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I’ve witnessed countless manifestations of power.

Controlled it. Channeled it. Manipulated it to my will.

But this … this is primal. Untamed. And it draws my attention with a force I’ve never experienced.

For a moment, I’m transfixed, the analytical walls I built slipping under the sheer inevitability of it before I reclaim them .

“I can feel it getting stronger.” Alarm enters her voice.

“That’s expected. Don’t fight it yet. Just follow its natural movement.”

The glow beneath her skin spreads, tracing patterns along her neck and arms—a living embroidery, silver and alive, more beautiful than anything I have a right to admire.

“That's good.” I keep my voice calm and steady, despite the impressive display. “Now imagine redirecting that stream. Not blocking it. Guiding it deeper inside, away from the surface.”

Her fingers curl into her palms as she struggles to follow my instruction. The silver light flares once, a dazzling burst, before beginning to recede, flowing back beneath her skin.

“Yes. Good. Direct it inward. Channel it toward your center rather than letting it express outward.”

The glow reduces more, retreating until only the faintest silver sheen remains at her fingertips.

“Open your eyes.”

The flecks are still there, but dimmer. Less likely to draw attention at a distance.

“How did I do?”

“Remarkably well for a first attempt. With practice, you should be able to maintain it for longer periods.”

“It feels uncomfortable. Like holding your breath underwater.”

“Most suppression does. Your energy seeks expression. Restraining it demands constant attention.” I consider how much to explain. “Those born with abilities normally learn these techniques as children, before their powers fully manifest. You’re learning everything in the wrong order.”

She studies her hands, the silver completely gone now. “Will it come back? The glow, I mean?”

“Yes. Suppression is temporary, and becomes more difficult under emotional stress.”

I reach for my pack, retrieving a small vial of dark liquid. “This might help, if necessary. Three drops under your tongue creates a temporary dampening effect. Use it only in an emergency. My supply is limited.”

She accepts the vial, tucking it into her pack. “Thank you. For teaching me, I mean.”

I nod, because once again, I have no words ready for what her gratitude stirs. No one thanks the weapon they rely on. No one thanks the shield that stands between them and ruin. But she does. And it affects me deeper than I allow myself to show.

I turn away, but her voice calls me back.

“Sacha? Yesterday, before you … before we got away from the bandits.”

“What about it?”

“I understood them. I understood everything … without you telling me.”

Interesting. That’s something I hadn't anticipated.

“And now?”

She glances over to where Varam is talking to the other two fighters, and shakes her head. “No, now it’s back to the odd word. ”

“Your abilities may have helped. It likely understood the need for you to know what was going on, and took steps.”

“You talk about it like it has a mind of its own.”

“While it’s not sentient in the strictest sense, it does sometimes respond to your needs without direction.”

Varam signals that we should continue.

“We can talk about this more another time. We should continue on now, before night falls.”

The path beyond the clearing grows steeper. What began as sporadic roots becomes a twisted network of woody tendrils that seem almost deliberately placed to hinder passage. The mist thickens as well, visibility reducing to mere feet in any direction.

“Stay close,” I tell Ellie, who’s walking behind me. “It’s easy to become separated in this part.”

No sooner do I speak than a strange warbling cry echoes through the mist. Everyone freezes, hands moving to weapons.

“Mist stalker,” Varam whispers. “Don’t move.”

Movement circles our group—large, heavy, disturbingly silent. The thick mist seems to part and close around it in rhythm, as though abetting its hunt.

Mist stalkers rarely attack groups, preferring isolated prey. But if hungry enough, they become territorial, reckless .

The mist parts briefly, revealing a glimpse of our hunter. A creature the size of a large wolf, but with elongated limbs and pale, translucent fur that reflects the mist around it. Its eyes gleam with cold, intelligent malice as it evaluates us.

“Back away,” I whisper. “No sudden movements. ”

We retreat in formation, moving back up the path we came down. The mist stalker watches, its huge head following our every step with predatory focus, its muscles shifting beneath its fur.

Several things happen at once.

Mira’s foot catches on a root. She stumbles, and catches herself before she falls, but her pack tumbles from her shoulder, sliding down the slope with a muffled thud.

The mist stalker lunges forward, drawn by the sudden movement.

And Ellie steps back, right onto a patch of slick moss.

