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We follow a wide avenue that leads deeper into the city. Authority soldiers patrol regularly, their crimson cloaks standing out against the muted colors worn by everyone else. None give us more than passing glances, our low positions ensuring we’re beneath notice in the Authority’s rigid hierarchy.

“Keep your head down,” Varam warns as we pass higher-ranking figures, their robes adorned with silver symbols. “Servants show proper deference here.”

I lower my gaze immediately, mimicking Mira. The constant suppression requires more concentration with each passing minute, the strain becoming its own kind of torture. It gnaws at the edges of my focus, making every breath a little harder to catch.

A group of Authority officials pass by, their conversation flowing around us. I catch fragments of their words, something about preparations and ceremonies. Their voices are clipped, controlled—every word weighed, as if even casual speech must be ordered under Authority eyes .

When we reach a modest stone building with the Authority emblem carved above its entrance, Sacha guides us inside.

The building resembles a simple hostel. Narrow hallways are lined with small chambers, washing rooms at each end. Sacha speaks to the man sitting near the entrance, presenting our documents in the same subservient manner he’s adopted since entering Ashenvale.

After a couple of minutes, he turns to us. “Rooms fourteen and seventeen. Mira and Ellie in fourteen, Varam you’re with me in seventeen.”

“I’m not staying with you?” The question blurts out before I can stop it, too loud in the hushed space.

One dark eyebrow twitches. “Men and women lodge separately in Authority holdings. You’ll stay with Mira.”

“But—” I choke on the word, the protest half-formed.

Heat crawls up my neck, burns my ears, sets my cheeks on fire as Mira, Varam, and Sacha all turn toward me at once. The floor tilts slightly under my feet.

How do I explain that this will be the first time since arriving in this world that I won’t be sleeping with him in calling distance?

That I’ve grown accustomed to having his presence nearby, the knowledge that he stands between me and danger?

That in this strange world where everything shifts like sand beneath my feet, his nearness has become the only anchor I trust?

The realization of how dependent I've become shocks me into silence. This man I barely know, and yet something inside me already leans toward him without permission.

I shake my head. “Nevermind.” My voice sounds thin, brittle, and I straighten my shoulders too fast, forcing composure onto a body that wants nothing more than to vanish.

Something flickers in Sacha's expression, so brief I almost miss it. Regret, understanding, something more. Whatever it is, it’s gone before I can catch it, buried under the seamless control he never quite lets slip.

Without a word, he turns and leads the way down a narrow hallway. I follow, Mira behind me. By the time we stop outside a plain wooden door, and Sacha gestures for us to enter, I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

The room is sparse. Two narrow beds, a small table between them, and a single shelf for any belongings. The window looks out onto an interior courtyard rather than the street—not much of a view, but also less visibility from outside.

Mira sets her pack on the floor, and stretches out on one of the beds. I sit on the edge of the other, exhaustion washing over me, the earlier embarrassment still prickling against my skin.

A knock on the door makes Mira sit up a moment later.

It swings open and Sacha walks in. He’s shed the outer cloak, his Authority tunic molding closer to his frame, but his eyes remain restless, scanning the corners of the room as if expecting danger to bloom from the walls.

His presence changes something in the air, giving it a subtle, magnetic force I feel even across the room.

“Your room is the same as ours. Basic, but suitable for our needs.”

I study his face, noting the tiny signs of strain around his eyes that most would miss—the tightness at the corners, the slight decrease in the frequency of his blinking .

“This is harder than you expected, isn't it? Being back here.”

He glances at Mira, who suddenly becomes very interested in adjusting her pack. My question makes her uneasy, almost scandalized, but I can't take it back. I don't want to.

“This was my home,” he says after a pause that lasts long enough for me to think he won't answer at all. His voice drops lower, meant only for me despite Mira's presence. “Not just a base of operations. A home. My private chambers had windows that caught the moon’s light.”

His eyes drift to the window, seeing something beyond the courtyard.

“My mother's gardens were where the barracks stands now. The great library …” He stops abruptly, jaw tightening. “Seeing what they've done to it is ... challenging.”

