They made for the surface as fast as they could. Gard had made the hard call to leave even the fallen behind in the tunnels of the Marrowvault. Speed mattered more than sentiment. After finding the empty throne room in those depths, the only thing they’d managed to do was destroy the ritual basins that had spawned the Tetherborn before fleeing, and even that might have cost them precious minutes.

  Aboveground, the Chapter-Master and his detachment were likely facing a Silent Lord. They had prepared for that possibility, but if Gard could still lend aid, he would.

  He’d already accepted that this might be his last night.

  Halfway up the ascent, the tremors began. The Marrowvault shuddered around them, marrowstone and bone groaning like a living thing. Gard stopped for an instant, steadying himself. He had never heard of the Vault experiencing such disturbance before. The vibrations were unlikely to be natural. It was almost as if one of the dead godbeasts entombed within these chambers had stirred from its slumber and dragged its limbs through the ossuary.

  By the time they reached the lift that connected to the surface, the tremors had stopped. Gard’s muscles stayed coiled tight as the platform rose, and he prepared himself—prepared for the possible destruction that might await them.

  The Bonewright Guild’s chambers remained empty when they arrived, white torches guttering in sconces along the walls to illuminate the numerous shafts descending into other sectors of the Marrowvault.

  Gard stepped off the platform first, Resonance thrumming faintly around his hands. There was something in the air that felt different, but he couldn’t name why.

  They advanced through the Guild’s halls in formation, moving toward the entrance hall. Moonlight spilled through a high window, turning the room’s white-gray stone to cold silver. The stillness carried a tension sharper than when they had first fought their way in. Gard’s shoulders tightened.

  They emerged into the streets.

  The Bonewright Guild stood in Marrowfen’s industrial quarter, not far from the old residential blocks and the eastern gate. Its marrowstone facades and carved bone beams gleamed under the wan light. The city seemed empty, and it was easy to imagine things moving in the alleys and shadows. Gard’s gaze swept the nearby warehouses, then lifted to the sanctum towers encircling the city’s heart, where the obsidian spire of the Marrowvault rose above it all.

  From here, the city looked largely intact. Whatever caused those tremors hadn’t leveled Marrowfen itself, at least.

  He considered, then motioned for the others to stay on guard as they began heading for the eastern gate. A dispatch of Chapter members had secured it for the purposes of evacuation. If they were still alive, they would have word on what happened.

  If.

  Gard didn’t dare make any assumptions right now.

  They moved through largely deserted streets, steps echoing on the cobblestone. It struck him that they hadn’t heard any shouts or sounds of fighting from other parts of the city yet.

  …Was it already over?

  He doubted a Silent Lord would fall so easily. The lack of sound suggested the opposite. Unless fate had decided to change its mind and smile upon them…

  He did note the absence of any Tetherborn as they moved, though he couldn’t say for certain whether that was good news yet.

  It was only when distant voices reached his ears that a flicker of hope stirred in his chest.

  Soon, they rounded a corner to find a crowd gathered before the eastern wall, with dozens of citizens clutching what little they could carry. The gate stood open, torchlight spilling through, but no one was crossing its threshold.

  Gard signaled his people to slow as he cautioned his optimism. It was best to assume the worst until proven otherwise. It was good that people were still alive, but strange that they hadn’t already left the city.

  The crowd parted as Gard’s group approached. Faces turned—wary, most tired—but no one moved to block them.

  He spotted a few Chapter members along the perimeter, keeping watch over the civilians. They nodded when they noticed him. Gard angled toward the gatehouse, where a Sixth-Binding Formwright named Halvern stood with his spear braced against the stones, speaking in low tones to the people before him.

  “Vice-Master,” Halvern said as Gard neared, relief softening the tension in his face.

  “What’s going on here?” Gard asked, looking past him toward the open gate and the dark stretch of land beyond. “These people should have evacuated when they had the chance.”

  Was something waiting out there? Some new threat holding them back? If there was danger both outside and within the city, he wasn’t sure where else these people could go.

  “It’s… uh.” Halvern hesitated.

  “What?” Gard’s tone sharpened. He studied the man. There was no blood or damage to his armor. That much was a good sign, at least. If this group hadn’t seen combat yet, perhaps the Chapter-Master might still be standing.

  Halvern hesitated a moment longer, then exhaled. “It’s probably easier if I show you.”

  He turned and led Gard through a narrow door set into the side of the gate, up a winding stair to the top of the wall, where another Chapter member leaned on a bow, a quiver slung over one shoulder.

  Gard went straight to the edge, scanning the city first. His gaze swept across Marrowfen’s skyline, searching for signs of damage. He spotted it in the direction of the Pale Hall, where the silhouettes of familiar rooftops were simply gone, leaving jagged gaps in the moonlit outline of the city.

  Someone had fought there, at least. Presumably the Chapter-Master. Was that the cause of the tremors they’d felt underground? But surely that would have caused more damage than this. Perhaps the greater part of the battle had taken place in the Marrowvault itself.

