The rain slicked the ancient cobblestones, each drop a tiny hammer blow against the silence of the alley. My breath plumed, a ghost in the frigid night air. The gargoyles perched on the cathedral across the square watched, their stone eyes unblinking, as I adjusted the grip on my blade. A whisper of steel against leather, the familiar weight of the hilt, a comfort in the storm brewing inside me. This city, once a haven, now a hunting ground. Every shadow held a memory, every gust of wind carried his name. Elias.
A flicker of light in a third-story window. The target. Lord Valerius. Tonight, his breath would cease, just as Elias's had. The thought twisted in my gut, a cold, hard knot. They called me the Wraith, a phantom in the night, leaving only whispers and a scent of ozone. They didn't know the woman beneath the cowl, the heart carved out and replaced with obsidian. They didn't know the why.
A rat scurried past my boot, its beady eyes reflecting the distant glow of a streetlamp. I moved, a shadow among shadows, scaling the rough stone wall with practiced ease. Each handhold, each toe-grip, a silent conversation with the ancient masonry. The wind howled, trying to tear me from my perch, but I clung, a burr on the hide of the city.
The window slid open with barely a murmur, a testament to my meticulous preparation. Valerius, a man who believed himself untouchable, would soon learn the folly of that belief. The room was dark, heavy drapes suffocating any moonlight. A faint scent of pipe tobacco and stale brandy hung in the air. He was here. I stepped inside, my boots landing silent as dust motes on the thick rug.
A low growl rumbled from the corner. Not Valerius. A beast. My eyes, accustomed to the gloom, made out the hulking form of a Mastiff, its hackles raised, teeth bared.
"Easy, boy," a voice, thick with sleep and irritation, cut through the darkness. "What's got your fur up?"
Valerius. He stirred in the massive four-poster bed. The dog, a brute of muscle and fang, advanced, a guttural warning vibrating in its chest.
"You shouldn't be here," I whispered, my voice a rasp, a sound designed to unnerve.
The dog froze, head cocked. Valerius bolted upright, a gasp catching in his throat.
"Who… who are you?" His voice trembled, a stark contrast to the booming pronouncements I'd heard him make in the senate.
"A debt collector," I replied, the blade shimmering into existence in my hand, catching the faint light from the crack under the door. "One who demands payment in blood."
The Mastiff lunged, a blur of dark fur and snapping jaws. I met it mid-air, a quick, precise movement. The blade found its mark, a swift end to its loyalty. A choked yelp, a heavy thud. Silence returned, heavier than before.
Valerius scrambled from the bed, his silk nightshirt rustling. "Guards! Help!" His voice cracked, a desperate squeak.
"No one will hear you," I assured him, stepping closer. The scent of fear, sharp and metallic, now mingled with the stale brandy. "The world has forgotten you, Lord Valerius. Just as it forgot Elias."
His eyes widened, recognition dawning, bringing with it a fresh wave of terror. "Elias? What… what are you talking about?"
"Don't pretend ignorance," I snarled, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "You ordered his death. You signed the decree that condemned him, that tore him from me." My voice rose, a raw edge of grief tearing through the controlled facade. "You took everything."
"I… I don't know an Elias," he stammered, backing away until his spine hit the cold stone wall. His hands flailed, searching for something, anything to defend himself with.
"Liar," I hissed, the blade a silver line in the darkness. "His blood is on your hands, Valerius. And tonight, yours will be on mine."
He whimpered, a pathetic sound. "Please, I beg you. Mercy. I can give you anything. Gold, jewels, power…"
"You think I want those things?" I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "You think they can replace what you stole? There is no mercy for you. Not from me."
I advanced, the blade held steady. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable. But I didn't strike. Not yet. I wanted him to feel it, the creeping dread, the understanding of his impending doom. I wanted him to know the despair that had consumed me.
"Tell me," I demanded, my voice low, dangerous. "Tell me why you did it. Why Elias?"
He opened his eyes, fear still paramount, but a flicker of something else, a calculating glint, surfaced. "He was a threat. A burgeoning leader, too charismatic, too popular. He spoke of equality, of justice for the common folk. He challenged the established order." A sneer touched his lips, a fleeting glimpse of the man he truly was. "Dangerous ideas, my dear. Ideas that needed to be extinguished."
