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Chapter Thirty-Five

ELLIE

“We do not train to win. We train so we may choose when not to fight.”

Sayings of the Earthvein Sages

Mira touches my arm. “ Garem esh. ” She dips her head. Keep your head down .

I nod, matching her posture while we weave through streets filled with people gathering for the Day of Order. The city pulses with an undercurrent of tension that crawls across my skin like static. Every shadow makes me think of Sacha, somewhere in that tower, risking everything for a ring.

Sweat trickles down my spine despite the cool air.

I don’t know if anyone is watching us specifically, but eyes are everywhere.

Citizens stealing glances at each other, guards scanning from the walls, and the watchtowers where soldiers stand with loaded crossbows, fingers hovering near triggers.

The urge to look up burns like an itch I can’t scratch.

The central plaza looms ahead, already packed with people awaiting the official beginning of the celebrations.

No, not a celebration. A performance .

The crowd's energy feels wrong. Anticipation mixed with fear and compliance, born from years of Authority control rather than genuine excitement. Faces fixed in careful masks, voices measured to appropriate levels of enthusiasm. A performance of loyalty with real consequences for missed cues.

Mira grips my elbow, changing our direction. “Stay close.”

The words come through clear. Too clear. Not the halting translation I'd expect but perfect understanding. I lift my hand to my face, a flutter of panic rising.

“Can you understand me?”

She nods, eyes widening slightly.

“My eyes?”

"They glow. Silver flecks catching light." Her voice drops. "We need to cross the plaza."

That explains the clarity of her words. The magic is awake inside me, responding to danger, supplying what I need.

Not under my control. My connection to this world is deepening whether I want it to or not.

Each manifestation pulling me further from any hope of returning home, and tying me closer to Sacha.

“Shouldn’t we go around?”

“Too suspicious. Servants are expected to assist with ceremony preparations. Besides, we need to be seen participating. Absence is noted.”

My heart is pounding as we join the flow of people moving toward the central plaza. Authority guards in what I think is ceremonial attire line the main avenues, their crimson uniforms like blood against Ashenvale’s white stone. They scan the crowd, watching for any deviation from expected behavior.

The plaza opens before us, a vast space transformed for today’s celebration. A wooden platform dominates the center, rising approximately fifteen feet above the cobblestones. On top of it stands what looks like a model of a man. From this distance I can’t make out the details.

“Is that …”

“Yes.” Mira’s voice is quiet. “Every year they burn an effigy of the Va—the Shadowvein Lord. A symbolic execution to remind people of the Authority’s triumph over the Veinbloods.”

She looks away for a moment, her jaw tightening, the smallest hint of something sharp and furious crossing her face before it vanishes. She visibly swallows it down.

We move along the edge of the plaza. Workers hurry around us, arranging seating for Authority officials, distributing ceremonial objects, and attempting to keep everything in order.

A small commotion near the steps leading up to the platform catches my attention. Several high-ranking officials are arriving, judging by their elaborate uniforms and multiple attendants. The crowds whispering changes, becoming more subdued as people lower their heads.

“High Commander Sereven’s lieutenants,” Mira explains. “He’ll arrive last, just before the ceremony begins.”

A horn sounds from the central tower, the brassy note slicing through the murmur of voices. The crowd shifts in perfect synchronization, like a well-rehearsed dance of submission, people moving to designated viewing positions.

"They're getting ready to start the procession." Mira adjusts our course toward a side street. "Perfect timing. The guards will be focusing on the ceremony and not people leaving."

Our path has taken us almost the entire way across the plaza when I glance back at the platform. The effigy is clearly visible from here, and my steps falter.

The life-sized figure has been crafted with disturbing attention to detail.

Dressed in black clothing, the long coat bearing silver embroidery identical to what Sacha wore at the Stonehaven celebration.

A replica shadowblade hangs at its hip. The face bears only a general resemblance, but the proud stance, the positioning of the hands—someone knew him, studied him.

The realization that someone invested hours crafting this grotesque monument to his supposed defeat makes bile rise in my throat.

This is the Shadowvein Lord as the Authority wishes him to be remembered. An enemy defeated. A threat erased. A warning hung in plain sight.