  “That,” Halvern said, pointing past the walls, “is what’s got these folk shy about leaving.”

  Gard followed his gesture, squinting into the darkness beyond the eastern gate—and froze.

  He blinked once, then again, making sure he was seeing correctly.

  The land stretching east of Marrowfen was a sprawl of half-sunken marshes, broken stretches of waterlogged soil and tannin-dark streams that usually vanished into shadow long before the horizon at this time of night. The fen ran for miles that way, and Gard was used to the sight. But tonight, it was different. Past a certain distance, the landscape practically glowed, traced by bands of residual Resonance.

  It wasn’t light visible to ordinary eyes, but any Kindled could sense this. Through that shimmer, Gard could make out the shape of the land—except it wasn’t the same land he expected to see. The rivers had shifted. The wetlands bowed inward like something enormous had pressed upon them. Stretches of broken stone were exposed to the sky.

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  The terrain itself had been remade.

  He stared for several long seconds, a single name rising to his lips.

  “Veralyth Mournvale…”

  “So it really was her?” Halvern asked.

  Gard turned toward him. The man’s expression was mixed with awe and something else. Disbelief, or maybe even reverence.

  “There were those who said it had to be her,” Halvern went on, voice low. “Didn’t know whether to believe it. Looked like we were watching the gods themselves at war.”

  Gard said nothing for a time, then lowered his gaze to the street below. The crowd whispered in varying degrees of hushes, but he realized now that none were as scared as they should have been.

  The Ashborn Ascendant had saved the city.

  Even without confirmation that the Silent Lord was gone, Gard felt that to be true. The true battle was already over.

  Now they only needed to deal with what came after.

  Stillwake split another head from stitched shoulders, and Vera traced a quick glyph in the air.

  Mark of Ember Flame.

  The Tetherborn around her ignited and crumbled into ash. She lowered her halberd, scanning the underground chamber until she was sure nothing else was moving.

  Mark of the Stillbound Veil.

  Her Resonance rippled outward. She closed her eyes, focusing as she sifted through the thousands of faint presences that pulsed across the city above. After several breaths, she released the Mark, letting its resonance fade.

  That should have been the last of the Tetherborn, as far as she could tell.

  She drew an Echophial from her Vaultring and downed it in one pull, feeling her Resonance recover. She’d burned through obscene amounts tonight—first against the Graven Daughter, then here in Marrowfen with Veyrith and all of the Tetherborn—and she was starting to wonder if overusing Echophials might have side effects in this world.

  Hopefully not. That would be inconvenient. Though convenience was probably too much to ask now that this wasn’t a game anymore.

  The empty vial vanished back into her Vaultring. She gave one last glance at the scattered Tetherborn remains.

  Vanded had warned her that many of these had likely once been members of the city guard and Bonewright Guild. Learning that unsettled her, but she’d already known what type of creatures the Tetherborn were. As far as she was aware, there was no way to reverse the Pale Reconciliation’s rituals. Their souls and bodies had been irreversibly bound and stripped.

  The best she could offer them was release and avenge their ends. The Silent Lord’s fall had covered part of that. Another part she’d just finished here. All that remained was cleaning up Whitefinger and the rest of his collaborators.

  That was a mess that she’d leave to Vanded and the others. She’d done her share tonight.

  Now, she had her own priorities.

  Mark of Hollow Reach.

  The rift tore open in front of her. She stepped through and emerged at the entrance of The Hallowed Shear, the scent of dyes and oils meeting her. A bucket of blood-soaked cloths still sat where Caldrin had left it. She moved past it and through the adjoining doorway on her right.

  The next room held rows of mirrors and vacant chairs. Beyond it, in a smaller chamber, Caldrin sat beside a bed, a small shape sleeping under the blankets.

  “My lady,” he said quietly, nodding. “How went things?”

  “Decent enough. I cleared out the Tetherborn I could find. The rest I’m leaving to Vanded. He’s got an Ashmark if he really needs me again.”

  Stillwake dissolved from her grip. She raked a hand through her hair, feeling the mix of grime, sweat, and exhaustion clinging to her skin. Too much had happened tonight, and all she wanted now was a long shower and a few hours of sleep. Given what the city had just gone through, that probably counted as bad form, but she doubted anyone would call her on it.

  She also doubted she’d get it, but that was fine.

  Unlatching the plates of her armor, she sent each piece into her Vaultring until she stood beside Caldrin, looking down at the figure on the bed. Strands of silver hair fell across Serel’s face.

  The girl wore a faint frown in her sleep.

  “…How has she been?” Vera asked after a moment.

  “Resting well, my lady,” Caldrin said. “Though she seems… unsettled.”

  “I’d be more surprised if she wasn’t.”

  Vera reached for a damp towel hanging over a chair, wiped the grime from her face and hands, then knelt and brushed the hair away from Serel’s closed eyes. The girl’s brow eased.