The sneer vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by wide-eyed terror as I pressed the cold steel against his throat. "Extinguished? He was a scholar, a dreamer. He wanted to build, not destroy." My voice trembled, a fragile vessel holding back a torrent of pain. "You called him a threat. I call him my husband."
"No, wait!" he gasped, the blade a cold promise against his skin. "There's more. I wasn't the only one. The council… they all agreed. Lord Kael, Lady Seraphina, even the High Chancellor himself. They saw him as a radical. A danger to their power."
My grip tightened. The names echoed in my mind, a fresh list of targets. The web of complicity stretched wider than I'd imagined.
"You think revealing their names will save you?" I asked, my voice devoid of emotion. "It only ensures their demise."
"Please," he whimpered again, tears beginning to track paths down his pallid cheeks. "I have a family. Children."
"So did I," I retorted, the memory of Elias's vibrant smile, his gentle touch, a searing brand on my soul. "You took him from me. You left me with nothing but ghosts and vengeance."
I pressed harder. A thin line of crimson bloomed on his throat. His eyes bulged, a gurgling sound escaping his lips. His hands scrabbled at my arm, weak, desperate.
"This is for Elias," I whispered, and with a swift, decisive motion, I ended his miserable life.
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the drumming of rain against the windowpanes. I stood over his lifeless form, the blade still warm from his blood. There was no triumph, no elation. Only a cold, hollow satisfaction. One down. Many more to go. The world had taken my love, and in return, I would take its peace. I would burn it all down.
I wiped the blade clean on the velvet drapes, the rich fabric soaking up the dark stain. The scent of blood now mingled with the stale brandy and pipe tobacco, a morbid perfume. I moved to the window, peering out into the rain-swept city. The gargoyles still watched, their stone faces impassive. They had seen countless deaths, countless acts of vengeance. Tonight was just another notch in their ancient memory.
My gaze drifted to the sprawling manor across the square, its lights still blazing. Lord Kael. Next. The name tasted like iron on my tongue.
I retraced my steps, a phantom leaving no trace. Down the wall, back into the labyrinthine alleys. The rain washed away any lingering scent, any stray drop of blood. My cowl protected me from the elements, but nothing could shield me from the storm raging within.
The city was a beast, and I was its predator. It had wounded me, leaving me a husk of the woman I once was. Now, I would return the favor, claw by claw, tooth by tooth. Elias, my love, your death will not be in vain. I will make them all pay.
The next target, Lord Kael, resided in a sprawling manor house, a fortress of stone and privilege. His reputation preceded him: a man of immense wealth, a collector of ancient artifacts, and a ruthless politician. He was also, according to Valerius's dying words, complicit in Elias's demise. The thought of him breathing, feasting, laughing, while Elias lay cold beneath the earth, fueled the inferno in my heart.
I spent three nights observing the manor, mapping its defenses, identifying its weaknesses. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their heavy boots echoing on the gravel paths. Magical wards shimmered faintly around the windows, a blue haze visible only to those with trained eyes. Kael was paranoid, and rightly so.
On the fourth night, the moon a sliver in the bruised sky, I made my move. The air was still, heavy with the scent of damp earth and blooming night jasmine. I scaled the outer wall, a silent shadow against the dark stone. The wards were a challenge, not insurmountable. I carried a small pouch filled with ground moonstone and crushed nightshade, an old alchemical trick Elias had once shown me, for dispelling minor enchantments. He had been so fascinated by ancient lore, so eager to uncover forgotten knowledge. The memory was a fresh wound.
Reaching a window on the second floor, I dusted the powder along the sill. A faint fizzing sound, like embers dying, and the blue shimmer faded. I slipped inside, the silence of the manor pressing in on me. The air was thick with the scent of old wood, beeswax, and something else, something metallic and sharp – the tang of magic.
I moved through the darkened corridors, my senses heightened. The tapestries on the walls depicted ancient battles, their woven figures frozen in perpetual conflict. Suits of armor stood sentinel in alcoves, their empty helmets seeming to watch me pass. This was a house built on power, on conquest.
A low murmur of voices drew me towards a large study. The door was ajar, a sliver of candlelight escaping into the hallway. I pressed myself against the wall, listening.
"…the new trade routes will ensure our dominance," a gruff voice rumbled. Kael.
"And the resistance in the North?" another voice, higher-pitched, asked. "They grow bolder with each passing day. The whispers of Elias's ideals still circulate."
