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“The Vareth’el.” The second man’s voice is hushed with something approaching reverence. “Alive after all these years.”

“Stand, all of you.”

Movement to the side catches my attention, and I turn my head as Ellie takes a step back, brow pleated as she looks at the group on their knees in front of me. Her tongue sweeps out, licking over her lips, as she lifts her gaze to meet mine. Her eyes are full of questions. But they’re going to have to wait, because Varam is rising to his feet, and issuing instructions to the people around him.

“Secure the door,” he tells Kelren, who moves to close and lock it. “We must ensure no one enters without authorization.” He pulls out a chair, and looks at me. “Sit.”

Only when I am seated do the others settle into their places. I look around the table. These people are no longer simply my followers, they’re commanders in their own right. It appears the Veinwardens survived without me, after all.

Mira walks over to the shelves and brings two more pewtergoblets to the table. She picks up the stone pitcher and pours a clear liquid into them. The scent of mountain herbs reaches me, and the memory comes before I can stop it.

A round table. Lamplight on steel. Varam laughing low at something Mira said. I remember the pressure of my fingers around a similar goblet, warmth bleeding into my palms as I raised it with them. Our final night before Thornreave.

This was the drink my closest companions and I would share before every battle.

I take a sip, then look around, searching for Ellie. She’s standing near the door.

“Come. Sit.” I pull out the seat next to me. “We’re safe here.”

She stares at me for a second, eyes moving from me to the chair and back again, then she moves forward a step … then another. Until she’s beside me.

“Why did they?—”

“I’ll explain later. Sit. Drink.” I push the goblet toward her, then turn back to the table. “Report. What remains of the Veinwardens?”

There is no hesitation. No request for clarification. The briefing begins as if decades have not passed. As if I never left.

“Fragmented, but persistent.” It’s Varam who answers. His expression hardens into the familiar lines of a commander delivering a status report. “The Authority expanded aggressively after your de—after your capture. They consolidated control of every major settlement. Ashenvale is now their administrative stronghold.”

He nods toward the maps on the wall. “Most of our original network is gone. Thornreave Pass was obliterated with your fall.The western sanctuaries held out the longest. Stonehaven still stands, but Veinbloods were rooted out, and siege tactics broke the rest.”

Places I built. People I trained. Strongholds designed to protect those hunted by the Authority. All dismantled. My familiar moves, sliding over my ribs, phantom wings fluttering.

“But you survived.” My gaze goes to the weapons. The maps. The layers of planning are visible.

Varam nods, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. “We adapted. Went deeper. Preserved what we could and studied their weak points.” He meets my eyes directly—one of the few who ever. “We didn’t stop. Even when it meant burning what we once fought to hold.”

“The Authority believes the Veinwardens are destroyed.” Mira takes over. “They’ve grown complacent. Their patrols are predictable, especially in the border settlements.”

“Then we make that complacency cost them.”

“You intend to return to the fight, Lord?” The second man asks.

“Nevik,” Varam warns.

I raise a hand, stopping him from speaking further. “They imprisoned me and took away my magic. My intention is not to simply fight them. I intend to destroy them.”

“Our numbers are smaller, but those who remain are fully committed,” Nevik says. “We’ve placed knots in every city, Lord Torran. They are all ready to act when called.”

“How do you communicate with them?”

“Coded messages by bird for long distance. Established phrases for local use.” Varam picks up the lead again. “Once you were gone,the remaining Veinbloods went to ground.” He glances around the table. “Not that it saved them.”

While he talks, he rises and moves to the far wall, dragging out a chest half-buried beneath stacked supplies.

“After you were taken,” he says, unlocking it and lifting the lid, “we did what we could. Most of Thornreave Pass was in ashes by the time the scouts got there. But not everything.”

He returns with a cloth-wrapped bundle and places it on the table before me. Each layer is folded back slowly. And when the final cloth falls away, the shadows under my skin rise then slip down my fingers and across the tabletop.