Chapter 53

Elise and I reappeared in the library. I apologized for cutting our walk short and promised I would return soon. Without giving her a chance to reply, I stepped away - and to Mirri.

“Take me home. Now,” Mirri said, her voice sharp, unyielding.

She stood within a jagged ring of stone, its points meeting overhead to form a crude dome. Injured goblins crowded around her - weeping, frightened, clinging to one another. Yveth waited near a breach in the shattered stone. None of it mattered.

I dropped to my knees, wrapped my arms around Mirri, and kissed her. Her eyes were wide with relief - fear and joy tangled together - and beneath it all, exhaustion.

“Seth,” she sobbed. “Lilae-” Her voice broke. “We need to find Lilae.”

I held her as she struggled against me. “Lilae is safe. The other children too. They’re in my demesne. It’s all right. Everything is all right.”

She collapsed against me, clinging with what little strength she had left. The fear, the adrenaline, the grief all drained away at once, leaving only tears. I held her and let her cry, giving her a place to fall apart.

Yveth watched in silence, her expression impossible to read.

When Mirri’s sobs finally eased and her breathing steadied, I asked her what had happened.

She told me everything - Ashlara’s sudden departure, Serah’s offer, Skem’s warning, the dragon’s attack, the ruin left behind.

“There was no one at home when I returned,” I said quietly. “No one but the children. Undead attacked, but we destroyed them. The kids are safe.”

“Brand,” Yveth said.

Mirri and I both turned toward her.

“What?” I asked.

“Brand,” echoed another voice - familiar, distant.

Yveth stiffened as a tall woman of bronze appeared a short distance away, soft flames rippling across her metallic skin.

I rose, placing myself between Mirri and the newcomer.

“Miralis,” I said.

“I’m surprised you recognize me,” she replied. “We haven’t formally met.”

“No,” I said. “But I’ve heard your voice. Why are you here?”

“The High Witan requires your presence. Now,” she said, her tone absolute.

“He can decide for himself,” Yveth said sharply.

“He cannot,” Miralis replied. “He has been summoned. The High Witan does not wait.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I know Ashlara and Serah are safe,” I said, my voice like iron. “The High Witan can wait - or they can fuck off.”

“The High Witan waits for no one,” she said, and the world lurched.

Adhaneth slammed itself into the ground of its own will, and reality shrieked as it ground to a halt. I looked from the staff to Miralis, my gaze unyielding.

“Overruled,” I said calmly. “Three to one. I’ll call when I’m ready.”

I turned my back on her.

“Let’s get everyone to my demesne,” I said. “It’s warm. There’s shelter. And we’ll get everyone help.”

* * *

It took dozens of trips to move everyone - and what little remained of their supplies - into my demesne. With a thought and some Will, I raised houses for shelter, though we didn’t strictly need them yet. Each one came complete - table and chairs, bed, stove, all the things you would expect in a home. If I could make beds, I reasoned, surely I could make bandages. And if not, I could always make more beds and tear the sheets apart.

As it turned out, some things were easier than others. Bandages were simple. I already knew I could create water - the small pond nearby was proof enough, one we’d bathed in more than once. Herbs and food, though, refused to take shape. For reasons I couldn’t explain, wood obeyed me and herbs didn’t. The inconsistency gnawed at me, but there was no time to chase answers.

Through it all, Yveth studied my demesne with an inquisitive eye - the grass and flowers, the drifting moths, the occasional dog, the ribbons threading the sky. She studied it all in silence. I didn’t have the time to ask her what she saw.

When we finished, the sunless sky had begun to blush with pinks and oranges. I sank heavily to the ground, more exhausted than I’d been in a long while. Lilae sat beside me and wrapped her tiny arms around me. I put one arm around her and breathed.

Mirri and Lilae were safe. Ashlara and Serah were still moving - the last time I checked my Faith-scape, they were unharmed. Reedwatch was wounded, but the dead were mercifully few.

“This was meant to draw you out,” Yveth said. “Dragons do not damage villages. They destroy them.”

“What is brand?” I asked.

“Brand,” she said quietly, “is the killer of gods. And he has taken an interest in you.”

“Since when the fuck can gods die?” Mirri demanded, approaching us as she dried her hands on a towel. She looked exhausted. Grams followed close behind, just as tired, though less injured than before.

“Since always,” Yveth replied, sorrow threading her voice. “Your friend slew Mother Hunger, after all.”

“That was a swarm form,” Mirri shot back. “She’ll be back.”

“Her Faith will return,” Yveth corrected. “The Will that shaped it will not. When a god dies, their Faith returns to the world. It gathers again, and eventually another god forms - but it is never the same one.”

“How long does that take?” Mirri asked.

“It depends on the strength of the aspect,” Yveth said thoughtfully. “When Caelith was slain, the world burned for nearly ten years before Ashira ascended. Others have died and not yet returned. It may be that their ideals no longer matter as much.”

