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“Yes.”

She falls quiet, gaze never leaving the silhouette of the city. “You said this isn’t just about getting stronger. It’s about becoming complete. But you didn’t just mean your power, did you? You meantyou.It’s about becomingwholeagain.”

The simple observation cuts deeper than I expect, stripping away defenses I haven’t consciously examined in years. I turn to face her fully.

“Yes,” I admit. “It’s about becoming whole.”

Her expression changes. Not into pity, but something quieter. Recognition. The understanding of what it means to be incomplete in ways no visible wound can explain.

We stand in silence, overlooking the mist-shrouded valley with Ashenvale rising in the distance. The city I lost, and will soon infiltrate. The wind carries hints of familiar scents, long since transformed by Authority rule, bitter with memory.

My hand flexes, feeling the absence of that final piece of myself.

My mission awaits. Duty calls. And yet …

Here, with Ellie standing beside me—quiet, steady, unknowingly binding herself to my path—I allow myself to acknowledge one undeniable truth.

Ellie Bennet has become more than an unpredictable variable. Much more.

She stands beside me not as a tool, not as a liability, or temporary ally, but as something I haven’t ever permitted myself to claim.

She’s a vulnerability I can't afford, and can’t refuse.

Whatever happens in Ashenvale, that fact alone changes everything.

Chapter Thirty-One

ELLIE

“To remember is to choose which truth survives.”

Writings of the Veinblood Masters

The forest beginsto thin as we near Ashenvale, ancient trees surrendering to scattered farmland. Fields bordered by small stone walls and narrow dirt paths where farmers stoop over crops.

After a day and a half in the wilderness, these glimpses of ordinary life jar me.

A woman hangs laundry while children chase each other between rows of vegetables. The rich scent of tilled earth lingers in the air, and somewhere, a child’s laughter rings out.

The normality of it all feels wrong.

People are still living their lives, despite everything I’ve learned about the Authority who rules them.

“Stop here.” Sacha leads us off the road and into the cover of a small copse of trees. “Everyone needs to change into their uniforms.”

We pull the Authority clothes from our packs. The others strip without pause, but I still haven’t adjusted to this culturaldifference. This casual disregard for privacy that reminds me just how foreign I am here.

I duck behind a thick-trunked oak, the rough bark scraping against my palms as I steady myself, and undress. The uniform fabric feels odd against my skin, coarse and stiff, the weave rough where it brushes my arms, smelling faintly of oil and sun-baked dust.

When I rejoin the group, no one comments on my need for privacy, but I catch Sacha’s eyes flicking briefly to mine … a silent acknowledgement of my discomfort that somehow makes it easier to bear.

I adjust the collar, conscious of the silver I’ve been working to suppress in my eyes. The techniques Sacha has taught me help, but holding it in place is like keeping a muscle tensed for hours.

Once everyone is ready, Sacha instructs us to walk in pairs, keeping a small distance between us. Mira walks with me, just behind Sacha and Varam. The other two fighters stay behind. The plan is for them to remain outside Ashenvale, and wait for us at River Crossing … whereverthatis. If something goes wrong, Mira or Varam will send them some kind of signal. From that point, I don’t know what will happen.

Ashenvale looms ahead, both imposing and oppressive. Three concentric walls encircle the city, each higher than the last, with watchtowers stationed at key intervals where guards stand like statues. The outer walls must be at least twenty feet high, gleaming white in the late-afternoon sun. The Authority’s emblem dominates the space above the main gate, carved so deep into the stone it casts its own shadow.

“It wasn’t always like this.” Sacha’s voice drops to barely above a whisper, tight with an anger I feel vibrating between us.