Chapter 11: Chapter 10-Regret Wears Her Skin

The healing always came slowly after a deep carving. Shade lay beneath thin sheets, her body knitting itself back together with agonizing patience. The rune-scored flesh across her torso had split open again, raw and jagged, as the Inquirers had searched for what they did not understand. They had found nothing. And carved anyway. Now, she breathed shallowly, aware of every stitch of torn muscle, every fiber screaming under her skin. Pain was constant—less a sensation and more a state of being. Her vision blurred at the edges. Her stomach was empty. Her thoughts were only fragments. But something had shifted. The mind she had once been caged within—distant, ghostlike—now stirred slightly closer to the surface. Not free. But aware. Her memories did not return, nor did her will. But she felt again. The echo of something just beyond reach. When the metal doors groaned open with their usual finality, Shade did not react. She couldn't. Her body was still not hers. A low voice spoke, not from the Inquirers, but one of the handlers—a messenger, faceless and unimportant.

"A new task. Solo assignment. Immediate deployment."

A pause.

"Target: Halvar Vartasse. Current King of Containe."

No further elaboration. No escort. The order was branded on her mind, not her ears. As she stood—still healing, still blood-caked in some places—her body moved with the obedience of a marionette. Her hand reached out and took the letter without thought. Sealed with the black sigil of Hollow Vows. She left the room, her cloak dragging behind her like a shadow that had seen too much. The barracks hall was dim. Always dim. Torches flickered like dying stars, casting long shadows along the stone walls of the Hollow Vows compound. Shade sat alone near the preparation alcove, her body still aching from the healing, the rune-scored skin of her arms freshly wrapped in gauze. She hadn't spoken. She hadn't moved beyond what was required. She hadn’t even blinked longer than needed. Footsteps echoed. Confident, but not loud. Familiar. Cael. He lingered in the doorway for a moment before stepping in, arms folded, face unreadable.

“You’re really going through with this, huh?”

He didn’t expect an answer. Still, he stared at her like he was waiting for one. Her eyes didn’t flinch. He leaned against the wall across from her. His voice was casual, but it was too casual.

“Solo assignment. That’s usually a good thing. Prestige. Trust. Better kills.”

A beat passed. He scowled at the floor, then looked back at her.

“But this doesn’t feel like that.”

He pushed off the wall, walked over, and crouched in front of her. For a moment, the ever-confident smirk was gone, and what remained was… worry. Real, tangible, deeply buried concern.

“You look like hell. Worse than usual.”

Still nothing from her. Just silence. Just stillness. He dropped his gaze, rested his arms on his knees.

“You always bounce back. You’ve taken worse than anyone I’ve seen. But this one… I don’t know.”

Another long pause. The room felt colder somehow. Then, quietly—so quietly she wasn’t sure if he meant to say it aloud—

“If you’re still in there… hang on. Please.”

He rose, just as fast as he’d dropped down. Like the words hadn’t happened. Like he hadn't just torn open the edge of something fragile.

“Anyway. I’ll see you when you’re back. Don’t die.”

And then he was gone, but Shade’s fingers trembled just slightly after he left. Not because she chose to, but because something deep within her had heard him. He left without another word. The torchlight behind him flickered as he walked the corridor alone, jaw clenched, thoughts louder than his footsteps. He hadn’t said it, but he remembered.

He remembered the first time Shade was taken to the carving room. Everyone did. It was her first time, but not the first they'd seen. Some came back screaming. Some didn’t come back at all.

But her?

She came back silent, her once radiant hair now black. Glass-eyed. Bloodied. Barely standing. And then she went back again. And again. Dozens of times. No one saw the runework etched into her skin and thought of strength. They thought of survival. Of sacrifice. Of something not quite human. Something the Hollow Vows had made.

She should’ve died years ago, Cael thought bitterly. Anyone else would’ve.

But she didn’t. She always returned. Not unbroken. Just… incomplete. As if every carving took something, and no one ever questioned what. He reached the end of the corridor, placed a hand on the cold wall. Closed his eyes.

If you’re still in there, little ghost…

Don’t let them finish the job.

She was almost to the gate when Ymir stepped into her path. Not blocking, exactly. But standing firm enough that it couldn't be ignored. He wasn’t like Cael—no sharp grins, no quiet warmth. Ymir was all precision and composure. Barely older than her in body, but his posture carried the stiffness of someone carved clean of doubt. He looked her over—not leering, not probing, just observing.

