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Chapter Thirty-One

ELLIE

“To remember is to choose which truth survives.”

Writings of the Veinblood Masters

The forest begins to thin as we near Ashenvale, ancient trees surrendering to scattered farmland. Fields bordered by small stone walls and narrow dirt paths where farmers stoop over crops.

After a day and a half in the wilderness, these glimpses of ordinary life jar me.

A woman hangs laundry while children chase each other between rows of vegetables. The rich scent of tilled earth lingers in the air, and somewhere, a child’s laughter rings out.

The normality of it all feels wrong.

People are still living their lives, despite everything I’ve learned about the Authority who rules them.

“Stop here.” Sacha leads us off the road and into the cover of a small copse of trees. “Everyone needs to change into their uniforms.”

We pull the Authority clothes from our packs. The others strip without pause, but I still haven’t adjusted to this cultural difference. This casual disregard for privacy that reminds me just how foreign I am here.

I duck behind a thick-trunked oak, the rough bark scraping against my palms as I steady myself, and undress. The uniform fabric feels odd against my skin, coarse and stiff, the weave rough where it brushes my arms, smelling faintly of oil and sun-baked dust.

When I rejoin the group, no one comments on my need for privacy, but I catch Sacha’s eyes flicking briefly to mine … a silent acknowledgement of my discomfort that somehow makes it easier to bear.

I adjust the collar, conscious of the silver I’ve been working to suppress in my eyes. The techniques Sacha has taught me help, but holding it in place is like keeping a muscle tensed for hours.

Once everyone is ready, Sacha instructs us to walk in pairs, keeping a small distance between us.

Mira walks with me, just behind Sacha and Varam.

The other two fighters stay behind. The plan is for them to remain outside Ashenvale, and wait for us at River Crossing …

wherever that is. If something goes wrong, Mira or Varam will send them some kind of signal.

From that point, I don’t know what will happen.

Ashenvale looms ahead, both imposing and oppressive.

Three concentric walls encircle the city, each higher than the last, with watchtowers stationed at key intervals where guards stand like statues.

The outer walls must be at least twenty feet high, gleaming white in the late-afternoon sun.

The Authority’s emblem dominates the space above the main gate, carved so deep into the stone it casts its own shadow .

“It wasn’t always like this.” Sacha’s voice drops to barely above a whisper, tight with an anger I feel vibrating between us.

His eyes fix on the emblem with such intensity, I wonder if he’s seeing something else entirely.

“Before the Authority claimed it, Ashenvale was open. No walls, no checkpoints. Markets spilled beyond the city limits. Music played in the streets. There was color everywhere.” He falls silent, and I can see the weight of what he lost in the rigid line of his jaw.

I note the subtle tension in his shoulders as he walks.

Most wouldn’t notice, his control is near-perfect, but over the past few days, it’s like I’ve developed a new sense specifically attuned to him.

The tiny shifts in posture as we get closer to the city.

The barely perceptible changes in his breathing when Authority soldiers walk by.

The way his fingers occasionally twitch.

Returning here is affecting him more than he’ll admit. This isn’t just an infiltration mission for him. It’s a haunting. Every corner holds a memory, every stone a reminder of what was taken. And despite the barriers he’s erected, I can feel his pain like an echo inside my chest.

This was his home. His command center.

Now it’s the heart of everything he fights against.

As we near the gates in the first outer wall, Sacha veers left.

“We’re not going through the main gates. There are too many eyes there. There’s a service gate for Authority staff.”

I follow his gaze to a smaller gate a few feet away from the main one. Two guards stand there, checking documents of those seeking entry. They’re wearing similar uniforms to us, and their posture suggests boredom rather than high alert .

“Follow my lead. Speak only if directly addressed,” Sacha says quietly.

We approach the gate, and as we walk Sacha seems to change in front of my eyes. His entire bearing shifts, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes downcast, the commanding presence I’ve become accustomed to muted into a convincing subservience. He even looks shorter .

One of the guards steps forward, his boots grinding against the packed earth. His words spill out too fast for me to catch. The odd power inside me stirs, and I push it down hard, concentrating on keeping it suppressed.

