Welcome to Gaia! ::

Caroling had been a tradition for as long as Isolde could remember—an odd relic of joy and togetherness she’d always observed from a distance. Tonight, it wasn’t unusual to hear singing, even as the season waned, but something about this was wrong. It was three in the morning, for one. The streets should have been silent save for the occasional howl of wind or the distant hum of traffic. Yet here it was: a chorus, soft and haunting, slipping through the cracks of her carefully warded solitude.

The melody was slow, almost mournful, and strangely familiar. She stiffened, the pen in her hand slipping to the desk as the notes dragged something loose in her chest—memories she couldn’t quite reach. The chill followed, not the natural cold of winter but something sharp and alien, sinking into her bones as though it had been waiting for this moment.

Her instincts screamed at her to stay put, to ignore it, but curiosity—always a dangerous trait for someone in her position—drove her to the window. She moved carefully, her footsteps muffled on the plush rug. Parting the heavy velvet curtains, she peered into the foggy street below.

Empty.

The streetlights flickered, casting long, distorted shadows across the pavement. There were no carolers, no trace of anyone who might be singing. And yet, the voices were so close, resonating as though they stood at her doorstep, weaving an intricate harmony that made her blood run colder.

It wasn’t just a song; it was a memory. But not her own.

Isolde pressed her forehead against the cool glass, her breath fogging the surface as she strained to find any sign of the source. It was useless. The melody clawed at her mind, pulling her deeper into a strange, half-formed familiarity. Her hand drifted unconsciously to the blade at her side, the sharp hum of its power grounding her.

As abruptly as it began, the song ended.

The silence was deafening, and the world outside her window seemed to hold its breath. Even the wind had stilled. She pulled back from the window and let the curtain fall shut, the oppressive quiet pressing down on her like a weighted cloak.

The room was unnaturally cold now. Isolde lit a lamp, its flickering glow chasing the shadows back to the corners, but her own shadow moved unnaturally, flickering on the wall as though caught in an invisible breeze.

“Who sent you?” she whispered, her voice trembling despite herself.

The air in the room seemed heavier, charged with an unseen energy. Her mind raced with possibilities. Was it the Negaverse testing her loyalty? An enemy probing for weaknesses? Or something older, something she couldn’t explain?

She sat at the edge of her bed, head in her hands, but sleep eluded her. When exhaustion finally overtook her, the melody returned, creeping into her dreams. The voices beneath the song whispered words she couldn’t understand, yet they felt like commands she was meant to obey.

When she woke, her lips were dry, her throat raw, and the song was there, lingering on her tongue. She caught herself humming it, the notes spilling forth without thought.

Her reflection in the mirror caught her eye. Her crimson gaze seemed darker, unfamiliar, as though someone else stared back. A shiver ran through her, and she turned away.

This wasn’t over.