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“We rebuild. Beginning with those still loyal to the original cause. Have you sent out messengers?”

“Yes. Those who remain, and are close, will come.”

“Good. We will need them all.” I turn the conversation back to practical matters. “What of the Authority’s presence here in Ravencross? How have you kept this place from detection?”

“For all its growth, Ravencross is still considered a minor outpost. After you fell, the Authority established their main headquarters at Ashenvale. This settlement, like many on the fringes, is monitored but not heavily controlled. They believe Veinwarden activity ended with your death.”

“Let it rest for now. We’ll speak more about it when the others arrive.” There is nothing more to be gained from making plans this evening.

Varam inclines his head, rests his palms on the table and pushes himself to his feet. He walks to the door, then pauses, looking back.

“I grieved you. Built what I could in your absence. But gods, Sacha, seeing you standing here again …” He exhales, low and rough. “It makes me believe that miracles can happen.”

Then he’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind him. I remain at the table, toying with the glass in my hand.

He still sees the man I used to be.

I’m not sure he’d recognize what’s left.

The Authority won back then. They broke the Veinwardens’ spirit, dismantled what we built, and paraded my supposed corpse as proof of their dominion.

But what they took was more than the war.

They took years I will never reclaim.

Voices I can still hear.

The man I was.

Now they believe their control is absolute. Unassailable.

They will soon learn that they are wrong.

With my freedom, my power, and the shadowblade returned to my hand, I am almost complete. Magic flows through my veins, already stronger than it was when they captured me. And they have no idea that I’ve escaped, no idea that I walk free among them. Whichmeans I have time to gather intelligence and reconnect with networks they believe destroyed.

I’ve had nothing but time to plan their downfall, to imagine every detail of retribution. The thought should bring satisfaction.

Yet revenge alone isn’t enough.

It never was.

This advantage won’t last long. They’ll discover the tower’s collapse, if they haven’t already. Rumors will spread. Questions will rise. But by the time they move, it will be too late. I will have reformed the Veinwardens around the core that remains, sharpened by absence. Stronger for what we’ve lost.

I thought freedom would feel like fire, but it’s quieter than that.

It’s closer to breath returning to lungs that haven’t filled in years. Or standing in a room full of ghosts, and knowing every one of them by name.

I survived, yes. But I don’t know yet what remains of the person I was before my imprisonment.

I drain my glass, and push to my feet. My steps take me across the room to the bedchamber that was once mine … before Thornreave.

The room remains largely as I left it. A bed. A desk with writing materials. Shelves holding personal items preserved like relics. Varam’s loyalty extends even to these small details.

My fingers find the spine of a book I once treasured. It belonged to my mother, who brought it with her when she traveled to Meridian from lands beyond the Great Divide. Poems from her birthplace. A realm she hoped to take me to one day. A hope that ended with the rise of the Authority.

I open it to a page marked with a frayed ribbon, finding lines that once steadied me in moments of doubt. I read them again, but they land differently now. The cadence is familiar, but the comfort has faded.