Smoke rose from Karthis Hall long after the last tether fell.
They didn't burn the building—Sera had refused—but the scent of unraveling magic hung thick in the air, like scorched silk. What had once been the heart of the Silken Chain was now just a hollow shell of wood and ash, haunted by broken spells and heavier memories.
Sera stood at the edge of the riverplate, watching the city shift beneath the morning light. The Veylan spires shimmered in the distance—untouched, unbothered. But she could feel the tremor beneath them now, the ripple of something old beginning to split at the seams.
The Chain had snapped.
But fire was coming.
She turned as Aurelian approached, his cloak soaked from dew, a cut high on his brow crusted with dried blood.
"They've started moving," he said without preamble.
Sera's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
"House Derain. And parts of Farlowe. Word's spreading. Some think Veylan was behind the enchantments. Others think Rhime was. It doesn't matter. Loyalties are fracturing."
Sera didn't flinch. "Let them."
Aurelian frowned. "This isn't like before. This isn't a rebellion hidden in the dark. This is banners on fire. Whole supply lines cut. It's not just political anymore—it's personal."
Sera's fingers curled into fists at her sides. "Then we make it personal."
He gave her a sharp look. "And Ezra?"
Her name, twisted into a wound.
She looked away.
"I got Olen to track some of the intercepted messages. The ones being routed through old Chain channels."
"And?"
"He's not just out there gathering information or allies," she said. "He's eliminating them. Quietly. Precisely. Last night, Lady Tamsen was found dead. Poisoned. She funded three of the largest smuggling corridors outside Derain control."
Aurelian blinked. "Tamsen? She was neutral."
"She tried to buy neutrality," Sera muttered. "Ezra doesn't believe in that. Not anymore."
He paused, watching her carefully. "You think he's going after the rest of the Chain?"
"No," Sera said. "I think he's going after what's left of it. To finish it in blood."
There was silence between them, thick as the river fog.
"He's turning into a blade," she said finally. "And blades don't stop cutting once they're drawn."
They moved at dusk.
Karthis was no longer safe, and they had people now—dozens of them, freed from their cords but fragile, shell-shocked. Sera had ordered them split into cells and scattered through the lower city under Olen's watch, each cell armed with names, faces, maps of places to avoid and people to trust.
It wasn't much.
But it was something.
She didn't expect loyalty from them.
Only survival.
The first battle wasn't in the capital.
It was in Lenveth, a grain port in the western wetlands where Rhime's food reserves were stored during winter.
The Veylan convoy meant to secure it arrived to find Derain troops already there—and Ezra standing at their head.
Sera didn't see it. She only heard the stories.
The bodies left half-buried in the mud. The sky red with flame. A single banner hoisted on the walls when it was done:
"Chains do not hold. Fire does."
When the messenger came, he was bleeding.
Rhime's war room had changed—no longer a sanctum of strategy, but a battlefield of rumors, arguments, and makeshift maps etched in candle wax. Yvaine stood at the head of the table, calm despite the growing cracks in her voice.
"Derain claims Veylan is collapsing. Veylan blames Rhime for sabotage," she said. "And Farlowe—gods help them—is trying to play both sides."
Aurelian scanned the room. "And Ezra?"
"Gone," Yvaine said. "Every time we get a trace on him, he disappears again. He's not building an army. He is the army."
"He has help," Sera said from the doorway.
All eyes turned.
She stepped inside, dust still clinging to her boots, eyes rimmed with exhaustion but hard as glass.
"Not soldiers," she added. "Servants. Messengers. People no one ever looks at twice. He's co-opting the Chain's old pathways. Turning them into weapons."
"You taught him how," Yvaine said softly.
Sera didn't deny it.
"He's not coming after the Houses," she said. "Not directly. He's coming after what holds them up. Grain. Trade. Whisper networks. He's burning their roots."
Aurelian leaned forward. "Then we cut him off."
Sera raised an eyebrow. "You think we can catch him?"
"We don't need to catch him," he said. "We need to predict him."
He pointed to a map, where a line of trade towns formed a crescent between Rhime and the southern river passes.
"Three of these were used by the Chain. Two have already fallen. The last—Cindrelle—still holds. Just barely."
Yvaine's expression sharpened. "It's where the old binding records were kept. Ezra would know that."
Aurelian nodded. "If we're going to intercept him, it's there."
Sera looked at the mark on the map.
Her blood went cold.
"I know that town," she said quietly. "My mother used to take me there. It's where she first taught me how to bind."
Cindrelle burned on the third night.
By the time Sera and Aurelian arrived, smoke curled above the treeline and the last trade post was nothing but scorched earth.
But Ezra hadn't left yet.
They found him in the chapel ruins, standing before the smoldering remains of the old altar. He didn't turn as they approached, but he knew they were there.
"You're late," he said.
Sera's breath caught.
He looked older. Leaner. Eyes burned hollow and brilliant. His coat was ash-stained and unfastened, revealing the glyph-scars carved down his arms like veins of coal.
"Ezra," she said.
He turned slowly.
"Hello, Sera."
And for a moment, the war faded. For a moment, she saw him as he was once—boyish, brash, impossibly loyal. But that boy was gone.
He smiled faintly, and it made her stomach twist.
"You always said the Chain was a lie," he said. "You were right."
She stepped forward. "So you decided to build a bonfire with what was left?"
"No," he said. "I decided to build a future that doesn't rely on silk and secrets."
"By killing?"
Ezra's face hardened. "By making sure no one can ever bind anyone again."
Behind him, the altar cracked, its enchantment breaking in a cascade of gold fire. The glyphs etched into the stone hissed and fell apart. Another tether, burned.
"That wasn't yours to destroy," she said.
"It was never yours to protect."
Aurelian drew his blade. "Enough."
Ezra's hand flicked, and half the chapel wall erupted in black sigils.
But Sera stepped between them.
"No," she said.
"This ends now."
Ezra's jaw tensed. "You think you can stop me?"
Sera reached behind her back. Pulled free her last dagger.
The glyphs on it were cracked, unstable. But enough.
"I don't want to stop you," she said. "I want to remind you."
He laughed, bitter and tired.
"I don't need reminding."
But his voice trembled.
The chapel pulsed once with old magic.
Then silence.
Ezra lowered his hand.
Sera lowered the blade.
"You're not wrong," she said. "But you're not right either."
His shoulders slumped.
"I killed Lady Tamsen," he said. "I watched her choke on the same poison she gave my sister's children."
Sera blinked. "Your sister—?"
"She was caught," Ezra whispered. "Chained. Her children too. Tamsen made them work the looms."
Aurelian cursed under his breath.
Sera's voice broke. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you would've tried to save them." He met her eyes. "And it was already too late."
The chapel burned behind them as they walked out, the three of them wreathed in silence.
Ezra didn't surrender.
But he didn't run either.
Not that night.
They let him go, for now. Aurelian hated it. Sera didn't explain.
But in her heart, she knew:
This wasn't the final confrontation.
That was still coming.
Somewhere deeper. Somewhere darker.
Because the war wasn't over.
It had only changed shape.
And now—
Now it had a face.