Page 38 of Stormvein (The Veinbound Trilogy #2)

The first image forms—a village square, bodies arranged in neat rows, all kneeling.

Authority officers move down the line, executing one person after another.

Children included. They’re not quick deaths.

Each victim is forced to watch those before them fall.

The shadows capture the terror in their eyes, the trembling of small shoulders as children clutch their parents’ hands, the whispered prayers cut shut by sharp-edged swords.

I shape every detail. The sun hanging overhead, and the flies beginning to gather as the executions stretch into hours. The Authority officers pausing to drink water between killings, laughing among themselves.

“Whitelark Settlement.” My voice carries none of the anger the image wakes up, none of the helpless rage I felt when I arrived too late to save them. “They killed over two hundred people for providing food to an Earthvein family. I found the bodies myself.”

The shadows recreate my younger self moving through the aftermath, closing the staring eyes of children, covering small bodies with scraps of cloth while vultures circled overhead.

How I found an infant still alive, clutched in its dead mother’s arms, only to watch it die minutes later from exposure.

Details I’ve never shared with anyone before her.

The shadows shift at a flick of my finger, building a new scene. This one is a small cottage. A family on their knees. Father, mother, and three children. An Authority officer tortures the parents, not with pain, but with choices.

“Make a choice,” the Authority commander tells the father. “Your wife’s fingers or your son’s eye.”

The father’s agonized choice. The mother’s screams. The children’s terror.

“The Rennet family.” My voice stays level despite the memories threatening to drown me. “Their eldest son joined the Veinwardens. The Authority couldn’t find him, so they took his family instead. The youngest was five years old.”

The shadows show the hours I spent hidden, watching, waiting for an opportunity to help that never came.

How I was forced to witness each brutal choice, each mutilation, knowing I was too outnumbered to save them.

How the officers took turns, some leaving to eat and rest before returning refreshed to continue their work.

The shadows change again, this time forming a mountain pass.

I ensure every detail is correct. The stone markers I remember, the specific formation of rocks burned into my memory of that day.

The crisp mountain air. The way our breath fogged as we moved through the narrowing valley.

My own figure appears in the scene, recognizable, surrounded by Veinwardens as Authority forces close in.

“Thornreave Pass.” The anger finally slips free, a crack in the grip I keep on my control. “Where I was first captured.”

I don’t hold back on this scene. I let it play out in full, the ambush unfolding in merciless detail. How the Authority had positioned archers days in advance, how they’d studied our movements, learned our patterns. Not a chaotic battle but a planned execution.

With a silent command, sound is added to the scene playing out in front of us.

Veinwarden screams are cut short as Authority arrows find throats and eyes.

People who trusted me to lead them. The terror in their eyes as they realized someone had betrayed us.

The way they looked to me for a plan, for salvation that wouldn’t come.

The shadows don’t sanitize the memory, they show it all exactly as it happened. Authority soldiers not just killing, but desecrating, taking trophies from the fallen, carving their symbol into dead flesh. The officer who walked among the wounded, stabbing anyone he found alive.

I force myself to watch it again, a punishment and a reminder in equal measure.

My younger self stands at the center, shadows whipping around him like living weapons, tearing Authority soldiers apart.

Limbs severed, torsos split open, blood painting the rocks as he fights with desperate fury.

The shadows show my face during that battle.

There’s no hatred there, but determination.

No cruelty, but necessity. Each death I caused meant a chance for one of my people to escape.

Beside me stands my most trusted commander, his blade flashing in perfect synchronization with my shadows. We move as one unit, as we have countless times before. Back to back, we hold the center, creating space for others to retreat.

But they keep coming, wave after crimson-uniformed wave, their faces twisted with hatred and righteous fury.

They don’t retreat when they should. They sacrifice dozens to capture one.

The Authority’s willingness to expend its soldiers like copper coins, treating them as disposable tools in service to its cause.

The shadows show the moment when exhaustion begins to claim me. My movements slowing, my defense faltering. And then … the pivotal moment.

