Chapter 135

“What’s shakin’, bacon?” I asked as I stepped into the containment chamber, a bowl of butterscotch pudding in my hands.

Nyssira sat on the floor, still as stone. The constellations that formed her face were dim and distant, drifting slowly - like she was asleep. Or somewhere far deeper than that.

The splintered remains of her bed had been sorted into neat piles by size. Some pieces had been carved down into crude shapes - a person, a book, something that might’ve been a dog. Rough. Imperfect. But deliberate.

At least she was doing something.

The stars of her face expanded as her attention settled on me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, pausing just inside the threshold. “I didn’t realize you were… busy.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched.

I crossed to the small transfer pillar and set the bowl down. It stood about three feet tall, carved with concentric rings of runes - the only safe way to move anything in or out of her cell without dropping the wards.

Not that the wards were the only thing holding her. The chains would do their job if they had to. Still. No reason to test that.

I let Faith and mana mingle, activating the pillar. The bowl and spoon vanished, reappearing inside the warded circle with a faint shimmer.

“Mirri made pudding,” I said, nodding toward it. “It’s good. You should try it.”

Nyssira didn’t even glance at it.

Her gaze stayed locked on me.

I sighed and lowered myself to the floor across from her, just outside the warding lines. “I don’t have long,” I said. “I need to head back out soon. But I wanted to check in. See how you’re doing.”

The constellations of her face flared for a heartbeat - then settled again. Still no response.

“I asked the High Witan about Letheris,” I went on. “They said he was the god of oblivion.” I let out a quiet, humorless chuckle. “Just hearing his name scared them.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “They said he voluntarily submitted to imprisonment.” I shrugged. “Not sure I buy that. But it doesn’t really matter.”

I let the silence stretch for a moment before continuing. “I’m not going to ask you anything today,” I said. “I’ll just sit here for a bit. You can go back to whatever you were doing. Ignore me, if you want.” I let out a small breath. “Or don’t.”

I folded my hands in my lap, bowed my head, and closed my eyes.

We stayed like that for over an hour. No movement. No words. Just the quiet weight of each other’s presence.

I didn’t try to guess what she was thinking. Didn’t feel like getting my head bitten off.

Instead, I thought. About Naevira. About the Covenant. About Tansy. About Nyssira herself. What I could do. What I should do. What would probably go wrong anyway. And what I might do better next time.

Eventually, I opened my eyes.

Nyssira was still watching me - but the slow drift of her constellations moved with purpose. Awareness. Thought anchored in the present instead of lost somewhere deeper.

“Thank you,” I said as I stood. “I’ll try to come back in a few days.”

She said nothing.

“I like your little sculptures.” Then I turned and left.

* * *

It was nearing sunset when I made my way back to the Covenant’s compound.

The steady trickle of people had thinned to almost nothing - just one figure at the gate, with two more still making their way up the road, a good fifteen minutes out.

I left my cloak where I’d stashed it, straightened, and crested the hill in plain view. No sneaking this time.

I slowed my pace as I approached, letting the two stragglers reach the gate just ahead of me.

Three people stood there - unarmed and unarmored. Their white robes were immaculate, untouched by the dust that clung to everything else in this place.

The newcomers spoke quietly with them before one of the men led them inside.

From where I stood, I could see into the bailey. Three smaller stone buildings lined the interior wall - whitewashed, well-kept, traditional construction. And beyond them…

Massive double doors leading into the solid white walls of the pyramid that loomed over everything like a watchful giant.

“Welcome,” the remaining man said as I drew near. His voice was calm, steady - like he’d been expecting me. “You’ve come a long way.”

“Far enough,” I said, letting a hint of nerves creep into my voice.

A faint smile touched his lips. “Most who arrive here don’t do so by accident.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t imagine they do.”

The second tilted her head, studying me. “Are you seeking relief… or understanding?”

I let out a quiet breath, scratching at the back of my neck. “Maybe a little of both.”

That seemed to satisfy them.

“Then come,” the man said, moving aside. “I’m Brother Fredrik. Be welcome here.”

He was human - average height, lean build. Clean and well-groomed. Straight teeth with an easy smile. Ruggedly handsome in a way that felt… curated. Not extravagant. Just enough to suggest a better version of things.

They didn’t ask my name. Didn’t ask why I was really here. They just welcomed me.

I stepped through the gate.

Inside, the fort was quieter than it should have been. Clean. Ordered.

People moved with purpose, but without urgency. No raised voices. No chaos. Some smiled as I passed. Others didn’t look at me at all.

“Walk with me,” Brother Fredrik said.

He led me across the courtyard and into one of the smaller buildings. No guards. No locks. Just an atmosphere carefully crafted to feel safe.

Too safe. No one builds something like this and leaves it unprotected. Which meant the protection was there, just not where you could see it.

