Chapter 4: Chapter 3-Walls of Stone, Hearts of Ash

Shade’s eyes fluttered open to the steady rhythm of the carriage wheels rolling over uneven cobblestones. Outside, the sky had begun to pale, a soft gray hinting at dawn. The merchant couple sat nearby, their voices low as they prepared for the final stretch. The carriage slowed, then came to a halt. Through the narrow window, Shade’s gaze fixed on the towering gates of Faeyren rising ahead—massive stone walls stretching high and wide, scarred from countless battles yet still imposing. Every few dozen feet, glowing wards pulsed with faint blue light, their arcane patterns shimmering in the morning mist. The air thrummed subtly with their power.

Faeyren: the most secure city on the continent. A fortress not just of stone, but of magic and vigilance. Shade drew a slow breath, the weight of the walls pressing in like a reminder—this place was a sanctuary, but also a cage, tightly held by those who controlled it.

The merchant’s voice broke the silence. “No one passes these gates without the wards sensing them. Magic, weapons, intentions—they see it all.”

His wife gave Shade a reassuring smile. “You’re safe here… for now.”

Shade’s eyes traced the patterns glowing along the walls, her mind racing with thoughts of what awaited inside—the crowded streets of the Coil, the looming mage society, and the secrets buried beneath it all. With a soft creak, the gates began to open, the slow grind of ancient mechanisms echoing like a warning—and an invitation. The journey had only just begun.

The merchant’s carriage clattered through the southern gates of Faeyren, its iron-bound wheels humming against stone. Shade watched in silence as the walls loomed around them—monolithic, inscribed with wards every dozen feet. She tracked the faint shimmer of magical barriers laced into the outer bulwark, ancient and well-maintained. Protective, yes. Oppressive, maybe. No other place on the continent wore its security so proudly. The road narrowed as they wound down what the locals called the Coil—a great, sloped avenue that spiraled through district after district, cutting a winding path from the higher tiers down toward the heart of the city. It was lined with stonework from every era, buildings pressed together like teeth in a too-full jaw. Faeyren pulsed with color and noise and the scent of spice and sweat, wood smoke and wine. Gellric talked almost the entire way.

“What was supposed to be a quiet trip for my wife’s birthday ends with me almost getting captured and those damn guards running off. You saved our lives, girl—can’t say I’ll forget that.” He looked over his shoulder at her, beaming despite the bruise on his cheek. “Now don’t go vanishing once we get to the guild. I have a mind to get you a proper room for the week.”

“I only need a bed,” Shade murmured.

“Well, we’ll see about that.” Gellric chuckled and pointed out a copper-roofed dome down the next tier. “There she is—Faeyren’s crown jewel. Merchant Guild Hall. Mine, specifically.”

The carriage came to a stop at a set of curved stone steps leading into a massive building adorned with banners of gold and forest green. The emblem: a coin held between open hands. Gilded windows, polished guards at the door, and stonework fit for a palace. People parted when Gellric stepped down, already calling his name, bowing, and clapping him on the shoulder.

Shade followed quietly behind, her eyes drinking in the wealth and power in the air. The streets below still bustled with couriers, guildsmen, and traders shouting over crates of goods. Everywhere she looked, there were signs of trade—from rare cloths to monster bones. Inside, the guild hall was a cathedral of commerce. Marble floors. Pillars inscribed with trade pacts. Floating light crystals chased away shadow, and clerks rushed across balconies and stairwells with scrolls and books, and ledger-slates. Gellric brought her to a side room just off the main chamber—his private office, judging by the carved oak desk and the wall-mounted map of the continent, peppered with pins.

“I’ll arrange for you to stay at the Dragon Tear Inn,” he said, rummaging through a drawer. “It’s near the upper district, decent security, quiet. Ask for Mara when you arrive.”

Shade nodded slowly. “Why are you helping me?”

“You saved my life,” Gellric said, matter-of-factly. “Besides, I like having debts. Makes business interesting.”

Before she could respond, the walls gave a sudden creak. A deep, low groan followed. Then the ground shifted—just a shudder, a momentary ripple beneath their feet. The lamp on his desk swayed. One of the ledgers slid an inch toward the floor. Shade’s hand was already on the hilt at her back. Her eyes snapped to the ceiling.

