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“If we strike now, we hand them a public victory. One they’ll dress in banners and hang from the Spire. They’ll parade it through every city they control as proof that even with my return, the Veinwardens are broken.”

Damen’s throat works around the words he doesn’t speak. His hands tense where they grip the edge of the table. He nods, sharp and reluctant, jaw clenched tight as if holding back whatever fire still wants to rise.

Understanding reluctantly dawns in his expression. “Then what do we do?”

“First we gather information. Current Authority structure, their vulnerabilities. Then we rebuild. Use the knots that still hold. We re-establish communication through safe lines. No messengers unless we have no other choice. After that, we strike where it will do the most damage.”

Damen subsides, not entirely convinced but unable to argue with my logic. His reaction confirms what I already suspected. Too many years surviving with no end in sight has left them desperate. They want decisive action, no matter the cost.

A young woman enters, and hurries over to Varam.

“My Lord. Patrol patterns have changed again. Additional guards have been posted at the western gate. They’re stopping everyone going in and out. Anyone without the correct documentation is being detained.”

The mood in the room changes. Not panic, these are people long accustomed to danger, but a narrowing of focus.

“When?”

“Within the last hour. No notice. They simply appeared.”

Isara looks up from the map. “It’s too closely timed. This is because of you.”

Ferrin’s voice is quieter. “It’s possible they’ve learned about the tower.”

Varam’s expression darkens. “They could have found the remains of it, at the very least. With no body inside its ruins, it will raise questions. It depends how much the lower ranks know about what it was holding.”

Galern exhales. “If they suspect the Vareth’el has returned?—”

“They’ll do what they’re doing now,” Varam cuts in. “Increase their guard, limit movement, test the edges of their control. But they won’t commit their full strength. Not until they know for certain. ”

“Which gives us a narrow window.” I turn to Mira. “Take Ellie. Let her see the sky, and bring back what you see on the streets.”

Mira nods and disappears into the adjoining room. A second later, Ellie follows her out.

When the door closes behind them, I turn back to the table. “We need more than maps and movement patterns. Who leads them now? I want names, habits, weak points.”

There’s a pause before Galern answers. “High Commander Sereven. He holds everything.”

I go still.

Varam looks at me. I shake my head once, and tap one finger against the table top.

Continue.

“He rose fast,” Galern says, voice low. “One moment he was advising the High Commander. The next, he was standing in his place. Just a sudden … vacancy , and Sereven filling it.”

Of course he did.

“He plans every move. Never acts without making sure he’s looked at all options. But once he does, he doesn’t leave room for reversal.”

I say nothing. But I feel the room tilt. The map before me, the names and lines inked in orderly formations, they mean nothing beside that name.

Sereven.

“His second is Commander Drayeth,” Galern says. “He handles all military operations. Former field officer. Led the campaigns that crushed the northern bloodline sanctuaries. ”

“Ruthless,” Nevik adds, voice lower now. “But rigid. He favors structure. Predictable threats he handles. The rest …” A small shake of his head.

It’s the silence that tells me they’re waiting for my response. I lift my head, sweeping my gaze over everyone gathered around the table. “How would they monitor a place like the tower?”

Galern glances toward me before answering. “Standard patrols. Even in uninhabited regions. Routine sweeps. They’ve kept them up since the purges. Not magical. Just thorough.”

“And if a patrol found it?”

Isara folds her hands. “The report would climb. From patrol to overseer. Overseer to Drayeth. Then to Sereven. Each level requires verification. Each slows their response.”

Varam speaks last. “That delay buys us some time.”

“What are the current operations here?” I change the subject. I can’t do anything about Sereven right now. That’s a problem for another day.

“Intelligence gathering,” Varam says. “Tracking movements. Logging abuses. Marking where they’re weakest.”

“Rescue efforts,” Isara adds. “When we can reach those targeted before they vanish.”

“Preserving what they would erase,” says Rera. “Records. Teachings. Histories.”

“Disrupting supply chains,” Ferrin offers. “Quietly. Nothing they can trace back. But it starves their strongholds and feeds the ones they’ve left to die.”

“No direct confrontation?”

“Not if we can avoid it.”

“You said you used coded phrases and birds for communication?”

“Layered systems,” Varam replies. “Traders carry coded messages. Signal fires in the hills. Etchings in public stone, meant only for those who know how to read them.”

“Losses?”

His jaw tightens. “Too many. If one is caught, it risks everyone they know. So we share as little as we can. Enough to keep the knots alive. Nothing more.”

“That will change. My powers are returning. As they do, we will reclaim tools the Authority cannot track. There are still paths they do not know how to close.”

Silence falls, then Damen straightens.

“Is it true you once moved an entire group through shadow?” he asks. “When the Authority had them surrounded?”

“Forty-nine people. From Thornevale to the Salt Fens. One night.”

The younger fighters lean forward. Those who weren’t there. Those who’ve only heard the stories.

They don’t see a man. They see a weapon. A turning point. And for the first time, they believe it might be enough.

By mid-afternoon, most of the gathered Veinwardens have departed, returning to their positions throughout Ravencross and the surrounding areas where they have built ordinary lives as cover.

They leave through different exits at staggered intervals, operational security kept through habits developed over years.

Only Varam and two others are still with me when the door opens, announcing Ellie and Mira’s return. They go through to the adjoining room to continue the lessons.

“She’s unusual,” Varam says in a low voice, eyes lingering on the door where Ellie disappeared. “How was she able to help you escape when no one else could?”

“Her abilities seem unconscious rather than deliberate.”

“You really believe she has no awareness of her capabilities?” Skepticism coats his voice.

“Limited awareness at most. Her potential remains undetermined.”

“Could her abilities be useful against the Authority?” Varam’s mind is already calculating potential advantages.

“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 Ellie continues 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 am Vareth’el et’Varin Sacha Torran.

Shadowvein.