The Solari sanctuary loomed behind her like a mountain of light, its spires glinting against the pale morning sky. Amelia did not look back. Every step she took away from the Order felt like the tearing of old wounds, yet she forced herself forward, boots crunching over the frost that still clung to the monastery path. The silence was heavy, and in that silence, the ghosts of her fallen companions followed her.
Their faces would not leave her. Aric, with his wry smile and habit of humming before a mission. Talan, the quiet one who moved with the grace of water. Liora, fierce as fire, who had sworn to watch Amelia's back until the end. They were gone now, their bodies left behind on a battlefield where shadows devoured them whole. She had led them into death, and no penance could unmake that truth.
The Solari elders had not stopped her departure. Perhaps they understood. Perhaps they did not want to look into her eyes and see the flaw in their greatest assassin. To remain among them would mean whispers behind cloister walls, questions about her perfection, and silent judgment that she could not endure. Exile was not punishment, it was her choice, and in that choice lay the faintest ember of redemption.
For three days she traveled with little more than a cloak, her blades, and the scraps of coin she had gathered from old missions. The Aurelian Dominion's heartlands gave way to the border provinces, where roads cracked and villages stood weary under the scars of war.
In one such village, she stopped only long enough to buy dried meat and a flask of water. The innkeeper, a heavyset woman with wary eyes, eyed the twin daggers at Amelia's side.
"You a mercenary?" the woman asked, her voice edged with suspicion.
"Something like that," Amelia replied. Her tone was flat, offering no invitation.
The innkeeper frowned. "We've had enough of blades for hire. They drink, they fight, they leave us to clean up the blood. If you're looking for trouble, you won't find it here."
Amelia dropped two silver coins on the counter. "I'm not looking for trouble. Just food."
The woman's eyes lingered on her face, as if searching for some sign of intent, then she scooped up the coins and shoved a packet across the counter. "Best be on your way before sundown. Strangers don't last long out here."
"I don't plan to stay," Amelia said, and left without another word.
Beyond the Dominion stretched the Outlands, lawless territories where the rule of kings faltered and the hand of survival dictated all. Amelia crossed into them beneath the cover of night, the border marked only by crumbling watchtowers and the bones of old wars. The air itself seemed different there, heavier, filled with the smoke of campfires and the stench of unburied dead.
It was in those wastes that Amelia began her new life. She sought contracts where no Solari assassin would tread, tasks too dangerous, too uncertain, too drenched in blood. Bandit chieftains, corrupted warlocks, traitors hiding beyond Dominion law. She killed them all, but each strike of her blade carried no satisfaction. The deaths were not redemption; they were only survival.
One evening, as dusk painted the horizon in bruised colors, Amelia stopped at a ruined chapel half swallowed by the earth. She lit a small fire and sharpened her daggers, the hiss of stone on steel echoing in the hollow nave. The chapel had once borne the sunburst of the Light, but time had worn it away, leaving only faint grooves. She stared at those marks, memories clawing at her.
The sound of footsteps broke her silence. A thin man, little more than a scavenger by the look of him, emerged from the shadows clutching a sack of bones and rags. He froze when he saw her, eyes wide.
"I...I didn't mean to intrude," he stammered.
Amelia didn't rise. "Then don't."
He swallowed hard but lingered at the doorway. "You're not from here. No one sharpens steel like that unless they plan to use it."
Her gaze cut to him, cold and sharp. "And you think it wise to question someone who does?"
The man flinched, but curiosity seemed to outweigh fear. "War's coming again. Mercenaries are already circling the Outlands like vultures. You one of them?"
Amelia slid the dagger into its sheath. "No."
"Then what are you?"
She stood, pulling her hood over her face. "No one you want to know."
The scavenger stepped back quickly, bowing his head. "Forgive me. I'll be gone."
"See that you are," Amelia said, brushing past him and out into the cold night air.
The wind howled across the ruins, carrying with it the cries of wolves. Amelia listened, then pulled her cloak tight around her shoulders. The world beyond the Dominion was vast, filled with enemies unseen and challenges that could break even the strongest. But that was where she belonged now, in the shadows, where death waited at every turn.
The Exile of the Solari would carve her path not in light, but in blood.
And somewhere, in the depths of her heart, a voice whispered that this path would not end until she proved she was worthy of the life stolen from the ashes of war.