My blood ran cold. They still spoke of him. They still feared his ghost.
"They are peasants," Kael scoffed. "They will be crushed. As for Elias, he is dead. Forgotten."
The words were a hammer blow to my chest. Forgotten? Never. Not by me.
I pushed the door open, a soft click echoing in the sudden silence of the room. Three men sat around a polished mahogany table, maps and scrolls spread before them. Kael, a hulking man with a florid face and a cruel mouth, sat at the head. Two younger men, his lieutenants, flanked him. Their heads snapped up, eyes widening as they saw me.
"Who… what is this?" Kael bellowed, pushing back his chair, a hand instinctively reaching for a jeweled dagger on the table.
"A reminder," I stated, my voice a flat, cold line. "A reminder that some things are never forgotten."
My blade was already in my hand, a silent extension of my will. The two lieutenants scrambled, one fumbling for a sword, the other attempting to activate a small, glowing amulet.
I moved. The first lieutenant, his sword half-drawn, met my blade with a desperate parry. The clash of steel sang in the room, a brief, violent symphony. He was clumsy, his movements heavy. I disarmed him with a flick of my wrist, the sword clattering to the floor. Before he could react, my blade found his heart. He gasped, a wet, choking sound, and crumpled.
The second lieutenant, his amulet glowing faintly, chanted a word of power. A shimmer of blue light erupted from his hand, a magical bolt aimed at my chest. I sidestepped, the bolt scorching the tapestry behind me. He cried out, a mix of fear and frustration. My blade silenced him, a swift, clean strike.
Kael watched, his face a mask of horror. He had not moved from his chair, frozen by the sudden, brutal efficiency of my attack. His jeweled dagger lay forgotten on the table.
"You… you are the Wraith," he whispered, his voice hoarse, disbelieving. "They say you are a myth."
"Myths bleed, Kael," I replied, my voice a low growl. "And myths take what is owed." I advanced, the scent of blood heavy in the air.
"What do you want?" he stammered, his eyes darting frantically around the room, searching for an escape.
"Justice," I answered, the word a bitter taste on my tongue. "For Elias. For the life you stole from me."
"Elias," he repeated, a flicker of understanding, perhaps even fear, in his eyes. "He was a fool. A dangerous idealist. We did what was necessary to protect the realm."
"Protect the realm?" I scoffed, a humorless laugh escaping me. "You protected your coffers, your power, your comfortable lives. You crushed anyone who dared to dream of something better." My voice rose, the grief and fury I usually kept caged threatening to break free. "He was my sun, Kael. And you extinguished him."
"I… I regret the necessity," he began, attempting a placating tone.
"Regret?" I snarled, the blade pressing against his thick neck. "Regret is a luxury you can no longer afford."
His eyes, wide and terrified, locked onto mine. "There are others. Lady Seraphina. She was instrumental. She pushed for his execution. The High Chancellor… he signed the final decree." He spewed the names, desperate to buy himself more time, to shift the blame.
"I know," I said, my voice cold as ice. "Valerius sang the same tune before he died. You will all face the same judgment."
"No, please!" he begged, tears streaming down his face, mingling with sweat. "I have information. Secrets. Things that could bring down the entire council. I can help you."
"Your help is not needed," I stated, my resolve unshaken. "Your confession is all I require."
I plunged the blade into his chest, a swift, brutal movement. He gasped, a final, rattling breath escaping him. His eyes stared, unseeing, at the ornate ceiling. The silence returned, thick and suffocating, broken only by the drip of blood onto the polished floor.
I stood over Kael's body, the scene a tableau of death. Two more names crossed from my list. Two more stones laid on Elias's grave. The emptiness within me remained, a gaping maw that no amount of vengeance seemed capable of filling. But the fire in my gut still burned, a guiding inferno.
I cleaned my blade, the metallic tang of blood a familiar scent. The scent of my new purpose. I left the manor as silently as I arrived, a ghost in the night. The city slept, oblivious to the silent culling taking place within its gilded walls. The gargoyles watched, their stone eyes reflecting the burgeoning dawn.
Lady Seraphina. Her name now resonated with a venomous sweetness. She was known for her beauty, her sharp wit, and her ruthless ambition. A spider in the web of power, spinning intrigues and manipulating others from the shadows. Elias had always warned me about her, her smile that never reached her eyes. She had been a friend, once, or so I had believed. A false friend, who had turned on him with the casual cruelty of a predator.
