Chapter I Keeper of the Flame Alexandria — The Whisper Beneath the Scrolls The first time the symbol appeared in this life, it was not in a dream. It was on concrete. Spray-painted in faded gold along the side of an abandoned brick building near the river — a place I used to walk when I needed to clear my head. The area wasn’t sacred. It wasn’t historical. It was just quiet. But that night, something felt charged. I had gone there after an argument — heart racing, mind restless, feeling like the world around me was shifting faster than I could ground into it. The sky was heavy with low clouds, streetlights flickering against the water. And then I saw it. A circle. Inside it, a single vertical line. Through the line, three short horizontal marks. Not random graffiti. Too deliberate. Too precise. The paint was metallic — not bright, but reflective, like someone wanted it to catch light only at certain angles. My breath slowed. Because I knew it. Not from this lifetime.