green-skinned demon was climbing into her room through her window, begging her to follow him home, and when she said no it started pulling on her leg...

She had woken up on the floor, in tears and terrified. She screamed for her parents and when her mother heard what had happened she gathered her in her arms and made her sleep in her bed. For the next week.

She never had a nightmare—or any dream—after that night.

Until now.

The room she had entered was dark, lit only by sporadic torches along the stone walls. There were no tapestries, not carpets. Only cold, black stone on all sides. As she moved through the room, she realized she wasn't there so much in body but more so merely as a spirit-like observer. She didn't mind, not as what awaited her at the end towards the end of the hall came into view.

Made of the same stone as the rest of the room, a black throne stood against the far wall... and it was occupied.

With hair as white as bone and antlers upon their head to match, the red-skinned demon didn't look up— in fact, it appeared as though they were preoccupied by something in their lap. Taking advantage of her silent presence, Alisa willed her subconscious to move closer, to try to observe what it was the demon was looking at.

The demon— male, she confirmed as she hovered overhead— was flipping through a book. He was dressed in a black cotton shirt and leather pants, legs crossed over one another as casually as if he was reading the morning post. He could have almost passed for human, if not for the claws extended from his fingers as they ran over the foreign words upon the pages. Only one thing caught Alisa's attention as the demon continued to flip the pages— the names.

At the bottom of almost every page was a name— all different— all elegantly scrawled... like a signature.

The demon flipped and flipped through the book until he stopped. And paused.

Alisa looked at the name at the bottom of the page.

Alara Rousseau.

The demon moved again, turning the page slower this time, flattening it with gentle fingers, the tips of his claw carefully running down the page until they hovered over the name at the bottom.

Azima Rousseau.

Though she didn't hear a sound, she must have made a noise because the demon's gaze rose, suddenly meeting her ethereal attention. His eyes were the orange of molten ore and just as blazing, searing straight through her.

And he smiled, revealing white teeth as sharp as fangs.

"Alisa."

"Alisa?"

She blinked awake, the light of early morning shining through the window a vast contrast to the darkened hall of her dream.

Looking over, Bren, fully dressed, was standing in her doorway.

"Get up," he said carefully, almost as if he knew something was different, that things had now changed. "Chey's waiting for us. It's almost time to be presented."