Chapter 136

They didn’t come for me right away.

Morning crept in slow and gray, light slipping through the narrow windows in thin, washed-out bands. The room stirred in pieces - someone shifting, someone sighing, someone staring at the ceiling like sleep had never come at all.

I sat up before the others, elbows on my knees, listening. My headache remained - a constant pressure that wouldn't give up.

The door opened.

Brother Fredrik stepped in, composed as ever.

“Good morning,” he said to me. “I trust you rested well.”

“Well enough,” I replied, though I didn't feel it. I felt drained, tired in a way I hadn't felt in a while. Not since I came to this world.

His gaze moved across the room, then settled on me. “Would you walk with me?”

I nodded and stood, following him out into the hall.

We crossed the courtyard in silence. The place felt the same as yesterday - clean, quiet, controlled. Too ordered, too calm.

He led me into one of the other buildings in the fort. “Before we go further,” he said, pausing at the doorway, “we ask that those who stay contribute in some small way.”

“Sure,” I said. “What do you need?”

“We have new arrivals,” he said. “They’re unsettled. You seemed… steady, last night.” A faint smile. “Sit with them.”

I gave a small nod. “I can do that.”

The room wasn’t large, but it held a handful of people - scattered, quiet, each wrapped up in themselves.

I recognized the look.

I took a seat among them, not too close, not too far. I didn’t push - I waited.

A young man broke first. “Do you think they can do it?” he asked, voice tight.

I rubbed my hands together, glancing at the floor for a second before answering. “I hope so,” I said. It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the whole truth either.

He nodded, like that was enough to hold onto for now.

Another woman - older and worn down - looked at me. “What brought you here?”

I let out a quiet breath. “Same as everyone else, I guess,” I said. “There are things I don’t want to carry anymore.”

She studied me. “Like what?”

I hesitated, just enough to make it feel real. “Responsibility,” I said. “Fear. Hurting people because I made the wrong call. I’ve already hurt too many people. I don’t want to do it again.”

A few heads nodded.

“I get that,” the young man said.

“Yeah,” I replied. “I don’t imagine that’s unique.”

They started talking after that. Slowly at first, then more openly. I didn’t lead. Didn’t try to fix anything.

I just did what I’d always done. Listened. Reflected things back. “That sounds rough.” “Yeah, I can see why that’d stick with you.” “I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t doctrine, but it wasn’t opposition either. Safe ground, maybe.

My headache was getting worse. Not migraine bad, but enough that it was starting to ruin my mood. Not that my mood was great to start with.

I caught Fredrik watching from the edge of the room, taking it all in.

After a while, he stepped forward.

“Thank you,” he said. “That was helpful.”

I gave a small shrug. “Seemed like they needed someone to talk to.”

“They did.” His gaze lingered. “Walk with me.”

The next room was smaller. Quieter.

Someone was already waiting - an older woman, stern as a catholic school nun.

“Sit,” she said.

I did.

Fredrik stayed near the door. Silent. Watching.

“You carry a great deal,” she said.

“Probably,” I replied.

“Why?”

I didn’t overthink it. “Who else will?” I said.

I gave her the opening.

She tilted her head slightly. “You believe it is yours to carry.”

“I believe if I don’t, someone else gets crushed under it.”

“And how often has that happened anyway?”

I let out a slow breath. “…More than I’d like.”

“Then your method is failing,” she said gently.

“Maybe,” I admitted. “Does that mean I should just stop?”

“If it’s not working, why continue?”

I met her eyes. “Because the alternative is worse.”

Silence stretched. She studied me like I was a problem she hadn’t solved yet. “Responsibility is not strength,” she said. “It is attachment.”

“And attachment is what causes suffering,” I said, finishing it for her.

A faint smile. “You’ve been listening.”

“I’ve been trying to.”

“Then you understand.”

“No, but I’m getting closer,” I corrected.

She watched me a moment longer, then nodded. “Come,” she said at last, rising.

We entered another room.

A young woman sat on the floor, folded in on herself, shoulders trembling with each ragged breath. She wasn’t trying to hide it. There was no control, no restraint - just grief laid bare.

“She arrived this morning,” the older woman said. “She has lost everything.”

The girl’s breathing hitched, sharp and uneven, like each inhale might be the one that broke her.

“You can help her,” the woman added.

I stepped forward and knelt beside her. “Hey,” I said softly.

She didn’t look up.

“Or,” the older woman continued, voice calm and steady, “you can let her release it.”

I glanced back at her. “Release it how?” I asked.

“By not holding it in place,” she said. “By not reinforcing it.”

I looked down at the girl again. Her hands were clenched tight in her dress, knuckles bleached white with the effort of holding on to something that was already tearing her apart.

I rested a hand lightly against her back.

My mind spun, trying to make sense of what they wanted. Don’t hold it in place. Don’t reinforce it. What did that even mean?

I could push her to talk. Drag it out into the open. Tell her it would pass, that it wasn’t as bad as it felt - but even thinking it made my stomach turn. That wasn’t help. That was dismissal dressed up as comfort.

Getting her to bottle it up wasn’t right either. That wasn’t release.

I didn’t know how to “release” pain. I barely knew how to deal with my own, let alone someone else’s. The idea of just… deciding it didn’t matter anymore, that it hadn’t shaped you, that it wasn’t worth carrying - it was alien to me. Wrong.

The girl leaned into my hand just a little. Her breathing steadied - not much, but enough to keep her from spiraling.

“If you take her burden,” the older woman said, “she will keep it.”

I met her eyes for a moment, then looked back to the girl. “Who did you lose?” I asked gently.

She sniffed, voice catching. “My husband,” she said. “My parents-” The rest broke apart into another sob, her words dissolving into something raw and broken.

“How did it happen?”