Her estate was nestled on the outskirts of the city, a sprawling complex of manicured gardens and elegant pavilions. It was a place designed for pleasure and deception, a gilded cage where secrets festered beneath a veneer of refinement. I spent days observing, a silent specter among the blooming roses and sculpted hedges. She was always surrounded by attendants, by admirers, by guards. She rarely ventured out alone.
My opportunity arose during a grand masquerade ball she hosted. The estate buzzed with activity, carriages arriving in a steady stream, disgorging guests in lavish costumes and ornate masks. Music drifted on the evening air, a haunting melody of flutes and lutes. This was my chance. Amidst the chaos and anonymity of the masked revelers, I would strike.
I fashioned a simple, elegant mask, a silver filigree that obscured my features while allowing me to see. My gown was a deep, midnight blue, blending with the shadows. I moved through the throng of guests, a silent observer in a world of glittering facades. The scent of expensive perfumes, sweet wines, and exotic flowers filled the air. Laughter, brittle and forced, echoed through the grand ballroom.
Seraphina was a vision in emerald green, her mask a delicate butterfly. She held court in the center of the room, surrounded by a fawning circle of men and women. Her laughter, a silvery chime, grated on my nerves. She looked so alive, so vibrant, while Elias was dust.
I watched her, a predator stalking its prey. She moved with a serpentine grace, her eyes, even behind the mask, sharp and calculating. She was enjoying herself, reveling in her power. This made my task all the more satisfying.
A servant, carrying a tray of champagne flutes, bumped into me. "Pardon me, my lady," he mumbled, bowing profusely.
"No harm done," I replied, my voice a soft murmur. I plucked a flute from his tray, my fingers brushing against his. A small, almost imperceptible movement, and a tiny, almost invisible vial of a potent, fast-acting paralytic emptied into the champagne. A poison designed to incapacitate, to render the victim helpless, not dead. Not yet.
I navigated the crowd, a silent current in the swirling eddy of bodies. Seraphina was now engaged in a heated discussion with a grim-faced nobleman. I waited, patient as a spider. When she finally turned, her eyes scanning the room for a fresh conversational partner, I met her gaze.
"Lady Seraphina," I said, my voice a honeyed whisper, practiced to perfection. "May I offer you a refreshment?" I extended the champagne flute.
She eyed me, her masked face unreadable. "You are… familiar," she mused, her voice a silken thread. "Have we met?"
"Perhaps in another life," I replied, a ghost of a smile touching my lips. "A forgotten dream."
She took the flute, her fingers brushing against mine. Her touch was cold, like marble. "To forgotten dreams then," she said, raising the glass. She took a long, elegant sip.
I watched, my heart a frozen drum in my chest. Within moments, her eyes began to glaze, her movements slowing. A tremor ran through her body.
"Are you quite alright, my lady?" I asked, feigning concern.
She swayed, her grip on the glass loosening. "I… I feel a sudden faintness," she whispered, her voice slurring.
Her circle of admirers rushed forward, concern etched on their faces. "Lady Seraphina, what is wrong?"
"Take her to her chambers," I suggested, my voice firm, taking charge. "She needs rest."
They nodded, too flustered to question me. Two burly guards carefully lifted her, carrying her from the ballroom. I followed, a silent shadow, slipping past the panicked revelers.
Her chambers were opulent, draped in silk and velvet. They laid her on a plush settee. Her eyes were open, but unfocused, her body limp. The paralytic had taken full effect.
"Leave us," I commanded the guards, my voice laced with an authority that surprised even me. "She needs privacy. I will attend to her."
They hesitated, exchanging glances. "But, my lady, we are sworn to protect her."
"And I am sworn to heal her," I countered, my eyes burning with an unspoken threat. "Unless you wish to incur her wrath when she recovers?"
They bowed, their faces uncertain, and retreated, closing the heavy door behind them.
I stood over Seraphina, her beautiful face now pale and slack. The butterfly mask had fallen away, revealing her perfectly sculpted features. She was vulnerable, helpless. Just as Elias had been, at their hands.
"Hello, Seraphina," I said, my voice shedding its honeyed disguise, becoming sharp and cold. "Do you recognize me now?"