The room they brought me to was bare. A table. Three chairs. A pitcher of water and a single cup. Nothing else.

Two people waited inside - a man and a woman. They didn’t introduce themselves.

“Please,” the man said, gesturing to the chair.

I sat.

Brother Fredrik excused himself. The other two remained standing for a moment longer before sitting across from me.

No one spoke. They let the silence settle. Let me fill it.

I didn’t.

Eventually, the woman inclined her head. “What brought you here?” Straight to it.

I leaned back, exhaling slowly, letting my shoulders sag just enough. “Family,” I said. It wasn’t a lie.

Their attention sharpened.

“What about them?” he asked.

I hesitated. Let it linger. “I don’t-” I cut myself off, shaking my head. “There are too many things to keep track of. Too many ways to screw it up.”

They didn’t interrupt. Didn’t react. They just gave me space.

“What do you hope to leave behind?” she asked.

I let out a dry chuckle. “If I knew that, I probably wouldn’t be here.”

The man leaned forward slightly. “Then let us help you find it.”

There it was - a soft invitation.

I rubbed my hands together, buying time. “You ever feel like no matter what you do, someone’s going to get hurt?”

They both nodded, despite the fact that I didn’t think they did. “That’s why we’re here,” the man said quietly.

I exhaled. “Yeah. That’s what I was hoping.”

They didn’t push. They guided. “What do you carry that you wish you didn’t?”

I stared at the table. Plenty to choose from. Too much, really. I picked something safe. “Responsibility,” I said. “People rely on me. If I make a bad call… it’s not just me that pays for it.”

“That is a heavy burden,” the woman said.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “You could say that.”

Her voice softened. “How often do you wonder if you’re failing them?”

I didn’t answer right away. I didn’t need to fake that one. “All the time,” I said.

There was no reassurance. No comfort. “You don’t have to carry that alone,” she said.

There it was again - that offer.

“If you could remove their pain,” the man asked, “would you?”

I looked at him. “…Yeah,” I said. “In a heartbeat.”

“Even if it changed them?”

I hesitated - just enough. “That depends on how much,” I said carefully.

They exchanged a glance - not suspicion, but interest.

“Tell us something you regret,” the woman said.

I leaned back, exhaling through my nose. “Where do I start?”

“Wherever you wish,” the man answered.

I dragged a hand through my hair. “I’ve made decisions for people that weren’t mine to make,” I said. It was true. Dangerously so.

“And now?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Now I live with the consequences.”

“You’re still holding back,” she said gently.

I didn’t respond. Silence stretched again.

Then they stood. “Take a moment,” the man said. “We’ll return shortly.”

They left me alone.

I didn’t move. Didn’t pace. Didn’t fidget. I just sat there, letting the quiet settle.

Listening. Feeling. There was something beneath it all. Not oppressive, but present. Waiting.

They returned a few minutes later. Studied me again.

“We believe you’re here for a reason,” the man said. “But you are not yet ready to release what you carry.”

That was fair. Accurate, even. I shrugged. “Didn’t say I was.”

The woman smiled faintly. “Not everyone is.”

The man gestured toward the door. “You are welcome to stay. Or return when you’re ready.”

I stood. “I appreciate the hospitality.”

As I turned to leave, her voice followed me. “You feel… different.”

I paused, then slowly looked back. “I do?”

She held my gaze. “You carry more than most.”

I gave her a tired half-smile. “Yeah. That’s kind of the problem.”

For a moment, I thought she might push. But she didn’t.

“Then perhaps,” she said softly, “you will find your way back to us.”

I inclined my head and stepped out into the courtyard.

* * *

They offered me a room for the night, and I accepted.

It was a shared space with six others - the three travelers I’d seen earlier and three others I hadn’t.

The mood was tense. Nervous. Hopeful in that fragile way people get when they’re clinging to something they don’t quite believe in yet.

At first, no one spoke. We kept to ourselves, suspicion hanging in the air like a dark cloud.

Then one of the women broke it. “Do you think they can do it?” she asked, her voice small, uncertain.

She looked to be around forty. Average height. A little soft around the edges - someone who’d known comfort once, but not recently. Her dress was green, faded, patched in places, worn thin in others. Her hair was a frizzy mess, like she hadn’t touched a brush in days. Her eyes were red and puffy - ringed with dark circles that spoke of sleepless nights and too many tears.

A plant? Maybe. I couldn’t risk assuming otherwise.

“I don’t know,” the younger woman said, clutching the man beside her. “I hope so.” She looked at him like he was the only solid thing left in her world.

“Me too,” the older woman said quietly. She stared down at her hands for a long moment before continuing. “I lost my husband,” she said. “Marik.” A tear slipped free, falling into her lap.

The room leaned in. Not physically - but emotionally. Everyone saw a piece of themselves in that moment.