But Gellric just chuckled as the tremor faded. “Don’t worry, that’s not war—it’s just Veyrmath turning in his sleep.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Local dragon god,” he said, dusting off a bottle that had tipped sideways. “Or something like that. They say he’s deep under the city, big enough to shake the bones of Faeyren when he stirs.”

She frowned. “You don’t sound concerned.”

“It’s a good sign,” he said. “Means he’s still asleep. No one wants to see what it looks like when he’s awake.”

Shade’s eyes narrowed, a sliver of something crawling up her spine. A presence—momentary. Faint.

The crystal at her chest warmed, ever so slightly.

Gellric turned back to her with a grin. “Now. That cockatrice head—take it to the Hunters Guild before it rots. They’re just a tier down, can’t miss the brass doors. You’ll want to register, too. Faeyren doesn’t like unsanctioned warriors running about.”

She nodded, though her gaze lingered toward the ceiling above. Beneath the marble, the maps, the guilds, and gold… something was stirring. Shade hesitated, her fingers resting lightly on the strap of her pack. She opened her mouth, paused, then met Gellric’s eyes directly for the first time since they’d met.

“…Thank you,” she said softly.

Not out of obligation. Not out of habit, but with meaning.

It caught Gellric slightly off guard. The ever-present grin on his face dimmed, tempered into something gentler. He gave a nod, firm and warm. “You’re always welcome here. Guest of the Hall, anytime. No need to knock.”

He walked her to the door himself, waving off the junior clerk who moved to escort her. “Keep the badge,” he added, handing her a small engraved token made of dark metal, marked with the merchant guild’s crest. “It’ll get you past a few closed doors, should the need arise. And if anyone gives you trouble, tell them Gellric of the Ninth Circle sent you.”

Shade accepted it silently, the weight of it unfamiliar, not because of the metal, but the gesture.

At the front of the guild hall, a young assistant in pressed green-and-gold livery stepped forward and offered a respectful bow. “I’ll see her to the Hunters Guild, sir.”

“Take the mid-coil route,” Gellric said with a wink. “More food stalls.”

Shade inclined her head once more before stepping out into the light. The door closed behind her with a quiet click. The city greeted her again, full of motion and voices. Sunlight struck the golden veins of the warding running along the walls, casting faint glimmers across the cobbled walk. Faery was alive in a way few places were. As she followed the young guide down the tiered avenue toward the Hunters Guild, Shade let her senses open just a little wider, her steps lighter but no longer hesitant. There was purpose in her stride. And behind her, deep under the city, the sleeping weight of something vast… shifted again. The mid-coil was alive. Shouts from hawkers. The steady clatter of carts. The hiss of oil and spice in hot pans. It wasn’t chaos—it was rhythm. A pulse that seemed to echo from stone to breath, from passerby to stall. The guide, whose name Shade had already forgotten, moved with a spring in his step and a constant stream of commentary.

“That street leads to the Amber Courts, where the aristocrats like to pretend they aren’t just merchants with better linen. That tower there? The Mage Society headquarters for the city. You’ll want to go there within three days or they’ll send a Seeker. Not the worst punishment, but it’s paperwork hell. Oh—and see that dome in the distance? That’s the Temple Quarter. Mostly for the old gods. The real old ones, I mean.”

Shade walked beside him, only half-listening.

“There’s also going to be a festival soon. One of the big ones. They’re calling it the Bloodwake Celebration this year. Happens whenever a major monster’s taken down. A behemoth fell last week—can you believe it? Darrek the Bronze took its head. At least, that’s what the news says.”

Shade’s gaze flicked toward him briefly.

He went on, unaware. “They’ll probably parade the bones through the city, then do the lighting of the sky braziers over the docks. It’s a whole thing—fire dancers, lightning pyres, all of it. If you’re still here in four days, you’ll see.”

His voice drifted as Shade’s nose twitched.

Smoke. Spice. Something rich and charred just right.

She slowed, turning her head slightly toward a vendor on the corner where flame licked a row of skewers above blackened coals. The scent was savory and wild, tinged with a sweetness she couldn’t name but felt deep in her chest.

She stopped walking altogether.

The guide paused mid-sentence and grinned. “Ah. Got you, didn’t it? Milan Sheep. Roasted over wood from the Shardpine Forest. The trick’s in the glaze—bloodfruit and black pepper.”

Shade took half a step closer to the stall, not realizing she had. Her stomach growled, traitorously.

The guide chuckled. “Gellric gave you a badge, yeah?”

She looked back at him. Wordless, she reached into her cloak and pulled the token free.

