The necropolis breathes like a sleeping beast, silent, ancient, cold. Torchlight shivers along the walls, casting halos on dust-cloaked saints and ossified kings. The deeper they descend, the quieter the world becomes, until even thought feels too loud.

Behind him, Manfred follows like a shadow. He makes no speech. Only the heavy rhythm of boots against stone and the occasional low, animal sound of warning.

They stop before a shattered tomb, its seals splintered, its runes flickering faintly like a heartbeat trying to restart.

"This ward was meant to contain something. Not protect it," Emmrich says softly, eyes narrowed. "Or someone."

He steps inside, the air impossibly cold. And there, at the base of the broken sarcophagus, half-buried in glowing dust and tattered silk, she lies.

A woman. Unconscious. Breath shallow. Limbs curled in unnatural sleep. Her clothing is like nothing Emmrich has ever seen. Her skin faintly marked by glyphs that pulse in a rhythm that doesn't match this world.

Manfred halts behind him, letting out a low, guttural sound.

"I know," Emmrich replies, but his voice is quiet, different. Hesitant. He steps closer.

He means to study. To observe. But something grips him the moment he sees her face.

Not fear. Not desire. Something... older. A pull. Like standing at the edge of memory, or falling into a dream he’s never had.

"Strange," he whispers. His chest feels tight. His pulse, quickened.*

He kneels beside her, studying the line of her jaw, the marks at her temple. Something ancient stirs inside him, something uninvited.

"She’s not dead. Not undead. Something in between. But..." He hesitates. The words taste wrong in his mouth. "She feels... known. To me. And I cannot say why."

Manfred grunts, sharp, suspicious. He steps forward, placing himself subtly between Emmrich and the woman. His eyes never leave her.

"No, not that," Emmrich says as if to himself, still kneeling. "Not magic. Not like any I’ve felt. It’s like..."

A breath. The woman stirs.

Her eyes open. Not fully. Just enough to meet his. Emmrich flinches, almost imperceptibly, but something in that gaze hits him like a name he’s forgotten.

A moment stretches between them, electric and wrong and right all at once.

Then Manfred lets out a low hiss and plants a heavy hand on Emmrich’s shoulder, pulling him gently but firmly back.

"You're right," Emmrich says quietly, shaken. He rises. "We take her. But not to the surface. Not yet. There’s more here than just her."

As they lift her, she doesn’t resist. She falls against Emmrich's chest like a shadow that remembers the shape it once belonged to.

And somewhere beneath his ribs, something stirs, something he can’t name... but fears he’s always carried.