  Vera stayed there a while, watching her breathe.

  Then her gaze drifted to the locket hanging at Serel’s throat.

  She’d hesitated earlier about leaving Serel here before facing Veyrith. Even after finding a tentative agreement with the Graven Daughter, a tense paranoia had kept gnawing at her, telling her that the girl would disappear again. Fighting a Silent Lord had helped steady her, but the unease returned twice as strong once that was over.

  She hadn’t counted how many times she’d used the Mark of the Stillbound Veil to confirm Serel was still here, still safe.

  Hopefully that wouldn’t become a habit. The idea of turning into one of those smothering mothers who couldn’t leave their child’s side made her cringe.

  But the thought of losing Serel again horrified her much more.

  She’d have to figure something out.

  A quiet sigh escaped her.

  Things really had become complicated now that she had a daughter.

  …Daughter.

  The word still felt foreign.

  “My lady,” Caldrin said, pulling her from the thought. “What are your plans now?”

  Vera glanced at him, studying his complexion. He had used Emberphials and been healed by her Mark of Hollow Mercy, but he’d lost an arm and nearly died earlier.

  “Do you need to rest?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “It would likely be wise, but unnecessary. Now that I’ve recovered some strength, I would rather put it to use. If you intend to stay with the young miss, I believe it best if I find the members of Hollowstone Table and assist them in reestablishing order on your behalf.”

  Vera considered him for a few seconds longer. “You sure?”

  He lowered his head. “Absolutely, my lady.”

  “…Alright. Then can you see to the mounts as well? I’d prefer not to open another Hollow Reach all the way back to the Hollow tonight. They might be useful to you.”

  “As you wish.” Caldrin stood, bowed slightly to her, then to Serel, and left the room.

  Vera lingered, watching the sleeping girl for a long moment before sliding her arms beneath her and lifting her carefully. Serel didn’t stir. Shifting her to rest against one shoulder, Vera freed a hand and drew out the Hearthbind Token, but stopped briefly as she spotted a piece of parchment on the bed.

  The drawing she’d made for Serel.

  She watched it for a bit before placing it in her Vaultring. Then, with a spark of Resonance channeled into the Hearthbind Token, ash and emberlight swirled around them. The room vanished, and they reappeared inside the Ember Gallery at Sablewatch Hollow.

  “Howl,” she said.

  The great mistral wolf slipped from Serel’s shadow, its form coalescing in the dim light. It lowered its head in quiet submission.

  “It’s alright,” Vera said, dismissing the Hearthbind Token and resting a hand on the beast’s muzzle. “I don’t blame you for what happened.”

  The Echoshade Howler had technically remained within Serel’s shadow when she was taken, but from what Vera could tell, he’d been unable to do anything to stop it. Considering he had been up against a Forgotten Throne with a direct connection to the girl, she didn’t think it was fair to fault him for that.

  Howl lifted his gaze to Serel, watching her.

  Vera smiled lightly. “I’ll take care of her for tonight. Go rest.”

  He gave a short, rumbling sound of acknowledgment before padding off through the gallery.

  Vera watched him disappear, then turned down the corridor. Usually, she would have opened a Hollow Reach from here, but tonight she walked—through the quiet hallways, out into the Oathbound Garden, and across to the Dreadwake Alcove. Its foyer, all black marble and excessive ornamentation, greeted her like an old, stubborn habit.

  She climbed the stairs to the second floor, followed the hall to its end, and stopped between two doors. Her gaze lingered on the one leading to Serel’s room. After a moment, she stepped instead into her own.

  Candles flared to life at her entrance. She crossed to the large bed draped in black silk, pushing aside the pile of season-locked plushies, and carefully laid Serel down.

  Just as she reached to tuck her in, the girl stirred. Silver-crimson eyes blinked open, drowsy but searching.

  “Mommy…?” a small voice murmured.

  Vera paused. “…Yeah. I’m here.”

  “…Can I sleep with you?”

  She hesitated, then brushed her fingers along Serel’s cheek. “I’m not sleeping tonight. But I’ll stay here with you, okay?”

  “Mmm…” The girl didn’t sound entirely happy with that, but Vera just chuckled.

  “Don’t pout. Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  Serel’s eyes soon fluttered shut again.

  Vera stayed beside the bed until the girl’s breathing evened, then lay down next to her, eyes on the canopy as the candlelight dimmed of its own accord.

  A small sound from Serel made her glance over, watching the girl shift in her sleep. After a moment, Serel moved closer, arms reaching out to hold her. For an instant, Vera’s body stiffened at the closeness—but she let the part of her that welcomed it win. She adjusted her position so the girl could rest more comfortably against her.

  There was plenty left undone, plenty left unsaid. But for tonight, she only wanted Serel to sleep without worry.

  As a mother, that seemed a reasonable thing to ask for.