“He was a good man,” she went on, voice trembling. “A good husband. And now he’s gone.” She sniffed hard. “And I don’t know what to do.”

The younger woman hesitated, then moved to sit beside her, leaving her husband’s side.

“It’s alright,” she said, awkward but sincere, rubbing her back. “I’m sure they can help you.”

Another sniff. A shaky nod. “I hope so,” the older woman said. Then, softer, “I hope they can help you too.”

And just like that, the wall broke.

Conversation came slow at first - halting, uncertain. Strangers sharing pieces of themselves like they were testing the water.

The older woman was Adela. Her husband, Marik, had died on a hunting trip with a potential investor. She was convinced it wasn’t an accident. The authorities hadn’t cared enough to look deeper.

The younger woman - Cathelia - and her husband, Seb, had lost a son. Tovin. Fever took him when he was only two. She’d struggled just to carry him to term, and when he finally came into the world, he’d been everything. His absence crushed them.

An older man named Ben had lost his wife to brigands after refusing to pay them. The guilt ate at him - what he could have done, what he should have done.

Another man - Jules - was different. Rough around the edges. He didn’t hide what he’d been. A drunk. A thief. A womanizer. He’d hurt people. A lot of them. And now the consequences had caught up. Debts. Warrants. Angry husbands.

He wasn’t here for peace. He was here for a clean slate.

The last man didn’t stay. He left halfway through, disgust plain on his face. Whatever he’d come for, it wasn’t this.

I watched him go, then casually dropped a small scrap of paper to the floor. Two taps of my heel - and it vanished into the stone.

Iolite was with me, hidden below. I wasn’t stupid enough to come alone. She was my insurance. My eyes where I couldn’t see. My hands if things went bad. And if everything went to hell, she could get out without help. I trusted her with that. I trusted her, period.

When it came my turn, I shared just enough. The pressure. The weight of being a father. How things didn’t always work out.

Tansy. That part didn’t need much embellishment. Neither did the feeling of failing people who depended on me. There was enough truth in it that I didn’t have to act.

We talked for over an hour. Shared grief. Regret. Hope.

They were good people. Broken, maybe, but good. People standing right on the edge of giving up.

I found myself thinking about Yveth. She had been the goddess of sorrow that didn’t fade. She believed loss shaped us - that it made us stronger, so long as we carried it. Remembered it and endured it. That forgetting it was a lie to ourselves. Stagnation.

There was a quiet, melancholic truth in that. One that had always made sense to me.

And these people would have meant something to her. And what they were about to do… It would have broken her heart.

A part of me wanted to speak up. To tell them this wouldn’t fix anything. That it would hollow them out. That it was a comforting lie wrapped in something dangerous.

Jules wouldn’t stop the pain he’d caused - he just wouldn’t feel it anymore. Ben’s guilt wouldn’t disappear - it would shift onto his children and friends. The hole left behind by Cathelia and Seb would linger for years.

And Adela would leave behind a man who got away with ****. Free to hurt someone else.

She was the one I wanted to help most. Because I could. Because that was something I could fix.

So against my better judgement I asked questions. Careful ones. A name. A place. Anything that might help me find the man later after all of this was done.

I wanted to help the others. Of course I did. But I couldn’t bring back the ones they’d lost. I didn’t even know how to start to make it right, except with words I couldn’t speak. Words that might help them now, but leave many others ****.

Eventually, the conversation faded, tears dried, voices quieted. One by one, they lay down.

Sleep came quickly for some. Slowly for others.

I stayed awake, my head throbbing with an ache just behind my eyes. I lay there listening. Thinking. Trying to figure out which of them - if any - was watching us on behalf of the Covenant.

Adela felt real, which didn’t mean anything. It could just as easily have been Cathelia and Seb. Or Jules. The only one I didn’t suspect was Ben. My gut said he didn’t have it in him.

After a few hours, I slipped out of bed and made my way into the courtyard. I asked for the latrine and headed that way - quiet, unhurried.

Once I was sure I was alone, I exhaled. “I think we’re clear,” I said softly. “You can come out.”

The ground shifted. Stone rose from the packed earth, shaping itself into Iolite’s form - crude nipples and all.

“So,” I said, folding my arms, “where’d he go?”

“He wandered,” she replied, her voice softer and more feminine than usual - almost human. “Tried to sneak into the pyramid.”

I raised a brow. “And?”

“Men in strange armor took him,” she said. “Dragged him inside. You told me not to follow.”

“Good,” I said, drifting forward and resting a hand on her head.

She made that soft grinding sound - like stone trying to purr.

“We’ll see how tomorrow goes,” I said. “Then we decide if we poke the hornet’s nest.”

She nodded, then sank back into the ground, the stone smoothing over behind her like she’d never been there.