His eyes widened a little. “Right. That’ll cover a hundred skewers if you want. Show that, and any merchant worth their salt will feed you like a queen.”

He stepped up to the stall, speaking a few quick words to the vendor before turning back to her. “First one's on me. Guild hospitality.”

Shade took the skewer when it was offered. It was still hot, the wooden stick slightly singed. Her fingers tingled as she brought it closer. Then— A bite. Juice. Heat. Fat. Flavor that lingered. Her eyes widened just slightly, and she took another bite without thinking. For just a moment, the city quieted around her. Just a little. By the time the skewer was little more than a stripped stick in her hand, Shade felt something unfamiliar in her chest—a small, quiet contentment. Not joy. Not yet. But something close.

The guide clapped his hands once. “Alright, now that we’ve fed the rumbly stomach, let’s get you paid.”

They continued down the coil, the guide gesturing broadly as the crowd swelled around them. The buildings grew taller—some narrow and crammed between others like bickering siblings, others sprawling and sun-bleached, carved with symbols from every culture on the continent. Flags and merchant signs flapped in the wind. Banners proclaimed the coming festival, stretched from archway to post, their red and bronze silks catching the light. The Hunters Guild was a massive stone structure wedged into a central square like a fortress trying to disguise itself as a marketplace. Thick pillars flanked the entrance, each carved with creatures—chimeras, wyverns, and other beasts she knew by blood and anatomy.

“Here we are,” the guide said, grinning with the air of someone completing a personal quest. “Turn in that cockatrice head—you’ll find the intake counter just past the main floor. Don’t let them underpay you. And don’t stare at the behemoth horn on the ceiling. Everyone stares.”

Shade gave him a small nod, already stepping toward the doors.

He called after her, “Oh! And when you’re done, if you’re looking for a place to stay, look just across the lower way, over there.”

She turned.

He pointed beyond the square to a quaint, stone-walled building nestled against a narrow split in the road where the coil curved sharply. A simple hanging sign swayed in the breeze—The Dragon Tear Inn, etched in gold.

“They serve the best Greyclaw meat pies this side of the Arborean Sea,” the guide added, hand over heart. “Real spice, real flavor, not the watered-down capital stuff. Tell ‘em Gellric sent you, they’ll grumble, but they’ll take care of you.”

Shade’s gaze lingered on the inn. That name. Greyclaw. Her mind flitted back to Bastion Keep—weeks ago now. The soft warmth of a meat pie she hadn’t meant to enjoy, but did. The sharp tang of mutton in gravy. A moment of stillness by a campfire.

She nodded once, almost to herself. She would stay there. The decision felt… right. Anchored. Without a word, she turned and entered the Guildhall, the cockatrice head still tightly wrapped in canvas under her arm. The Hunters Guild buzzed with low chatter and clanking gear, the air thick with the scent of smoke, leather, and the metallic tang of monster blood. Shade stepped inside without hesitation, her boots silent on the stone floor, her presence immediately drawing attention, not through action, but aura. Something in her gait, in the way her dark purple eyes scanned the room, told the seasoned among them that she was more than she seemed. She moved to the intake counter, brushing a stray strand of black hair from her face. Her ears—wolfish, furred in black with silvered tips—twitched with every shift in tone around her. Her sleek tail, barely noticeable under her cloak, curled low, betraying a faint edge of tension.

The clerk at the counter—a balding man with ink-stained fingers and a worn leather ledger—looked up at her with mild disinterest. “Turning something in?”

Shade gave a small nod. “One cockatrice. Rank 2. Solo hunt.”

He raised an eyebrow at her size and youth but gestured for her ID without comment. She reached into her coat and withdrew a sleek, obsidian-black card. The Hollow Vows-issued identification bore her alias, listing her as a Tier 4 independent. A clever forgery, laced with dama-resistant illusions to fool even the magical registry.

He slid the ID into the slot. A low hum. A blue glow. Then the confirmation chime.

“Tier 4 clearance. Solo hunter.” He looked up at her again, skeptical. “Let’s see it.”

Shade said nothing. She reached into a pocket on the inside of her coat and withdrew a small, rune-marked pouch—her bag of holding. The air shimmered faintly as she reached inside, and the moment her fingers brushed the internal seal, the surrounding conversation faltered.

She pulled out the severed cockatrice head.