“You're leaving for the kill, aren’t you?”

Shade didn’t nod. Didn’t answer. But he knew. He studied her a moment longer, then took a step closer. His expression never wavered, but his voice held something... softer than usual.

“I’ve always thought you were what we’re supposed to become.”

Another beat.

“I’ve seen your will. They say you’ve survived more carvings than anyone. That the inquirers cut deeper just to see what you'd do. But you never break. You don’t scream. You don’t fall.”

He paused, maybe searching for a response. He didn’t get one. Still, he pressed on. The tiniest flicker of awe in his voice.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be like that. But I try.”

Silence stretched. Ymir’s eyes narrowed—not cruelly, but with certainty.

“Come back. Don’t shame the mold you set.”

And then, with military precision, he stepped aside and let her pass. She did not look back. But something in her chest curled inward, aching. She hadn’t asked for a mold. And soon, she would shatter it.

***

The sun was dying over Containe. The city, built in iron and stone, glowed faintly in the copper dusk, smoke from the endless forges rising in columns that swallowed the sky. Bells tolled. Low. Dull. Reminders of an empire too proud to weep. Shade moved like silence itself through the shifting lights. Her bare feet touched down on the outer wall of the palace with no sound, her cloak flowing like ink behind her as she slipped through the gaps in routine. The guards below laughed, sharing drinks in the amber of sunset. Another shift-change. Another evening where nothing bad ever happened inside Containe’s throne. She was already inside before they’d finished their toast. The king’s study was on the third floor. A high balcony overlooked the Arborean Sea to the west. A single brazier burned low behind the glass. She crept upward—shadow melding from ledge to ledge, hiding in the folds of fading sunlight. Her body was perfect. Trained. Efficient. Her mind? Trapped.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

You don’t have to do this, she thought, to nothing.

You don’t even know why.

Her body knew, though. It always did. The edge of the balcony welcomed her like an old friend. She waited, crouched behind a carved relief of the Containe crest—a silver chain coiled around a crowned lion’s throat. Inside, she heard voices.

“...still no word?” the king asked, voice thick with weariness.

“No, Your Grace,” came the soft reply of a younger man. “It’s been ten years since the Lost Incident. You know how people talk.”

“Rumors,” the king muttered. “Ghost stories for children. But I hear them too. That some of the royal bloodlines... didn’t die. That they’re being shaped into something else.”

The younger man’s voice lowered. “Whispers only, my liege. Nothing more.”

The door creaked shut, silence fell, and Shade moved. The room was warm with candlelight and old papers. A quiet place. The king sat alone, reading over letters in a sharp, looping hand. His back was straight. Shoulders tired. A half-drunk goblet of dark wine sat beside him, untouched for hours. Shade stepped through the glass balcony door like a breeze made flesh. Her body moved without thought. She was the shadow the Hollow Vows had trained her to be—fast, precise, unfeeling. And yet… She hesitated. Not fully. Not visibly. But something within her slowed. A breath she didn’t take. A memory she couldn’t hold onto.

Why do I know this room?

Why does this feel like—like something lost?

But the moment slipped away, like so many others carved out of her. Her hand gripped the dagger at her side. That’s when the king noticed. He turned as a gust of wind swept through the open balcony, pushing Shade’s cloak back. Her hood shifted. Her face came into the light. The king didn’t reach for a weapon. He didn’t call for guards. He just looked. And then… he smiled. Faint. Pained. But real.

“So it’s true after all…” he whispered.

Shade paused. Her eyes locked on his. Something flickered behind her ribs.

“You look so much like her…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He stood—slowly, but purposefully—and took one step forward. Her body reacted. One strike. Clean. Swift. Straight through the heart. His body stiffened, then softened. And as life faded from his eyes, her mind screamed.

Two.

The way the light dimmed behind his pupils. The faint smile. The final breath through clenched teeth.

It was the same. Exactly the same.

She didn’t know why. She didn’t even remember who Two really was. Not consciously. But the memory projected itself onto the king’s face, like a ghost pulling her insides apart. Her knees wanted to buckle. Her chest seized. But the body moved on. Left the blade in place. Turned away. And stepped toward the desk… where a sealed letter sat in a crimson envelope. A single whiff of it hit her harder than the scream. Greyclaw spices. Wildflower oil. Her body reached for the letter. And took it. She held the letter between her fingers longer than she should have. Her body was already turning toward the exit. Already calculating her escape. But her hand—her hand—slipped the seal free. Not her choice. But not entirely not her own, either. The wax cracked. The paper unfolded. The words inside were penned with such care that it was jarring. Looped and graceful, deliberate, like each line mattered. She read it. And something in her chest caved.