Sacha presents the documents Varam prepared, his movements deferential. The guard snatches them from his hands, still speaking, and Sacha responds in low, submissive tones.

The collar around my throat tightens, the air becomes harder to breathe.

I keep my gaze fixed on the ground, heart hammering against my ribs so loudly it drowns out the murmured words.

The effort it takes to hold the energy inside me taut is like clenching every muscle at once.

The longer we stand here, the more it fights back.

“ Navirak et selurin?” The guard’s voice snaps like a whip, slicing the air between us. My head jerks up before I can stop myself, and I find myself staring into hard, blue eyes framed by a face that has forgotten how to smile.

The power flares inside me—a surge, wild and greedy, a second away from escaping. The basic phrases Mira taught me tumble into my mind in a panicked rush. Who is this one?

“ Sentash elerum ,” I stammer, the words leaving my lips without thought. New recruit .

The guard’ s eyes narrow. He shifts closer, crowding the space between us. My pulse slams against my temples as I force the silver light down, locking it behind my ribs with every bit of will I have.

I catch Sacha’s quick glance of surprise, followed by a subtle nod.

Each second stretches unbearably. The guard’s eyes move over me, and for one horrible instant, I think he sees it—the shudder just under my skin, the silver gathering behind my eyes.

“Beresh kavir tem ,” he finally says, his tone dismissive. The words form in my mind, crystal clear. Learn quickly .

He makes a notation in his ledger, then barks another order at Sacha. With a wave of his hand, he motions us through.

We move through the gate. I stumble half a step before catching myself, releasing a shuddering breath. Adrenaline crashes through me, leaving my hands shaking and my vision swimming.

Once we’re out of earshot, Sacha turns to me.

“Is your Meridian improving or …”

“It wasn’t the lessons.” I keep my voice low, fighting the urge to look around for listeners.

“Whatever … this is …” I press my hand against my chest. “It helped me understand and respond. It made connections between the phrases I’ve learned, like someone whispering translations directly into my thoughts. ”

“Like yesterday.” His voice betrays nothing, but I sense his mind working through it. “Be careful with it. We don’t want it giving you away.”

Mira’s arm brushes mine in a subtle gesture of support. I nod, grateful, but it’s Sacha’s steady presence just ahead of us that anchors me, the unspoken promise that if I falter again, he will be the one who moves.

The area beyond the wall reveals Ashenvale's true nature. Unlike the wilderness we traveled through—wild, unpredictable, alive—everything here feels ordered to the point of suffocation.

Streets run in perfect straight lines, buildings stand exactly the same distance apart.

The air itself seems thinner, as if spontaneity has been slowly bled out of the city.

The stone underfoot smells faintly of dust and smoke, the air dry and stale, as if the city itself has forgotten how to breathe.

Authority soldiers move through these geometric spaces with a confidence born of absolute control, their crimson robes vivid against the muted grays and browns of the buildings.

Common folk scurry along the edges of the streets, eyes fixed on the ground, shoulders hunched.

When a scarlet-robed figure passes, conversations die mid-sentence.

A child's laugh cuts off abruptly at a mother's warning touch.

I’ve never felt more foreign, more conspicuous, than in this place where conformity isn’t just expected, it’s enforced . Even the way people walk seems rehearsed, steps timed to an invisible rhythm of fear.

“Ashenvale was once the heart of Meridian,” Sacha explains as we walk. “Now it stands as the Authority stronghold. Everything here serves to reinforce their dominion.”

"How do people live here?" I ask quietly. "Under so much control?"

"They adapt. Most have known nothing different. The Authority provides structure, security—at the price of freedom."

I try not to stare at the stunning tower that dominates the skyline.

Built of white stone threaded with black lines that seem to glow in the late afternoon, it stands as an inescapable reminder of who rules here.

It reminds me of the silver tower in the desert, the place where I found Sacha imprisoned, not because of how it looks, but because of what it means.

Beautiful from a distance. Terrible up close.

Structures built not to shelter, but to cage.

“Where are we going?”

“The servants’ quarter. We’ll secure lodging for tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll observe the preparations for the Day of Order, and confirm what we’ve learned.”