Still fresh. Blood frozen in motion, eyes wide in a last shriek. Its beak hung open, fangs visible beneath, and its scaly crown still glimmered faintly with residual venom.

Gasps rippled through the hall.

“No way,” someone muttered behind her.

“She’s barely a whelp,” another whispered. “That’s a Rank 3 beast.”

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“Solo, she said? She killed it herself?”

Shade set the head gently on the counter, her claws brushing the stone as she released it. The clerk’s eyes had widened, and he leaned forward, poking at the head as if it might leap at him.

“This… This is pristine,” he muttered. “You bagged it clean. No acid damage, no rot. You even kept the venom sacs intact.”

She said nothing.

He cleared his throat and fumbled with the paperwork. “You’ll get full hazard pay. Rare bonus for preservation. The registry will take a few moments. Wait there.”

As he worked, the murmurs grew.

“A beast girl, you don’t see many of those this side of the Arborean sea.”

“She’s not just a girl, look at those eyes.”

“She’s got fangs, too. Real ones.”

“She didn’t even flinch.”

Shade ignored them all. She’d been watched her whole life, studied, dissected, and feared. They could stare. They could whisper. So long as they didn’t interfere. The clerk returned with a coin pouch and a sealed receipt.

“You’re clear. Nicely done,” he said, voice oddly respectful now. “You looking for more contracts?”

“Not today,” Shade replied quietly, taking the pouch.

She turned to go, her cloak swirling behind her. The heads didn’t stop turning. They followed her all the way to the doors. The midday sun bathed Faeyren’s merchant district in golden light, illuminating the stone-lined boulevard just outside the Hunters Guild. Bustling crowds moved between colorful awnings and merchant carts, the air thick with the aroma of spice bread, tanned leather, and iron. Shade stepped down the wide guild stairs, one hand idly brushing the pouch of coin she’d just earned. She knew they were behind her. Not even trying to hide it. Three of them. She recognized the leader’s voice before he even spoke.

“Hey! Fancy job you pulled in there,” came the drawl, low, taunting. “You mind sharing a bit of that fat reward? You know, for the district’s protection.”

Shade stopped walking. Pedestrians slowed but didn’t interfere. Their eyes flicked between her and the men in worn hunter leathers, but they didn’t stop. Some looked away. Others crossed the street entirely. That told her enough. This part of the city didn’t lack order—it had sold it.

She turned around slowly, hood slipping slightly back as the sun caught the sheen of her black hair. Her violet eyes gleamed like polished obsidian, set in a face too calm for a girl her age. Her ears twitched above her head, tuned and alert, tail slowly curling behind her like a whip held in check.

“I said,” the man stepped closer, “you owe a tax for walking our streets.”

“And what would that buy?” Shade asked quietly, her voice a calm ripple in a tense sea.

“Your silence? Or your mercy?”

He reached for her shoulder. She shattered his forearm with a single brutal twist and brought her elbow down into the joint as he screamed. Onlookers gasped—some staggered back, others froze mid-step. But no one intervened. The second man roared, drawing a long knife, but before he could swing, she stepped into him and drove the edge of her palm into his nose with a sickening crunch. Blood burst down his lips as he collapsed backward into a vendor’s table, scattering fruit and terrified whispers. The third tried to run. Shade’s arm snapped out, grabbing him by the collar. She spun and flung him into the alley wall with bone-jarring force, his breath escaping in a grunt. He didn’t rise.

The plaza was silent now, save for the faint ring of a dropped blade spinning to a stop on the cobblestones. Shade looked around slowly, her gaze sweeping the faces of the onlookers. Most averted their eyes. A few stared, wide-eyed, at the lithe, dangerous girl standing amidst three broken men. One child gripped her mother’s sleeve, whispering something Shade didn’t catch. Boots clicked behind her. The guards. But when they saw the scene, they didn’t move forward. They simply watched. That told her even more.

She stepped over the writhing body of the leader and vanished into the flow of foot traffic with practiced ease. Behind her, murmurs began to rise. Questions. Accusations. Someone ran for a senior officer. It would be days before the fallout fully settled. Investigations. Suspensions. Bribes uncovered. A small purge of corrupt watchmen and district officials would follow, quiet but deliberate. For now, though, it started with this. A girl with dark eyes, walking away as if nothing had happened. And a district learning who not to threaten. Shade moved steadily toward the Dragon Tear Inn, the recent scuffle still echoing in her mind, muscles tense but controlled. As she rounded a corner, a faint, almost imperceptible vibration hummed at her earlobe. Her hand instinctively brushed the smooth communication stone embedded just beneath the black fur.

