Inside the archive, shelves of crystal slates and metal-bound tomes stretched like ribs along the walls. Dust hung in the air like a second skin.
I searched carefully.
Some of the titles I recognized—doctrine texts, oath protocols, lineage logs.
Then I found it.
A small, leather-bound journal with no title on the spine.
Inside were names.
Dozens.
Bloodlines. Family trees. All marked with the same sigil—the Riftborn Mark. Most lines had been crossed out.
Erased.
But one wasn't.
A name I hadn't heard in years.
"House Virellien"
They were wiped out during the Flame Rebellion, long before my time.
But the seal beside their name was intact.
Meaning at least one heir had survived.
Meaning Sylen was right.
The Order was hiding something.
I slipped the journal into my coat and turned to leave—
But the door was already closing.
I ducked back as a bolt of mana fire scorched the wall beside me.
Footsteps echoed behind.
Three figures. All in white. No insignia.
Inquisitors.
They knew.
I rolled behind a pillar as another shot shattered the crystal shelves beside me. Dust and shards rained down.
One of them barked a command.
"Alive, if possible!"
I smiled grimly.
Too late for that.
As the first of them rushed at me, he went down just as fast as he came. With a broken jaw and a crushed throat.
Without taking a moment to think, I threw a blade. It sliced through the second's hand, clean. It didn't take me long to finish him off after that.
The third hesitated.
Too long.
I threw a blade again, but not with nearly as much force as the last time. The blade connected right at his shoulder, but it cut all the way through.
I let him run.
Breathing, but bleeding.
He could report back.
Let the Order know I wasn't done dying just yet.
***
When I returned to the Ashen, Sylen waited at the edge of camp.
She saw the blood. The burned edge of my cloak. The black journal in my hand.
I tossed it to her.
She caught it without blinking.
"You were followed," she said.
"Wasn't hard to lose them."
She flipped through the pages. Stopped at the name.
"Virellien."
"You knew?"
"I suspected. Now I know."
She closed the journal.
Then looked at me.
"The others doubted. Thought you'd run. Or try to use us."
"And now?"
"Now we follow you."
I didn't answer.
Just turned away and stared into the firelight.
Because for the first time in years—
Someone believed me.
And that was more dangerous than any lie.
***
Then
Ten years ago.
The Oathforge.
A sacred chamber, deep beneath Lysendor.
A place where oaths were made, branded in mana, and sealed in blood.
I stood alone, hands bound, kneeling before the High Circle.
Twelve chairs. Eleven filled. One conspicuously empty.
Elira's.
She was supposed to be there.
She was my second. My witness. My anchor.
Instead—
Only silence.
Then: the voice of High Commander Theran.
"By the mark found upon his body, by the energy traced through his soul, and by the ancient laws of our order—Kalen Veris is declared Riftborn."
I looked up.
"I was never corrupted."
"Perhaps not yet," Theran said. "But the Rift touches cannot be trusted."
Someone stepped forward.
Ser Fenric.
He didn't look at me as he tied the blindfold.
"Do you swear to accept the Rite of Severance?" the commander asked.
I didn't answer.
Not right away.
Then, flatly: "Where is Elira?"
No one answered.
So I laughed.
Quiet. Bitter.
"That's the answer, then."
And they dragged me away.
***
Now
The Ashen were moving like clockwork.
Tents had been collapsed. Supplies packed. Maps burned after memorization. No tracks left behind. Their next target: the outer ring of the Sanctum—a supply route near the city of Haldrith.
We weren't attacking yet. We were preparing. Gathering intel. Testing the ground beneath the Order's gilded boots.
But I knew time was short.
She would come.
And she did.
I felt her before I saw her.
Not through magic.
Memory.
Like muscle that tensed before a blade met bone.
The wind shifted as dusk approached. Campfires glowed low behind the cliffs. The others had gone ahead, save for Sylen and two Ashen scouts who lingered near the trail.
I stood alone beneath the hollow ridge.
Waiting.
She approached at a steady pace—horse silent, armor quiet. Typical. Always efficient, always precise.
The sound of hooves stopped just before the bend.
A pause.
Then—
"I knew you'd be watching the ridge."
Her voice hadn't changed.
Clear. Measured. Just a touch tired.
I stepped forward.
"Elira."
She rounded the bend on foot. No armor today—just a dark travel cloak and the sword I recognized too well strapped to her back.
No hand on the hilt.
Not yet.
Her eyes met mine across the clearing.
Still blue. Still steady.
I wondered if she saw the same in me.
But I doubted it.
"You're not surprised," she said.
"I knew you were close. You always walk a little heavier when you're tracking someone."
She blinked, just once.
"You remembered that."
I didn't answer.
She took a step closer.
"I came alone."
"No one asked you to."
She paused. "But you're not surprised."
"I would've been, ten years ago."
That landed harder than I expected.
She didn't flinch—but her breath caught, just for a second.
She looked older. Not in her face, but in her stance. She stood like someone carrying weight she didn't want to set down.
"I didn't vote for it," she said quietly.
"Doesn't matter."
"I tried, Kalen."
"You didn't speak."
Her jaw tightened.
I looked up at her.
Same eyes.
Same calm.
Same silence.
"Why are you here, Elira?"
She didn't answer right away.
Instead, she looked past me. Toward the dying light behind the ridge. The last sliver of sun catching the edge of her cheek.
Then, finally—
"I want to see it."
"What?"
"The truth. What you found. What the Order's hiding."
I raised a brow.
"So you believe me now."
"No. But I believe the Order could lie. That's new for me."
She looked back at me, and I saw it for the first time.
Doubt.
A crack in the marble.
She wasn't here for justice.
She was here to see if she'd chosen the wrong side ten years ago.
And whether it was too late to change that now.
"You won't be welcome at my camp," I said.
"I didn't come to be welcomed."
"You might not leave alive."
"I'll take that risk."
Another silence.
Then—
"You've grown colder," she said.
"You should know. You were the last to see me warm."
A flicker passed her expression. Almost a wince.
But then she nodded.
And stepped closer.
I let her.
She stopped just outside reach. Close enough for a blade draw—but I knew she wouldn't.
Not yet.
"Then let me come with you," she said. "Just for this mission. After that... you can decide what happens."
I studied her face.
The sincerity in it.
The restraint.
The weight.
She was serious.
I nodded once.
"Don't fall behind."
She smirked faintly.
"I never did."