The veil was thinning.
Briar woke to silence. No birds. No wind. Even the fire made no sound.
Then came the whispering.
Not in her ears—but in her bones. Names spoken backwards. Moments from dreams she never had. Laughter twisted into weeping.
Corva sat still, eyes closed.
"It's begun," she said.
"The Ash King?"
"No. The veil. It's remembering us."
Kael stepped out of his tent, sword in hand. "Something's coming."
They stood at the base of the Gate of Bone as figures emerged—wraiths of light and memory. Each one wore a familiar face. Some Briar knew. Some she had loved. Some she had killed.
One wore Kael's face.
He froze.
"Don't believe them," Corva warned.
But Kael took a step forward. "That's—"
"It's not."
The copy smiled. "You let me die."
Kael swung his blade. The wraith shattered.
Briar spoke a word of Firetongue. The rest recoiled.
"They're not ghosts," she said. "They're regrets."
"We have to seal the gate," Corva said. "Now."
Briar raised both hands, and the ground trembled.
But the veil had other plans.
And the Ash King was already through.