Three items arrived by raven.
No name. No seal. No return.
Each wrapped in obsidian cloth.
A gift. A warning. A memory.
The first was a book.
Untitled. Leather-bound. Its pages were thin, smooth, but made of something older than paper.
Winter opened it first.
"They're maps," she said.
"But not of the sea."
I looked.
They were maps of cities beneath the sea.
The ancient kingdoms.
The ones buried before the Void Century.
One bore a symbol I recognized:
A crescent moon with thirteen stars.
"Mark it," I said. "We'll need that someday."
The second gift was a vial.
Purple liquid. Sealed with wax older than any wax should be.
Selka held it up.
"Poison?"
"No," I said. "Antidote."
"From what?"
"Whatever they plan to feed me next."
We stored it in a vault behind three locks.
The third gift was a picture.
Drawn in charcoal.
A child.
Maybe twelve. Maybe younger.
With white hair, wide eyes, and a familiar burn scar across the left shoulder.
Winter paled.
"Where did they get this?"
"Who is it?" Selka asked.
Winter said nothing.
I leaned closer.
"I've seen that scar before."
Winter nodded slowly.
"My sister."
Silence.
"I thought you had no family," I said.
"I don't," she whispered.
I let it sit.
Then quietly folded the picture.
"I assume you want to find her?"
Winter's voice was steel.
"No. I want to know who's using her."
That night, I met with Garling Figarland.
Alone.
He played chess with himself in a white room that echoed like a tomb.
"Another move, another lie," he said. "Isn't that what this world's about?"
I sat across from him.
"Lie to the right people, and it becomes law."
He smiled.
"You're dangerous."
"So are you."
"Not anymore. I've been... sidelined."
"By who?"
"Ask Imu. Or don't. You might live longer."
He moved a bishop. Then looked me dead in the eye.
"You've been collecting things."
"Guilty."
"Scrolls. Children. Sins."
I didn't answer.
He chuckled.
"You planning something, little dragon?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"An end. To what, I don't know yet."
He leaned in.
"Then let me give you a gift. My sword."
I blinked.
"What?"
He stood.
Pulled a wrapped blade from the wall.
Laid it gently across the board.
"Her name is Remorse. She hasn't killed in ten years. Give her a reason."
I left with the blade.
Didn't speak for hours.
Just sat in my study while the rain hit the glass like nails.
Winter came eventually.
Knelt by my side.
"You believe him?" she asked.
"No. But I believe in gestures."
She touched the hilt.
"It's warm."
"Of course it is," I said. "It remembers."
Selka returned with news.
The child in the picture had been seen.
North Blue. On a pirate ship. Flag of black lilies.
"Name?" I asked.
"The ship's called the Spiteful Womb."
Winter raised an eyebrow.
"Who names these things?"
I smirked.
"Someone who wants attention."
"Should I go?" she asked.
"No," I said. "We send Selka."
Before she left, Selka asked a question.
"Why her?"
I looked at Winter.
"She can't kill this one. Not if it's real."
"And I can?"
"You can do what's needed. No more. No less."
Selka nodded.
That night, I wrote a letter.
To a name I hadn't spoken since my first week here.
To Saint Saturn.
"The world is a board. You and I are not pieces. Let's play again soon."
I sealed it in gold.
Let the ravens fly.
In the corner of the Archive, Mero added a drawing.
A child holding a sword too large for her.
Behind her, a man with no face.
Underneath, she wrote:
"When gods bleed, they bleed ink."