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“I don’t know. For now, we focus on rebuilding the network, and confirming which knots remain active. Ellie has her own decisions to make.”

The conversation turns back to immediate concerns, but I’m only half listening now, still tracking the ripple my return has sent through these people. The weight of it presses in quietly.

When the final Veinwardens depart, Varam pauses in the doorway.

“For many years, we’ve maintained this fight because it was right, not because we believed we could win. But you—” He studies me for a breath. “Your return changes the odds.”

I understand now why they kept the stories alive long after they gave up hope. Why my name still passed between them like something sacred.

Not because they remembered the man.

But because they needed the myth.

Once he leaves, I move toward the smaller room where Elliecontinues her language practice. I pause at the door, watching her for a moment through the gap. She struggles with the unfamiliar sounds, frustration and determination battling across her expressive face. So different from the control I hold over my own.

The Authority likely suspects something has changed. They may even suspect that my confinement has been compromised. But what they cannot yet know, what they cannot possibly be prepared for, is that the Shadowvein Lord they imprisoned is not the same one that has returned to the world they’ve shaped in his absence.

I’m no longer the same young lord who chafed against the unwanted title he held.

Now, I wear it with purpose.

I amVareth’el et’Varin Sacha Torran.

Shadowvein.

Chapter Nineteen

ELLIE

“Every exile carries a piece of the home that cast them out.”

Ravencross Market Ballads

Language lessons have becomemy favorite part of the day. I sit at the small table in the corner of the room with Mira, while the fighters who are here daily come and go, speaking in hushed tones I still can’t follow.

“Kavir neresh.” Mira points to a cup on the table.

“Kavir neresh.” The words come more easily now, shaped by repetition, but they still feel like placeholders. Forms I can pronounce without fully grasping their meaning.

She shakes her head, then emphasizes the middle syllable. “Ka-VIR-ne-resh.”

I try again, adjusting the inflection. This time she nods, her face softening into the hint of a smile. We’ve been at this for days now, building new vocabulary one painstaking word at a time. The progress feels glacial, each new term a minor victory that changes nothing about my ability to belong.

Across the chamber, Sacha is standing with Varam and two others, their heads bent over maps spread across the large woodentable. I watch them from the corner of my eye as Mira continues drilling me. They’re talking in low voices, and occasionally point at different locations on the maps, their expressions grave.

For four days we've been in this underground sanctuary. Four days of me stumbling over unfamiliar syllables while Sacha steps seamlessly into a world that remains sealed to me. Four days of being tolerated, but never invited.

He barely glances my way, barely speaks to me. All his waking hours are spent surrounded by these hard-faced men and women, who carry weapons that aren’t for show. And even when they finally leave, he stays with Varam until long after I’ve retreated to my bed.

“Meresh kavir solavin.”

I echo the phrase without really paying attention. I don’t know whether I’m asking for directions or declaring war.

Mira must sense my frustration. She sets down the small slate she’s been using to draw simple pictures to match the words.

“Vasnha meresh.” Her voice is gentle. These words Idoknow. She’s suggesting we take a break.

I nod, lifting my fingers to my temple. A dull pressure pulses just behind my eyes. The headache has been building all morning, a steady thrum beneath the effort of constant translation. The air feels thicker than before, dense and close. I shift in my seat, and for half a breath, it’s like the walls are moving. The movement stops when I blink, but it leaves me slightly nauseous.