It took her nearly five days to reach the gates of Cidius, the gates of Cidius opened without question.
It wasn't the capital, but it was the heart of Viralinn — one of the four nations. Stone towers, metal bridges, and the cold, sharp flag of the Wielder Post flew above it all.
The academy was still training. She could hear shouts from the courtyard.
She didn't go there.
Instead, she entered the Wielder Post and handed her report directly to Erine.
The Wielder Post was quiet by the time Aria stepped through its doors. Most of the staff had gone home. Lanterns burned low along the corridor, their glow flickering off stone walls and brass plates.
At the far end, Erine Val— Headmistress, and the one who'd overseen more Wielder reports than anyone alive — sat behind her desk, a sharp-featured woman in her late forties, her salt-streaked braid tied back, sleeves rolled up past the elbows.
Tea gone cold beside a stack of reports. She didn't look up until she heard the soft sound of boots against the floor.
"Back already?"
It wasn't that the route was short. Aria was simply faster than most.
She stopped a few paces away and placed a sealed scroll on the desk. The movement was clean, precise.
Erine glanced at the sigil, then exhaled through her nose. "Don't tell me it's another confirmation."
"Both Vigils are dead," Aria said. "No survivors."
Erine's face darkened. She pushed the scroll aside with the back of her hand. "Cause?"
"Nexborn. Fully turned."
Her voice was flat, neutral.
Erine leaned back slowly, fingers steepled under her chin, gaze lingering on the scroll.
"Names?"
Aria didn't answer. She didn't need to—the scroll had everything.
"I trained them both," Erine said quietly. "The girl used to braid her badge cords. Thought it gave her luck." A pause. "Guess it didn't."
She didn't expect a reaction—and Aria gave none.
"Was it fast?" Erine asked.
"Yes."
A brief silence settled between them.
"You alright?"
Aria shifted her weight slightly. "Yes."
Erine sighed, picked up her cup, and took a sip—then grimaced. Cold. She set it down again, slower this time.
"You always come back with the same look," she said. "Like nothing touches you."
"It does."
That surprised her. Erine blinked, gaze sharpening—but Aria didn't explain. She never did.
"You staying the night?" Erine asked, softer now.
"Only for a few hours."
"You could rest. Longer, I mean."
"I don't need rest. I need quiet."
Erine offered a tired smile and leaned her arms on the desk. "This place isn't so bad, you know. Even for someone like you."
"I know."
A small silence.
"Well, maybe I'll just see you here tomorrow then."
Aria gave a faint nod and turned to go, footsteps measured on the stone floor.
Erine watched her reach the door. "Aria."
She paused.
"I mean it. Thank you. You always bring them home."
A beat. Then a nod.
And Aria disappeared into the hall.
* * *
She moved through the compound without stopping, cloak pulled tight against the evening chill. Past the gates, down two lantern-lit streets, and through the back alley behind the butcher's stall — the one that led straight to Lorenzo's shop.
The forge was warm, as always. Smoke, steel, and lavender oil lingered in the air — her scent, though she'd never admit it.
Aria stepped inside without knocking.
Lorenzo Ferren didn't look up right away. He was hunched over his workbench, adjusting the tension on a blade clamp with a small grunt.
The firelight caught the edge of his jaw — square, lightly scarred. His dark hair was streaked with ash-gray, tied back in a low knot. Not young, not old. Just solid. Steady.
When he did glance over, he didn't bother hiding the smirk.
"You're late," he said. "By your standards."
Aria set her cloak down near the door, brushing ash from her shoulder. "Teralin took longer than expected."
"That's what happens when you get sent to border towns. No clocks. No clean water. No people."
"No Wielders either," she replied.
He paused, frown flickering in. "Dead?"
She nodded.
"Both?"
"Fully confirmed. Nexborn. A kid."
Lorenzo exhaled and set down his tools with care. "Erine's not going to like that."
"She already knows."
"Oh, you went there? She send you straight here?"
"I came on my own."
He raised an eyebrow. "I figured you'd disappear into the forest again without going home first."
"I needed to sit."
That earned a small grin from him. He turned toward the hearth, ladled something from the pot. "Good thing I made stew."
"I'm not hungry."
"You're never hungry. You still need food."
Her fingers brushed the rim before she took it and settled into her usual spot by the forge wall — half in shadow, back to the stone, legs folded tight.
Lorenzo wiped his hands and sat down — not beside her, but a few paces off, on the stool at his workbench, angled toward her.
"She braided her badge cords?" he asked after a beat.
Aria blinked. "What?"
"The girl. One of the Vigil. Tilia. She used to braid the cords on her coat like it meant something. Thought it brought luck."
Aria gave a slight nod. "I've seen it."
"She used to bring her sword here. Every other week. Drove me mad asking about blade names and etching styles."
A pause. Not sad. Just quiet.
"She die fast?" he asked.
"Yes."
He gave a slow nod, gaze falling to his hands. "That's something, I guess."
The fire cracked. Metal cooled. The quiet settled like dust.
"I patched your cloak," Lorenzo said.
"I didn't ask."
"You never do."
Her eyes drifted toward the chair where it lay — neatly folded. The stitching clean. It smelled faintly of lavender. His doing.
"You are staying?"
"For a few hours only."
"Let me guess. Sleep. Change. Gone for another job."
"Something like that."
"You ever think of staying longer?"
"Not really."
He didn't press. Never did.
After a while, his voice softened.
"You know you don't have to disappear every time."
"I'm not disappearing."
"Right," he said, with a faint scoff. "You're just air and shadow."
She didn't answer.
"You don't have to come back because you're tired," he added. "You can come back just because you want to."
She stirred the stew. Steam curled up past her face.
Then finally, she said, "I always come back."
Lorenzo gave a small nod, eyes on the fire. It wasn't warm. But it wasn't cold either.
And for Lorenzo, that was enough.