The rare admission catches me off guard, this unexpected gift of trust. Sacha rarely reveals personal reactions, preferring strategic assessment to emotional response. This glimpse beneath his armor feels like being allowed into a room few are permitted to enter.

I seize on the one word he probably wishes he hadn’t said.

“Your mother?”

Mira's back stiffens instantly, as though she’s physically bracing herself against a coming blow. Sacha’s eyes move over my face, not quite meeting my eyes.

“She loved growing things. Things that belonged to no one but the seasons. The gardens were hers … until they were razed.” He exhales sharply.

I hesitate, every instinct telling me not to press further, but the question rises anyway, soft and unsteady .

“Loved?”

Mira spins, one hand pressed to her mouth in silent horror, staring at me from over Sacha’s shoulder, her expression pleading, willing me to stop.

Sacha doesn’t look away.

“Yes. Was. Sereven murdered her not long before Ashenvale fell.”

The silence that follows is heavy enough to suffocate. I want to reach for his hand but don't, sensing that even the smallest gesture would shatter whatever fragile bridge is balanced between us.

"We should eat." His voice returns to its usual controlled cadence, clipped and final. “The communal hall serves meals until sunset.”

Mira waves a hand without speaking, shaking her head, her face still tight with horror at what I did.

And it’s the expression on her face that makes realization bloom sharp and cold inside me.

Whatever magic helped me understand Meridian earlier is still working.

Even now, without consciously reaching for it.

Unease slithers down my spine, but before I can dwell on it, my stomach betrays me with a loud rumble. Sacha’s lips twitch, the faintest glimmer of dry amusement breaking through the armor.

“Come. I’ll show you the way.”

I follow him out and along the hallway, the sound of voices growing louder. The communal hall is crowded, dozens of people in identical clothes, most too tired from their day’s work to pay attention to newcomers. The hum of conversations surrounds us as we join the line for food .

We eat quickly, without talking, focused solely on nourishment and not conversation, and then Sacha shows me the way back to the room I share with Mira.

Her eyes open when I walk in, then close again quickly. I turn to Sacha, who remains outside in the hallway.

“We’ll stay here tomorrow, while Varam and Mira go out into the city.” He hesitates for a second, then dips his head. “Sleep well.”

I close the door slowly, securing it, and then follow Mira’s example, lying down fully clothed on the bed. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to sleep, not with all the thoughts racing through my mind.

We’ve walked into the heart of the Authority. We’re surrounded by people who would kill Sacha and everyone with him, if they discovered who he is.

And somewhere in that tower, locked away, lies a ring he’s risking his life to get back.

What will happen when he reclaims it? What will he become when his power is fully restored?

And what will happen to me?

Will finding the ring somehow help me return home? Or is my connection to this world growing too strong to ever fully break free?

For just a moment, I release the grip I have on the suppression, and allow the power to stir within me. The sensation is both a relief and a revelation, like finally stretching after being cramped in one position for too long.

Silver light flows beneath my skin, illuminating the veins in my wrists with a soft glow that disappears as quickly as I allow it to surface. Each time I let it free, even for these brief moments, it feels stronger. More insistent.

Less like an intruder, and more like a promise I’m afraid to claim.

Outside the window, night falls over Ashenvale.

The tower that seemed so imposing in daylight becomes a black silhouette against a sky scattered with unfamiliar stars. In the darkness, I think of Sacha's face when he spoke of what this place once was—the fleeting softness in his eyes, the shadow of grief quickly masked.

The home he lost. The cause he fought for. The years stolen from him.

Tomorrow, we take back a piece of what was taken from him. And though I tell myself it's just another step toward finding my way home, I can't deny the fierce satisfaction I feel at the thought of helping him reclaim what's his.

When did his mission become partly mine?

When did his pain start to matter so much?

When did I stop thinking he might be the bad guy, and start believing that his cause was true?

Sleep tugs at me, but my mind circles back to him, alone with Varam just down the hall.

Close enough to reach, yet so much further away than he's been since the moment I found him in that silver tower.