It took her several long moments to **** back her tears. “Bandits came and-” Her voice collapsed again, swallowed by grief.

I sat there, feeling completely out of my depth.

I wanted to say something. Anything. That it would get easier. That time would dull the edges. That she should hold onto their memory so they wouldn’t truly be gone. That she could make something of their loss - that it could mean something.

That maybe they were somewhere better.

I didn’t even know if that was true here. All I knew was that Mirri had once mentioned a god of ****, and that didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

But I didn’t say any of it. I just kept my hand on her back, steady and real. “Just let it out,” I murmured.

“Enough.” The older woman’s voice cut clean through the room.

I looked back at her.

The girl was still shaking, but quieter now. Present. Not drowning.

I stood.

“You chose to intervene,” the woman said.

“I don’t understand,” I replied.

“You prevented release.”

“I told her to let it out,” I said. “Isn’t that what you mean by release?”

Her expression hardened. “You are not ready.”

I let out a small breath and shrugged. “Maybe not.”

Fredrik stepped forward, smooth as ever. “You may continue to stay,” he said. “Observe. Learn.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

As they turned to leave, the older woman paused. “You will face that choice again,” she said.

I glanced back at the girl, then met her gaze. “Alright,” I said.

* * *

“This isn’t working,” I said. “They don’t trust me - and I don’t think they’re going to. I have no idea what they expect, but it feels like they’re setting me up to fail.”

I looked at Iolite. “We’re going in tonight. But you need to be careful. I don’t know what’s waiting in there. If something goes wrong, you get out. Go home. Don’t come back for me.”

She tilted her head, then gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Yes, Shaper.”

We waited for night to settle over the compound.

When it did, the others drifted back into the same room we’d shared the night before - everyone except Ben. I didn’t know where he’d gone, but his absence sat heavy in my gut.

The mood had shifted.

Cathelia lay curled on her side, her back to the room, as if turning away might make it all disappear. Seb stared at the ceiling, jaw tight enough to crack. Adela looked hollow - like something had been scooped out of her and nothing had taken its place. Jules sat slumped, eyes red, shoulders heavy with whatever had been dragged out of him.

The Covenant was working on them. Isolating. Dividing. Stripping away the small threads of support they’d started to build.

I’d seen it before - back on Earth. Not like this, not so deliberate, but close enough. Toxic environments that drained everything from you, left you empty, then replaced you when you burned out.

It had been ugly there. Here, it was monstrous.

I waited until the room quieted, until their breathing evened out into something like sleep. Then I slipped from my bed, eased the door open, and stepped into the hall.

The courtyard was still active, even at this hour. Movement and voices - quiet and controlled. That same unnatural calm and order clung to everything like a second skin.

I kept my head down and made my way toward the latrines.

Then I kept going - up and over the wall.

The moment I dropped down on the other side, the world shifted.

An owl called from somewhere in the dark. Grass whispered in the wind. Something small darted through the underbrush.

It was normal. Alive.

We circled wide, keeping out of sight of the fort, until the pyramid loomed beside us - smooth, white, and impossible.

I planted my staff and vaulted.

What should have been a clumsy, **** jump turned into something effortless as the enchantment caught and amplified the motion, hurling me upward. Forty feet vanished in a heartbeat.

I landed without a sound on the first tier.

Iolite climbed after me, her form clinging to the stone like gravity didn’t apply.

“What do you see below us?” I whispered.

She pressed herself flat against the surface, her body spreading like clay under pressure. After a moment, she pulled back.

“An office,” she said. “Desk. Chairs. Books.”

“Alright,” I murmured. “Let’s keep going.”

Another vault carried me to the second tier.

Iolite followed, then bent again, pressing herself into the stone. It was as if she were trying to press her spirit through the stone and into what lay beyond. Her hips swayed gently, and I wasn’t sure if it was because she was trying to reposition or for some other reason.

With the lack of large rocks here, her body held a larger amount of soil. Her form had shifted - softened and reshaped - less a pile of rock now and more like a rough sculpture of a woman.

She pulled back. “Bigger room. Beds.”

“A barracks?”

She nodded.

I was about to move when she spoke again.

“Bloodchildren.”

I froze. “What?” I hissed.

“Eight,” she said. “Sleeping.”

I drove Unity into the stone beside me, steadying myself. “Did you see Tansy?” My voice rose before I could stop it. “Was she there?”

She shook her head. “No Tansy.”

My mind raced. What were bloodchildren doing here? Were they prisoners? A pack? Were they being turned into Gallowborn? Were they already Gallowborn?

Was Tansy somewhere inside this place? Was she safe? Had they hurt her?

My heart thudded in my chest painfully.

“We should keep going,” Iolite said quietly.

I nodded, though my mind was still reeling, and **** myself to move. Another vault carried me to the third tier.

Ahead of us, the fourth tier rose - the only level with windows. Tall, narrow slits carved into the stone, stretching from waist height almost to the ceiling, spaced in even intervals. Elegant and intentional.

Iolite glanced at me - something like concern flickering across her crude features - then leaned forward again, pressing into the stone. This time, she didn’t move at all.

When she pulled back, her voice was quieter. “It’s one room,” she said. “All the way down.”

I waited.

“It’s… full of Weeping Gallows.”

The words settled like lead. “People?” I asked.

She hesitated, then nodded. “On the trees.”

My stomach dropped. They were creating Gallowborn. I didn’t know if it was an army - but they were taking people, stripping away everything that made them… them, and reshaping them into whatever they wanted. Something that followed their rules.

I **** myself to breathe.

This was a worst case scenario and I had no idea what their end game was. I needed to know. Even if I couldn’t stop them… I needed to understand what they were building.

I tightened my grip on the staff and looked toward the windows ahead. “For now,” I muttered, steadying myself, “we get inside.”