The scent of her perfume was now overwhelmed by the metallic tang of blood, a sweet, sickly aroma. Her tears mixed with the crimson, painting a macabre masterpiece on her face. I worked with a surgeon's precision, each cut a testament to my simmering rage, my profound grief. I wanted her to feel every second, to know the pain of having something beautiful taken from her, just as she had taken Elias from me.
When I was finished, her face was a ruin, a testament to my vengeance. Her eyes still stared, wide and pleading, but there was no pity in my heart. I stood, wiping the blade clean on a silk scarf I pulled from her vanity table. The scarf, once pristine, was now stained scarlet.
"A fitting end," I murmured, staring at her broken reflection in the ornate mirror. "For a broken soul."
I left her there, a grotesque masterpiece of vengeance. The masquerade ball continued, the music and laughter a distant, mocking counterpoint to the horror in her chambers. No one would suspect, not yet. Not until the morning, when the revelry had faded, and the truth of Seraphina's fate was discovered.
The High Chancellor. The final name on Valerius's list. The architect of Elias's demise, the man who held the highest authority, whose signature had sealed my husband's fate. He resided in the highest tower of the Grand Citadel, a fortress within a fortress, protected by layers of magic, guards, and political influence. He was the most dangerous, the most untouchable. And therefore, the most satisfying target.
My previous attacks had been swift, brutal, leaving little trace. But for the High Chancellor, I wanted something more. I wanted a public spectacle, a declaration. I wanted the world to know why I was doing this, to feel the ripple effect of my vengeance. Elias's memory deserved more than a quiet reckoning.
I spent weeks gathering information, infiltrating the lower echelons of the Citadel. I learned of the Chancellor's habits, his routines, his fears. He was a man of immense intellect, but also immense ego. He loved grand pronouncements, public appearances, the adoration of the masses. He was scheduled to deliver a major address on the upcoming solstice, a speech meant to quell the growing unrest in the city, to reassure the populace that all was well. This was my moment.
The solstice arrived, cloaked in a rare, ethereal snowfall. The city was hushed, blanketed in white. The Grand Plaza, usually bustling, was transformed into a sea of hushed anticipation. Thousands gathered, bundled in cloaks, their breath pluming in the frigid air. A massive stage had been erected before the Citadel, draped in banners bearing the Chancellor's crest.
I moved through the crowd, a silent figure in a dark, hooded cloak. Beneath it, I wore a simple, dark tunic, my blades strapped discreetly to my body. My face was bare, no mask this time. I wanted them to see me. I wanted him to see me.
The Chancellor emerged onto the stage, a regal figure in robes of deep crimson and gold. A roar erupted from the crowd, a mix of reverence and desperation. He raised his hands, silencing them.
"My loyal citizens," his voice boomed, amplified by magic, echoing across the plaza. "We gather today to celebrate the turning of the year, and to look forward to a future of prosperity and peace."
His words were a balm, a carefully constructed lie. My blood simmered. He spoke of peace, while he had orchestrated the death of a man who truly sought it.
I began to move, a slow, deliberate path towards the stage. The guards, their attention fixed on the Chancellor, did not notice me at first. My movements were fluid, almost hypnotic, drawing no undue attention.
"Some amongst you," the Chancellor continued, his voice taking on a sterner tone, "may have heard whispers of unrest, of dissent. These are the voices of malcontents, of those who seek to sow discord. They are dangerous, these idealists, these dreamers, who threaten the very fabric of our society."
A collective murmur rippled through the crowd. My heart hammered against my ribs, a war drum. He was talking about Elias. He was slandering him, even in death.
"We have dealt with such threats before," the Chancellor declared, his eyes sweeping across the crowd, a cold, calculating gaze. "And we will deal with them again. For the good of the realm."
That was it. The final straw. The casual cruelty, the dismissive arrogance. My hand went to my blade.
"No!" I cried out, my voice, raw and filled with grief, cutting through the Chancellor's booming words, tearing through the hushed reverence of the crowd.
Thousands of heads turned, eyes converging on me. The Chancellor, mid-sentence, faltered, his eyes narrowing.
"Who dares interrupt this sacred ceremony?" he thundered, his face darkening.
I stepped forward, shedding my cloak. My dark tunic, my bare face, my eyes, blazing with fury and sorrow, were now visible to all. The crowd gasped, a collective intake of breath.