A whisper, cold and commanding, slipped into her thoughts:

“Promotion granted. You are no longer a Tool. You are now a Weapon. Return to the Dark Room. Carving awaits.”

In the past, she would have obeyed without hesitation, dropping everything to answer the call, submitting to the relentless regimen that shaped her into the guild’s perfect assassin. But now, something held her back.

Her dark purple eyes flickered with resolve as she crafted her excuse aloud, voice low and steady:

“I must remain in Faeyren for a week or two. The injuries from the last mission, the strain from dama overuse… they have yet to heal fully.”

The whisper recoiled, a brief silence pressing down on her before the stone fell quiet. Shade’s gaze hardened, a quiet rebellion simmering beneath the surface as she continued onward — toward the inn, toward something that felt almost like freedom. The mere thought of the Dark Room clawed at Shade’s chest, setting her heart hammering against her ribs. It was a place carved out of shadows and silence, where every ounce of feeling was stripped away—where pain, fear, and hope alike were meticulously erased until only cold efficiency remained.

Her breath quickened, shallow and uneven, beads of sweat prickling at her temples despite the cool evening air. Memories flickered unbidden—sharp voices, endless drills, the sting of punishment for the slightest hesitation. The Dark Room was not just a place. It was a prison of the soul.

But something had shifted. A whisper of warmth flickered inside her—a haze of forgotten joy, buried beneath years of conditioning. It was faint, but real. A fragile ember against the suffocating dark. Shade pressed her fingers to her temple, willing her racing pulse to slow. The oppressive urge to obey, to return and submit, warred with a growing resolve to resist.

Then, just as panic threatened to consume her, the door of the Dragon Tear Inn swung open. The rich, savory scent of Greyclaw meat pie drifted out, curling around her like a balm. The familiar, hearty aroma wrapped around her senses, flooding through the cracks in her armor. Warmth spread through her chest, gentle and reassuring, washing away the cold dread. Her breath steadied, and the tight knot in her stomach loosened. For the first time in a long while, Shade allowed herself a moment of peace, caught between the shadows of her past and the faint light of something more.

***

The Dragon Tear Inn welcomed her with the hush of well-aged wood and the soft clatter of distant dishes. Light from hearthfires flickered along the walls, painting everything in hues of amber and gold. It smelled of warmth—of old spices, toasted bread, and simmering meat pies that reminded her of a home she had never known. At first, she only nodded at the innkeeper. Silent, as always. But then a small voice chirped up, bright and curious.

“Are you a knight?” the girl asked, peeking up at her with wide, expectant eyes. She couldn’t have been older than seven, dressed in a flour-dusted apron and gripping a wooden spoon like a wand.

Shade blinked. Knight. A word so far from what she truly was, it should have hurt, but it didn’t.

“I’m…” Her voice caught, not with pain, but unfamiliarity. Words weren’t weapons here. They didn’t need to cut. “No. I’m just… passing through.”

The girl’s eyes lit up like she’d been told the stars themselves had arrived.

“That’s even better! Mamma says travelers carry stories. Do you have one? A story?”

Shade started to shake her head. She had thousands. None for children. None for daylight.

But then she found herself saying softly, “I met a monster once. With feathers and stone eyes.”

The child gasped, delighted. “Did you slay it?”

A pause. “Yes.”

“Wow.” She leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “I bet it was scared of you.”

Shade smiled. Actually smiled. It surprised even her. “Maybe.”

She said more than she should have. More than she needed to.

The girl beamed, rocking on her heels. “I’m Leni! If you stay here, I’ll make sure you get the biggest slice of pie. Mamma makes the best kind, even better than the fairground pies!”

Shade gave a small nod, her voice softer. “That sounds… nice, Leni.”

From behind the counter, a woman’s voice called out, warm and lyrical, “Leni, are you bothering our guest?”

Leni spun around. “I was just being friendly!”

The innkeeper stepped forward, wiping her hands on her apron, smiling with eyes that held both mischief and maternal calm. Her auburn hair was streaked with silver, her posture regal in the casual way of someone used to both fire and gentleness.

“She’s a kind soul, that one,” the woman said to Shade, gesturing to the girl. “I’m Mara. Welcome to the Dragon Tear. You look like you’ve traveled far—and earned every step.”