“I don’t think this attack was meant for me,” I said slowly. “At least, not only me. If the goal was to draw me out and kill me, why strike here and the house?”

“Are you certain they’re connected?” Yveth asked.

I nodded. “It’s too neat to be chance. Ashlara and Serah leave. Then Reedwatch burns. Then the house is attacked. All within an hour. That’s not how you attack someone - that’s how you split the party. He isolated us so we couldn’t help each other. And he never came for me. He had the chance. When I arrived at the house, with Lilae in danger, I wouldn’t have noticed an assassin. He could have killed me then. But he didn’t.”

Yveth considered that in silence.

“So I wasn’t the target,” I continued. “Which means someone else was. A god-killer shouldn’t struggle with killing mortals.” I frowned. “Ashlara might be the real focus. He may not have expected Serah to carry her. Either that means she’s safer in the air - or in more danger without the rest of us. Serah’s strong, but I don’t know if she’s god killer strong.”

I stood, stretching the stiffness from my limbs. “Either way, I need to find them. You said Serah could reach Wolfsend by sunset?”

Mirri nodded.

“Well,” I said, glancing at the sky, “it’s sunset.”

“I don’t like this,” Mirri said. “I’m coming with you.”

I shook my head. “You’re exhausted. You’re out of mana. I know you want to help, but I’m not putting you in harm’s way.” I knelt and kissed her gently. “I’ll be back.”

“That’s what you said last time you ran off to rescue someone,” she muttered.

“And I came back,” I said softly. “I’ll come back this time too.”

I hugged Lilae, then turned toward Ashlara’s beacon, and stepped forward.

* * *

I clutched the scarlet fall of hair down Serah’s neck and back as she carried us high above the world. The height was dizzying - so much sky, so much distance - everything laid bare beneath us. Winter air whipped at my short hair and bit into my cheeks as her wings beat against it. I hunched close to her spine, pressing into her warmth, hiding from the wind and stealing what heat I could.

Within an hour the forest fell away, replaced by open plains that rolled to the horizon. Villages passed beneath us, so small I could have cradled them in my palm. It should have been breathtaking.

Instead, my thoughts were only of Chamberlin.

I’d known him for two years. Built a house with him. Worked his fields. Learned from him. Lived beside him, day after day. He had been a father to me - something I’d never truly had.

And then, one day, he was gone.

The house we’d built together lay burned to the ground. No tracks. No body. No signs of struggle. No note.

He was strong. Smart. Knew how to survive. If he had left, he would have said something. He would never have burned the house - never destroyed what we’d made together. That wasn’t the kind of man he was.

Someone else had taken him. Cleanly. Without a trace. Maybe it was magic. Back then I’d known little of it, though with Mirri in my life now I understood more - enough to know how easily magic could erase evidence.

Or maybe it had been a god. Seth could appear from nothing, could take people with him as easily as breathing. Perhaps another god had done the same.

Those thoughts had followed me for years. In the quiet of night. In the long silences of travel. In the lonely moments when I ate alone in the woods. I’d never found answers.

Until now.

Chamberlin was alive. In Wolfsend. He needed me. He knew where to find me.

That hurt almost as much as not knowing at all.

If he knew where I was, why hadn’t he told me he was alive? Why hadn’t he come to see me, or sent word? He had always done the right thing. Always helped others. Why not me?

The sun dipped low as we flew. Below us, we passed the blackened remains of a house - its fire long gone, but the smell of smoke still clung to the air. Hours old. Not even a full day.

A few miles farther, something still burned. An uncontained fire. I couldn’t make out what it was, only the glow and smoke. My stomach tightened. Something was wrong.

I had Serah circle Chamberlin’s old home. It was little more than a husk now, nearly swallowed by the encroaching forest after all these years. There was no sign of him. No sign of anyone.

Serah landed several miles outside Wolfsend. They would have seen us coming - no point causing panic by landing a dragon at the gates. She insisted on coming with me. She shifted back into human form, and I reminded her she was naked.

She didn’t care.

Instead, she murmured something I didn’t understand, and red flame spilled over her skin - fire drawn from nowhere, or perhaps from within her. It twisted and thickened, shaping itself around her body until it settled into what looked like tight red leather - shirt and pants, still radiating heat even after the flames died away.

We walked toward Wolfsend together. Even from a distance I could see the gates were closed. They were normally open at this time of day - only shut at night or when danger loomed. I drew my axe and quickened my pace.

The village was quiet. Guards lined the palisade, watching us approach.

“How fares the town?” I called when we were close enough.

“Stand back!” one of them shouted. “On penalty of ****!”

“I am Ashlara,” I called back. “The lords of Wolfsend know me. I come to give my axe in the coming battle.”

“We know who you are, murderer!” he yelled. “The Warlord will see you hanged for the **** of his son!”

I stopped cold. My mouth went dry. I licked my lips.

Kael of Grath’kor Varnak. Hek’s father.