The shadows capture a fleeting expression on the man guarding my back as he glances over his shoulder at me. A look of hatred replacing the loyalty I’d trusted for years.

Pain erupts between my ribs. It doesn’t come from an Authority soldier’s blade, but his. The shadows show his face as he drives his sword deep into my back, twisting to maximize damage rather than kill.

“ Why? ” The question tears from my lips as I stagger forward, blood flooding into my mouth.

The shadows capture him leaning close, his mouth near my ear. “The Veinblood era is ending. I chose the winning side. Your power dies with you.”

Hot blood cascades down my side as I fall to one knee, but I keep fighting, shadows lashing out even as my energy drains. Through the haze of pain, I see Sereven stepping back, signaling to the Authority forces to advance now that I’m weakened.

I force myself upright one more time, defiance fueling what strength remains. My shadows continue their deadly dance, giving the fighters around me a chance to escape.

My face contorts in agony, but I’m still standing, still killing, even while Sereven’s betrayal bleeds me dry.

The third strike, a cruel slash across my hamstring, drops me to my knees.

Authority soldiers swarming forward, boots connecting with already broken ribs, smashing into my face until teeth shatter and bones crack.

Hands grab fistfuls of hair, wrenching my head back to expose my throat as someone debates whether to end me there.

Through swollen eyes, I see Sereven’s approach, now wearing an Authority insignia that wasn’t there when the battle began.

“No,” he says to the soldier preparing to end my life. “The High Commander wants him alive.” His voice, once as familiar to me as my own, is now cold and distant. “Take him to Ashenvale.”

“They wanted to make an example of me. Show everyone that the Shadowvein Lord could be defeated. They wanted to show that even the most powerful would fall before the Authority.”

I let the shadows dissolve, and look at her. Silent tears are streaking through the dirt coating her cheeks.

“The Authority doesn’t follow rules, Ellie. They never have. They simply claim superiority while committing atrocities. What they did to me before you found me.” My voice is gentle. “That wasn’t the first time.”

She stares at the space where the shadow images had been, eyes wet, expression haunted.

“I didn’t know.” Her voice breaks on the last word, her arms wrapped around herself for protection. Not from me, but from the horror of what she’s witnessed.

“Why would you?”

I hold out a hand, calling my raven back to me. The familiar’s return brings a centering calm, helping me rebuild the walls these memories have cracked.

“I don’t expect you to understand everything, Ellie.

” My voice softens despite myself. “But don’t lecture me about war’s rules when you haven’t experienced what this particular war truly involves.

What you saw today is one small part of what is going to happen.

They would have slaughtered everyone with me without hesitation.

” I pause, forcing myself to meet her eyes.

“But you, Ellie, you wouldn’t have been killed … not straight away.”

I let her imagination fill the blanks, hating that I have to taint her with this knowledge but knowing she needs to understand the stakes.

Something fierce and protective rises in me at the thought of the Authority getting their hands on her.

It’s a feeling I have never allowed myself in decades.

The luxury of caring for someone specific, beyond the cause.

Her tears have left trails through the dirt on her cheeks, and her shoulders are hunched. I’ve forced her to witness horrors she should never have had to see, but it’s the only way to make her understand what I fight for.

The mist stalker makes a soft sound, drawing my attention. I seize on its presence like a drowning man reaching for shore. It’s something I can address, something I can help with. Something that might turn her attention away from the darkness.

“Has this been with you since River Crossing?”

Confusion fills her eyes, and she glances toward the creature sitting beside her, then nods.

“All the time?”

Another nod.

“You haven’t called it back to yourself at all?

” I watch how the silver light fluctuates beneath her skin whenever the creature moves, studying the patterns with exaggerated attention.

Here is something I can teach her about instead of suffocating us both in more memories of blood and betrayal.

“It’s keeping you from staying in control of the power growing inside you. ”

She glances at it again, then back at me, curiosity gradually replacing the horror in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

The tension in my body eases as I focus on this problem. This is knowledge I can share that might protect her, rather than frighten her.