Shade inclined her head. “Shade. Thank you for the welcome.”

Leni tugged on her mother’s sleeve. “Mamma, she fought a monster!”

Mara raised a brow and gave Shade a knowing glance. “Did she now? Well then, I think someone deserves a warm plate and a soft bed.”

The girl leaned into her mother’s side, and Mara wrapped an arm around her without a thought. It was such a simple gesture, so instinctive, that it caught Shade off guard. She watched them laugh quietly together—nothing extravagant, just a mother and daughter in harmony. And for a breath too long, Shade stood still, her throat tight with something she didn’t have words for. Something soft. Something aching in longing. Shade stepped up to the counter as Leni darted behind it, giggling like she was part of the staff.

“I’d like a room,” Shade said, reaching into the folds of her cloak. Her fingers brushed the token Gellric had given her—a small obsidian coin inlaid with a shimmering sigil.

She placed it quietly on the counter.

Mara’s eyes widened as she picked it up, turning it over. “Well, stars above… this is from Gellric’s house.” She whistled low. “Not many carry this.”

Shade stayed silent, but her gaze lingered on the woman’s face, curious.

Mara gave a soft laugh. “You’re lucky, girl. Gellric’s guild is the biggest trade syndicate this side of the sea. He’s got a finger in every merchant venture worth a damn in Faeyren. Honest, too. A rare thing these days.”

She nodded to herself and set the token gently back on the counter. “He sends someone here, we take care of them proper.”

“You know him?” Shade asked, surprising herself again by speaking more than necessary.

Mara smiled, nostalgic. “I’ve fed Gellric more meat pies than I can count. He helped me reopen this place after the last fire, gods bless him. Said the city needed more hearths like this one.”

Leni was watching her mother with wide eyes, clearly proud.

“I’ll make sure your stay’s covered for as long as you need, Shade,” Mara said kindly. “And if you get hungry—”

“Greyclaw meat pie,” Shade finished, almost whispering.

Mara tilted her head. “You’ve had it before?”

“A long time ago.” The words left her lips like a forgotten melody.

Mara’s expression softened. “Then it’s about time you had it again. I’ll have one brought up shortly. Rooms at the end of the hall upstairs, left side. The one with the wolf-carved door.”

Leni tugged Shade’s cloak gently. “That one’s the best! It even has a window that shows the stars.”

Shade blinked down at her, then nodded once. “Thank you. Both of you.”

Mara touched her hand briefly. “You’re welcome here, Shade. Whenever you need warmth… or quiet.”

Something in her voice made Shade’s chest tighten. She turned to head upstairs, Leni waving after her, already chattering about drawing her a picture tomorrow. The token slipped back into her cloak, but the warmth lingered far longer. The door clicked shut behind her with a finality that made her stomach coil. Shade stood still for a long breath, letting the quiet sink in. Her room was modest, clean, with soft hues of green and grey, and the faint scent of burning herbs from the kitchen below. The carved wolf on the door had welcomed her in, but now it watched silently from behind.

She placed her pack on the small table near the window, slipped her weapons out of sight, and let herself collapse backward onto the bed, arms splayed wide. The weight of the day pressed down like a cloak soaked in rain. Too many people. Too many words. Too many thoughts. But one thought—rose above the rest like smoke in the dark.

The dark room.

Her heart beat faster. The place where her voice had been cut to whispers. Where screams were silenced. Where they broke her, then shaped her into something sharp. Something obedient.

A tool.

No... a Weapon now.

She clenched the sheets beneath her. The communication stone in her earlobe pulsed faintly, like a ghost heartbeat. The summons hadn’t been an order this time, not exactly. But she knew what it meant. She was being reshaped again. Forged into something even colder. She could still hear the whispers. Not from the stone, not anymore—but from her memory.

Obey. Return. Break the self. Bury the name.

Her breath quickened. Palms damp. She curled in on herself on the bed, arms around her knees. In the past, she wouldn’t have felt anything. Just action. Just orders. Now… her thoughts clawed at her. Doubt crept in like black vines. What if she didn’t return? What would they do? What would she become without them? Who would she be? Her throat was dry. Her eyes stung.

Then—knock knock knock.

The sound startled her upright, hands already reaching for a blade that wasn’t needed. The door creaked open just enough to let in the scent of butter and spice.

Leni peeked through, beaming. “Hey! I brought emergency pie!”