“What are the charges?” I asked.

“**** of Hek of Grath’kor Varnak, son of the Warlord. **** of Saruvia, Brakhel, and Rashkai of Grath’kor Varnak. Destruction of the Warlord’s property. Arson. Theft,” the guard recited.

Guilty until proven innocent. The burden was mine.

“I have witnesses,” I called. “I have been in the mountains to the north and east.”

“Lies!” he shouted back. “You were seen killing the Warlord’s son in the square this morning. Your dragon was seen burning farms!”

I turned to Serah. Her brow was furrowed, confusion and concern etched into her face.

“Fetch the lord of Wolfsend,” I called. “I invoke Urzha-Korrak. If I am to be accused, he will deliver the charges and he will hear my defense.”

“Oathbreaker!” a guard shouted back. “Coward! You seek the lord’s ****.”

“If you do not bring him to me, your cowardice will become his!” I roared. “Is he cowering under his bed, afraid to speak with a woman, pissing himself? Will he not meet me in honor and fulfill his duty to the Warlord?”

Unease rippled along the palisade. I couldn’t hear their words, but I saw it in their posture. I knew Hethran. I knew his sense of honor. He would not forgive guards who broke tradition in his name.

I slid my axe back into its loop. It would do nothing here. This was not the moment for blood - no matter how hot it burned in my veins. Chamberlin’s voice echoed in my memory - control. Always control.

“I will fetch the lord,” the guard said at last.

I waited. Rooted myself to the earth. Every instinct screamed to pace, to snarl, to strike - but I refused them all. My fists clenched. My jaw locked. Minutes dragged by, heavy and slow.

The gates finally creaked open.

Hethran strode out in steel, two dadao crossed on his back, five sworn-blades at his heels. He stood taller than most orcs - six and a half feet of battle-forged muscle. His sworn-blades were much the same - larger than me, hardened by war, each wearing a steel breastplate and carrying a different weapon.

Tharok bore a spear. Goravel, a greatsword. Ulthar, an axe. Krgath wielded twin scimitars. Durok carried knives.

I knew them all. And they knew me.

Their weapons remained sheathed, as the Blood-Sanction demanded. I let them come to me, unmoving. Archers lined the walls above, silent and watchful.

“Ashlara,” Hethran said flatly. “Why have you returned? Have you not shed enough blood this day?”

I bowed my head. “Lord Hethran. I have shed no blood today. I arrived only moments ago from the mountains.”

“Why persist in this ruse?” he asked. “Dozens saw you strike down Hek before he drew steel. Dozens more saw your dragon burn farms and homes.”

“I swear on the weight of my words,” I said, forcing my voice steady. “It was not me.”

“Even if I believed you, the Warlord would not.” His tone was final. He was here because honor demanded it. My loyalty and service meant nothing in this moment. “Your hatred of Hek was known. Witnesses swear to the deed. The Warlords gather even now to declare your blood hunt. So tell me - why return?”

“Where is Chamberlin?” I asked.

His lip curled. “Still chasing that softskin?” he spat. “Dead and gone a fist of years. You know this.”

“He sent me a letter,” I said. “Said he was here.”

“You chase ghosts,” Hethran replied coldly. “Soon you’ll join them. Surrender with honor and be executed, and perhaps the ancestors will accept you. Or run. Hide like a hare. You will be found. Your Urzha-Korrak is ended.”

He turned and marched back toward the gates.

The sworn-blades stayed.

Confusion churned in my gut. Was the letter a lie? A trap? Who had framed me - and why? Who knew I traveled with Serah?

Instinct saved me.

I slipped aside as Tharok’s spear lunged for my face. Goravel’s blade screamed past my chest. Ulthar’s axe swung for Serah.

I tried to shout-

Too late.

Serah’s hand, red and scaled, thickened as it caught the axe head in her palm. Flesh split. She didn’t flinch. She tore the weapon from Ulthar’s grip, seized his throat, and slammed him into the ground as her body twisted and grew.

An arrow punched into my thigh. Another buried itself in my gut. Durok’s knife sank into my shoulder as I staggered away from his other blade.

Serah roared.

Wings tore free from her back as she transformed, arrows burying into her scales, ripping through membrane. She seized Krgath mid-charge and hurled him over the palisade like trash.

Durok landed atop me, driving his weight down, knife aimed for my heart. Pain screamed through my shoulder - but the blade didn’t move. His eyes widened.

I drove my knee into him and flung him away. He flew end over end, crashing yards from us.

I rolled to my feet, drew my axe in one smooth motion, and met Goravel’s greatsword with a ringing blow. His blade shattered. Mine did not stop. It buried itself in his chest.

Serah crushed Tharok beneath one massive claw. Fire roared from her jaws, scorching the palisade clean of archers. Screams rose from the town beyond.

I ripped the arrow from my leg.

Serah swept the walls with her gaze. Clear.

Our eyes met.

We were done here.