Not the man who traced patterns on my skin with gentle fingers, whose rare smiles transform his entire face.

Ice spreads through my veins despite the sun's warmth. Somewhere in that tower, the real Sacha is moving toward a vault containing his ring, risking everything while hundreds celebrate his supposed death .

If they knew he lived, what would they do to ensure this effigy became reality?

“Stay focused,” Mira warns, noting my distraction. “We need to be beyond the wall before the formal address begins.”

We continue around the plaza’s edge. I keep my eyes lowered, trusting Mira to guide me.

A second horn sounds, deeper and more commanding than the first. The crowd falls completely silent. Not the gradual quieting of a normal gathering but an immediate, total stillness born of fear.

From the corner of my eye, I catch movement at the tower entrance. A procession emerging from the base, and moving into the plaza. Authority officials walk in perfect formation, their crimson robes creating a river of blood-red flowing toward the platform.

“Don’t look at them directly. Keep moving.”

But something pulls at me despite her warning.

A magnetic force I can't resist. At the procession's center walks an elderly man whose presence commands absolute deference.

Unlike the elaborate uniforms of his subordinates, his clothing appears almost simple.

Deep crimson robes with minimal ornamentation, his power requiring no external display.

“Sereven,” Mira whispers, noticing the direction of my gaze. “High Commander of the Authority.”

The name stops me in my tracks, cold slamming into my chest, locking my lungs.

Sereven . The man who murdered Sacha’s mother.

The knowledge burns in my blood. I can feel Sacha’s loss like a phantom wound layered over my skin .

Slowly I stop to look.

Even from this distance, I can see the cold calculation in Sereven's bearing, the absolute certainty of someone accustomed to unquestioned power. He looks older than I expected. Lines cut deep into his face, silver streaking his dark hair, but none of it softens him.

He doesn’t command the obedience of those around him with words. He doesn’t need to. The crowd bends around him instinctively.

My heartbeat thunders in my ears as our paths nearly intersect. If he looked this way, would he somehow sense what's happening? Would he know his supposedly dead enemy walks within his walls?

Mira pulls me away, half-dragging me to a side street leading away from the plaza just as Sereven ascends the platform. The timing feels perfect. Everyone’s attention is focused entirely on the High Commander.

“Now.” Mira increases our pace as we move toward the outer edges of the city.

The streets grow narrower as we approach the outer wall, buildings pressing close on either side. There are fewer people around, most have gathered for the ceremony or are hidden away indoors to avoid attention.

Behind us, a voice amplified somehow carries across Ashenvale. Sereven’s ceremonial address has begun, his words aren’t clear at this distance, but the authoritative tone is unmistakable.

“Almost there. Have your papers ready.”

The gate stands partially open. The guards on duty appear distracted, their attention repeatedly turning toward the distant ceremony rather than focusing on arriving or departing travelers .

“Purpose for leaving?”

“Returning back to our farm before dark, after selling produce in the market.” Mira tells him.

He barely glances at our documentation before waving us through. Relief doesn’t loosen the ball of anxiety in my chest.

“Keep walking. They can still see us from the watchtowers.”

Fields stretch ahead, farmland surrounding Ashenvale providing food for its population while creating an open zone where approach can be easily detected.

We stay on the main road, keeping a steady pace, but unseen eyes burn between my shoulderblades.

The back of my head itches with the need to turn around, to run , even though I know it would only draw attention.

Behind us, the ceremony continues. Even at this distance, the crowd’s reaction carries. A coordinated roar rises. Not celebration, but something darker. The sound crawls along my spine like nails down a blackboard.

“What is happening now?”

“Sereven will recount the Authority’s triumph over the Vareth’el .

” Mira’s voice is tight. “He’ll describe the threat Lord Torran, and the rest of the Veinbloods posed, and how the purges brought peace and order to Meridian.

” She almost spits the words. “Each high official will add symbolic items to the pyre, representing aspects of the different Veinbloods being purged.”

“And people believe it?”

“Some do. Others pretend to, knowing the cost of defiance.” Her eyes scan the horizon. “The Authority rewrote history in blood. For many, there’s nothing left to remember. ”

I can’t shake the image. Not just Sacha’s effigy burning, but the idea of whole lineages reduced to ash under banners of peace.