To the Crown of Containe,

This letter is not meant to provoke political favor, nor demand justice. It is a request born of something older and deeper than diplomacy.

Ten years ago, during the stricken assault on Marrowvale, my daughter vanished.

For a decade, I mourned her.

And now… I feel her heartbeat again.

Not in dreams. Not in memory. In blood.

I do not know where she is. I only know that she lives. Somewhere across the sea. Somewhere east.

You control most of the eastern seaboard. Trade routes. Ports. Reach.

I ask only this: permit my envoy access to your territories. Grant them leniency in searching, wherever rumor leads.

I do not ask for loyalty. Only passage. And perhaps, should you find her before I do…

Let her know that her story is not yet over.

She finished the letter. Her body folded it neatly, slipping it into her cloak. But her mind kept staring at the parchment. Not for the words. The content barely registered—details slipping like water through slashed fingers. No, what caught her was the smell. Subtle, floral—but sharp. Wildflower and leather. Earth and spice. It was something ancient inside her that stirred. Not memory. Instinct. Something she’d been forced to forget… but her blood had not.

That scent…

Why do I know that scent?

A tremor rippled through her ribcage. Her head pulsed with pressure. Her vision blurred at the edges, colors stretching where they shouldn’t. And still her body stood perfectly still, calm, unmoved.

No—no this isn't right. Something’s wrong—

And then—A knock. Sharp. Measured. Too late in the night to be idle. Her body flinched. Not outwardly. But inside, Shade’s consciousness recoiled like something wild trapped in a cage.

No.

Don’t open it. Don’t face it. Not yet—

Her body began to turn. Another knock.

She screamed inside. Her hand twitched—barely—and in that fractional war of thought against reflex, she pushed. Something toppled. A small inkwell slid off the desk. Shattered. The knock turned into shouting as they opened the door. Footsteps. Her body hesitated for half a second—half a second—and Shade felt the first crack form. A sliver. A split between instinct and obedience. She took it. She didn’t know what she did. Didn’t remember commanding anything. But she moved. Bolted for the balcony. The window flung open. The wind whipped her face. The guards burst in, weapons drawn— And all they saw was the back of a cloaked figure, tail vanishing, leaping into the dying night. The wind tore past her face as she fled the palace. But it wasn’t her fleeing. It was her body—mechanical, lifeless, driven by an order burned into her nerves. Shade screamed within the shell of herself.

Don’t go back.

Please don’t go back—

But her legs moved without hesitation. Down rooftops, over walls, into alleys thick with steam and smoke. Soon she was past the canals. Then beneath them. The tunnels swallowed her again—damp stone and iron closing around her like a coffin. The scent of Containe’s underbelly filled her lungs. It felt like drowning in filth and silence.

When the gates of the Hollow Vows slid open for her, they made no sound. No one asked questions. She stepped inside. And the doors closed behind her.

***

Time passed. Shade couldn’t track it—not exactly. Her body moved from one ruin to another on the orders of the Inquirers. Deep in the Hollow Zone, far beneath the southern spines of the continent, her hands rebuilt what had been corrupted. Her blades cleared the filth. Her magic carved new paths through old blood. The sanctuary was being prepared again. And she was its hands. It took months. Her body obeyed each command like a well-oiled construct. She killed when told. Rebuilt when ordered. Spoke not a word. Rested only when permitted. But the cracks… They deepened. Each mission, each moment of silence, she clawed at the edges. Sometimes her fingers trembled—not the body’s. Hers. Sometimes a flicker of thought broke through the stillness. And sometimes, she thought she could feel someone watching her from the darkness. Not Hollow Vows. Not the Veiled One. Something older. Something waiting.

She returned to Containe at the end of winter, the chill still clinging to the city’s bones. The sky was grey. The chimneys burned bright. Her feet stepped across the stone of the courtyard. Her head bowed. Her orders were waiting. Another mission. Another team. This time—a group. And a city named Faeyren whispered in the back of her mind, like warmth she had once known.