"I dare!" I shouted, my voice echoing back from the surrounding buildings. "I dare, because you are a liar, a murderer, a hypocrite!"
The guards on the stage sprang into action, swords drawn, shields raised. But I was already in motion. I moved like a blur, a whisper of vengeance. The first guard met my blade with a clang of steel, but his defense was futile. I disarmed him, his sword flying into the crowd, eliciting screams. My blade found his throat, a quick, silent cut. He crumpled.
The other guards hesitated, momentarily stunned by the sudden ferocity. The Chancellor watched, his face a mask of disbelief, then dawning terror.
"Seize her!" he shrieked, his regal composure shattered. "Kill her!"
More guards rushed forward, a wave of steel and fury. But I was beyond fear. I was a storm, a whirlwind of grief and vengeance. My blades sang, a deadly symphony. Each strike was precise, each movement economical. I fought not with rage, but with a cold, clear purpose. Elias, my love, this is for you.
The crowd erupted in pandemonium, screams and shouts mingling with the clash of steel. Some fled, others stood transfixed, watching the impossible unfold before them. A lone woman, defying the might of the Chancellor, cutting a bloody path through his elite guard.
I reached the stage, stepping over fallen bodies. The Chancellor, his face ashen, stumbled backward, reaching for a hidden dagger.
"You speak of justice?" I snarled, my voice hoarse, raw with emotion. "You speak of protecting the realm? You are a cancer, Chancellor! You silenced the only man who truly cared for this city, for its people!"
"Elias?" he choked, his eyes wide with fear. "You are his… his widow?"
"I am his vengeance," I corrected him, my blade now pointed at his chest. "You called him a threat. You signed his death warrant. You thought you could erase him from history." My voice trembled, tears finally welling in my eyes, but they were tears of fury, not weakness. "But his spirit lives on, in me, in every act of rebellion, every whisper of hope you tried to silence!"
"I did what was necessary!" he pleaded, his voice cracking, his hands shaking. "He was dangerous! He would have torn down everything we built!"
"He would have built something better!" I roared, the pain of his loss a physical ache in my chest. "He would have brought true peace, true justice! Not this gilded cage you call a kingdom!"
I pressed the blade against his chest, right over his heart. He gasped, his eyes wide with terror, his face a mottled purple.
"Tell me," I demanded, my voice low and dangerous, "do you feel it now? The fear? The despair? The cold certainty of your end?"
He tried to speak, but only a gurgle escaped his lips. His eyes, once so arrogant, now held only a profound, abject terror.
"This is for Elias," I whispered, and with a final, cathartic thrust, I plunged the blade deep into his heart.
He convulsed, a final, rattling breath escaping him. His body went limp, collapsing onto the stage. The crimson robes, once symbols of his power, now soaked up his lifeblood, a stark, morbid contrast to the pristine white snow falling around us.
The plaza fell silent, a stunned, collective gasp. The remaining guards stood frozen, their weapons lowered, their faces a mixture of shock and awe. The crowd, once a panicked mob, now watched in a silence so profound it was deafening. They saw me, standing over the fallen Chancellor, my blades dripping crimson, my face streaked with tears and blood. They saw the Wraith, not as a myth, but as a living, breathing instrument of vengeance.
I looked out at them, my gaze sweeping across the sea of faces. Fear, yes, but also something else. A flicker of hope. A spark of understanding. Elias's ideals, his dreams, they were not forgotten. They would live on.
I raised my bloodied blades to the sky, a silent declaration. The snowflakes, soft and gentle, landed on my face, mingling with my tears, washing away the blood. The wind, once a mournful howl, now seemed to carry a whisper of his name.
My work was done. The architects of Elias's death had paid their price. But the emptiness remained, a vast, echoing chasm within me. Vengeance was a cold comfort, a temporary balm. It could never bring him back.
I turned from the stage, leaving the chaos behind. The guards parted, their eyes wide, their weapons still lowered. No one moved to stop me. I walked through the silent crowd, a lone figure in a world forever changed. The snow continued to fall, burying the old world, making way for something new.
I was no longer just the Wraith. I was the ghost of Elias's love, a catalyst for change, a harbinger of a new dawn. The city would remember this day. It would remember the man they tried to silence, and the woman who avenged him. My path was uncertain, the future a blank canvas. But one thing was clear: I would never again be just Sarha. I was the storm. I was the reckoning. And I was finally, truly, free.