Shade blinked, caught off guard. The little girl waddled in on bare feet, holding a cloth-covered plate. She set it on the table and lifted the cloth with a flourish. Two thick slices of steaming Greyclaw meat pie.

“I stole it,” Leni whispered with a giggle. “Mom definitely knows though. I’m not sneaky.”

Shade stared at the plate, then at the girl. “Why?”

“You looked sad.” Leni shrugged like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Sad people need pie. That’s the rule.”

Shade didn’t know what to say. Something tightened in her throat that wasn’t fear this time.

“You’ll like it,” Leni said confidently, hopping onto the cushioned chair near the window.

“Everyone says it’s the best, but I think it’s even better when you sneak it.”

Shade moved slowly, taking a seat across from her. The warmth of the pie curled in the air, mingling with the laughter still lingering from Leni’s smile. They sat in silence for a moment, just the clink of forks against plates as Leni started devouring hers with abandon. Shade took a bite. The flavors hit like a memory she didn’t know she’d forgotten. Savory meat, rich spices, the faintest hint of wild herbs from the Greyclaw forests. It smelled like home, if she ever knew one. A strange peace settled over her.

Leni leaned over the table, cheeks puffed with pie. “You’re really quiet. But I like you anyway.”

Shade didn’t smile, but her eyes softened.

“I’m not used to talking.”

“That’s okay. I talk enough for both of us!”

And somehow, for the first time in hours, the whispers stopped. As the last crumbs of pie disappeared from her plate, Leni let out a little satisfied sigh and flopped back in the chair, arms over her head.

“That was the best ‘emergency pie’ I’ve ever stolen,” she declared proudly.

Shade studied her, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. The girl’s presence had quieted something raw inside her. For a time, she’d forgotten the stone, the summons, the darkness.

Leni stood, stretching with the exaggerated flair only children possessed. “Alright, I gotta go. Mom will fuss if I’m up too late again.”

Shade nodded. “Thank you… for the pie.”

Leni’s eyes lit up. “You said more than three words! You’re getting better already.”

Shade’s lips twitched.

The girl skipped toward the door, then paused on the threshold. “Goodnight, Shade.”

“Goodnight, Leni.”

A heartbeat later, Leni peeked back in with a grin. “Sleep tight! Don’t let the underbed demons bite!”

Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her. Shade exhaled slowly. The room felt quieter now, but not hollow. Not yet. She cleaned the dishes, set her weapons within reach, and crawled into bed. Minutes passed. Maybe an hour. The silence returned—and with it, the whispers at the edges of her mind. The thought of the dark room, the dread of returning, curled around her again like a rising fog.

You are a Weapon. Nothing else.

She gritted her teeth, eyes squeezed shut.

You obey.

And then—tap tap.

Her ears twitched. The door creaked. Shade shot upright, fingers instinctively twitching toward the dagger under her pillow. The scent that followed calmed her instantly—her nose catching that same faint mix of lavender soap and kitchen herbs.

“Leni?” she whispered.

A small form slipped through the door and closed it carefully behind her. The girl clutched a plush stuffed chimera to her chest, her eyes wide and solemn.

“I can’t sleep,” she whispered, padding softly across the room. “Is it okay if I… stay here? Just tonight?”

Shade hesitated. Her chest tightened. “Why?”

Leni didn’t answer at first. She climbed up onto the bed and settled into the far side, curling up under the blanket.

“I used to sleep next to a beastwoman when I was little,” she said at last, voice muffled by the covers. “She was really nice. Her fur was soft and warm. I don’t remember her face… but I remember how safe I felt.”

Shade didn’t know what to say. Her hand hovered near the girl, then retreated.

“I’ll be really still, promise,” Leni added, closing her eyes. “You feel like her. A little.”

Shade lay back slowly. Her body remained tense, unused to another presence—especially one so vulnerable, so trusting. Minutes passed. Then it stirred. A pulse. A shimmer. Faint and distant, from deep within the crystal embedded in her chest, a presence awoke—not hostile, not cold. Protective.

The Shieldmaiden, she knew. Not through words but through knowledge and memory, not hers..

An emotion stirred inside her that she had no words for. A promise. A need not to obey... but to guard. She turned slightly toward Leni, watching the girl’s tiny back rise and fall with sleep. Her own breath steadied. The stone in her ear felt dull and far away. The whispers had gone quiet. Shade closed her eyes. And for the first time, she slept beside someone... without fear.