Her feet slide out from under her, arms windmilling as she pitches toward the path’s edge where the ground drops sharply away.

Without thought, I move. My hand closes around her wrist, halting her fall mid-motion.

The contact strikes hard, immediate. A jolt not only through flesh but deeper, where shadow and silver recognize one another.

Her eyes widen, the silver in them flaring before she locks it down again with the discipline I taught her.

It impresses me. It shouldn't. It’s beautiful in a way I can’t afford.

“I’ve got you.”

For a heartbeat, we remain frozen—her body suspended between gravity and my hold, her life balanced on the strength of my hand. Our eyes lock in mutual recognition of something neither of us have fully acknowledged. Something dangerous.

Something inevitable.

Then the mist stalker snarls, breaking the moment.

I haul Ellie back up onto solid ground, and immediately step between her and the creature, shadows rising at my call.

The mist stalker crouches, studying us with unnervingly human calculation. Its lips curl back, revealing long, thin, sharp teeth. Ellie makes a soft sound behind me—fear, shock, or both— and the creature’s eyes snap to her. Its head tilts, eyes narrowing, nose flaring as it scents her.

“Move back toward the clearing.” I don’t take my eyes off the creature. “Slowly.”

The mist stalker’s attention snaps back to me, and it tenses, preparing to spring. I reach deeper into shadow, pulling it tighter around our group like a shield. The darkness responds, confusing the predator's senses. It hesitates, snarling low in its throat.

We continue our careful retreat, each step taking us farther from the drop-off, back toward safer ground. Each movement is a calculated gamble against the beast’s hunger. It follows, step for step, but keeps the distance constant between us—a measured pursuit, predatory patience embodied.

When we reach the clearing, the mist stalker remains at the path’s edge, its body half-shrouded by mist. Only its eyes remain visible—glinting, hungry, aware. Only when we cross the boundary of the stone circle does it finally vanish back into the swirling fog, as if the mist itself pulls it away.

“We need an alternate route,” Varam says. “That section is too exposed, and the mist stalker knows we’re here now.”

I nod, still acutely aware of Ellie standing close beside me. When I caught her arm, something shifted. A barrier I kept intact now compromised. The memory of her skin against mine is distracting me more than I care to admit.

“There’s another path,” Mira says, consulting the map. “It’s longer, but with more cover. It follows the eastern ridge before descending toward Ashenvale.”

“We’ll take it, but we need to move quickly.”

When we set off again, I find myself watching Ellie. The near-fall shook her, but she’s already regaining her composure. She glances back once toward where the mist stalker disappeared.

“Did you notice anything unusual about the creature?” I ask her quietly.

“You mean other than it looked like a deformed giant white wolf?” She shakes her head. “I don’t know. For a second, it felt like … Nothing. Just my imagination. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

We move along the eastern path, climbing steadily toward higher ground where the mist thins enough to see the surrounding landscape.

The trail demands full attention, leaving little opportunity for conversation, and I’m thankful for that.

I need time to reconstruct the boundaries that brief connection with Ellie threatened to dissolve.

By midday, we reach a vantage point above the Veil Mists, the valley spread out beneath us like a restless sea of white. Beyond it, maybe a half day’s journey, the outline of Ashenvale rises against the horizon, its walls and towers clearly visible at this distance.

My former home. The heart of the Veinbloods before my capture. Now corrupted into the Authority’s headquarters.

Seeing it sends a complex wave of emotion through me. Anger for what was stolen. Determination to reclaim what matters. And something deeper that resonates with the shadow flowing through my veins. The memory of what I once was, and the echo of what I must become again.

The ring I seek lies within those walls, the final piece of myself I divided before my fall. With it restored, my power will be complete for the first time in twenty-seven years.

“Is that it?” Ellie comes to stand beside me. “Ashenvale?”

“Yes. We’ll approach from the east, using forest cover until we reach the outer settlements.”

She studies the distant city, her expression thoughtful. “You lived there once?”

“I commanded there.” It’s not the whole truth, but still, the distinction matters more than it should. “It was the primary home of all Veinblood lines before the Authority claimed it.”

“And now you’re walking right into their midst. To recover a ring that contains part of your power.”

“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 meant you. It’s about becoming whole again.”

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.