The tavern was already half alive when they came down the stairs. The air smelled of wet wood, stale ale, and smoke that never seemed to leave the ceiling beams. Morning light slipped through the slanted shutters, cutting thin bars across the tables.

  Dante rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to make sense of the world through the haze of exhaustion. Angel was already seated at the corner table, arms crossed, legs bouncing under her chair with visible irritation.

  He noticed it before she spoke.

  A small black horn, curling just slightly from her temple.

  He froze mid-step. “Angel… what’s that on your—”

  Her eyes snapped to him. “Don’t.” Her tone was sharp, too sharp. She turned her head away. “It’s nothing.”

  “Nothing?” he asked quietly. “Because it looks like,”

  “I said drop it!” she snapped. The nearby chatter dimmed for a moment. Her fists were clenched white.

  Dante raised his hands in surrender. “Alright. Dropped.”

  Valerik was leaning against the far wall, watching the tension with a tired sigh. “Good morning to you both. I see breakfast conversation is as charming as ever.”

  Kaiya, sitting beside him, tried to smooth things over. “Let’s just get something to eat before someone gets stabbed.”

  Valerik gave her a small smirk, but his tone turned serious. “We have a bigger concern. Someone has taken notice of us. Someone from Rise Eternal.”

  That made Angel look up. “Rise Eternal? They aren’t real. They’re stories soldiers tell to make each other paranoid.”

  “They are very real,” Valerik said. “And very dangerous. I don’t know much more than that, but they’ve been watching. I could feel it last night.”

  Dante frowned. “Assume I know absolutely nothing about this place. Who the hell are they?”

  Valerik’s mouth twitched in amusement. “I already did assume that. Rise Eternal is an organization that prefers to stay in shadows. They work against the cults, the kingdoms, sometimes even each other. I do not trust them. But this agent seemed especially curious about you.”

  “Me?” Dante blinked. “Why me?”

  “That’s what I was hoping you could explain.”

  Dante hesitated, feeling all eyes on him. “I was… from the Arcana Kingdom,” he said slowly. “A prisoner. A tool for a man who’s dead now.”

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  Angel’s brow furrowed. “A prisoner?”

  “Yeah. A hostage, really. The man who kept me used me for power. Torture.. expirements..” He shivered from the memories. “Never got the chance to finish.” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “A dark elf helped me escape. We got separated in a portal. I landed here, just before Varidia fell.”

  The table fell silent.

  Kaiya tilted her head. “Arcana Kingdom. That’s… supposed to be gone. Like, for centuries.”

  “Yeah,” Dante muttered. “That’s what people keep saying.”

  “What was it like?” Kaiya asked.

  Before anyone could respond, a voice slurred across the room.

  “Well, aren’t you all a fine bunch.”

  They turned to see a woman staggering from the bar. Her hair was matted, her smile far too wide. She wobbled up to their table, drink in hand.

  Her eyes settled on Valerik. “You’re a pretty one. I’ve never had dark meat before.”

  The group went still.

  Valerik’s expression hardened, but he said nothing.

  She laughed, leaning closer. “I heard you elves like taking humans. I volunteer. I’ll be your concubine if you want.”

  Valerik shadow-stepped toward the stairs in a flicker of dark mist, leaving only a faint ripple in the air.

  “Alright, that’s enough,” Angel said, her tone low and dangerous.

  The woman glanced at her and sneered. “I wasn’t talking to you, she-devil.”

  The insult hit harder than it should have. Angel’s jaw clenched, her fists tightened. “Get out of my face.”

  The woman swayed back, giggling. “Didn’t know monsters got jealous.”

  Before anyone could stop her, Angel shoved her aside as they rose from the table. The woman stumbled into a chair, cursed, and staggered back toward the bar.

  The moment she was gone,

  Kaiya pinched the bridge of her nose. “That went well.”

  Dante sighed. “He’s not coming back down, is he?”

  “No,” Angel muttered. “I’ll check on him.”

  Kaiya stood and glanced at Dante. “You’re coming with me. Xander’s probably eating the stable again.”

  Dante gave a small, weary nod. “Right. Let’s go.”

  The tavern noise slowly filled in behind them, as if trying to erase what had just happened.

  The upper hallway was quiet except for the faint hum of wind against the windows. Angel’s boots made little sound on the worn planks as she stopped outside Valerik’s room. The door was cracked open, curtains inside stirring from a balcony draft.

  She knocked once. “Valerik?”

  No answer.

  She pushed the door wider. He stood outside, half in shadow, staring toward the city below. From the angle, she could see the faint glimmer of his eyes, reflecting the pale light.

  “That woman was out of line,” Angel said, stepping inside. “What a bitch. Seriously. You should’ve seen her face when she hit the chair. Almost made it worth it.”

  Valerik didn’t turn.

  “Wait,” Angel said, narrowing her eyes. “Are you crying?”

  He wiped at his cheek, though the motion was barely visible. “She was right,” he murmured. “About the slaves.”

  Angel’s expression softened. “What do you mean?”

  He took a slow breath, hands gripping the balcony rail. “My wife. A long time ago.” His voice cracked faintly, then steadied. “She was human. One of many the elves captured over the years. I saw something different in her. Something I thought was worth saving.”

  Angel stepped closer.

  “I hid her,” he continued. “Protected her. We fell in love, foolish as that was. Had a child. But the Depths are not kind to love, and my life… my work… was worse.”

  “What kind of work?” she asked quietly.

  He gave a bitter smile. “I was a Shade Walker. Royal assassins. We could vanish between shadows, reach any target, end any life. I was good at it. Too good.”

  Angel folded her arms, leaning on the doorway. “Doesn’t sound like the kind of man who settles down.”

  “No. It wasn’t.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “So I tried to leave. To take them away from all of it.”

  He paused. The silence between words was heavy, filled only by the low whistle of wind.

  “I failed,” he said finally.

  Angel’s throat tightened. “What happened?”

  He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, revealing the mark across his chest. A faint glow pulsed through the black ink, forming the image of a woman clutching a child, eyes wide with fear.

  Angel stepped back. “What the hell is that?”

  “They were executed in front of me,” Valerik said. His tone was flat, but each word trembled with effort. “The royal court called it justice. I was branded an exile and given this mark to remember them. To feel their pain. Always.”

  The faint light of the tattoo flickered as if in response to his heartbeat. He pressed his hand over it, fingers trembling.

  Angel didn’t speak for a long time. Her anger had drained away, leaving only quiet empathy.

  “I’m sorry,” she said at last.

  Valerik nodded once, not looking at her. “You don’t need to be. Just… don’t ever let them call you a monster for caring about someone. That’s what they want.”

  Angel looked away. “I know the feeling.”

  For a while, neither of them moved. The city wind passed between them, carrying the faint sounds of life below.

  Then Angel stepped closer and rested her hand lightly on his arm. “You’re not alone, Valerik.”

  He finally looked at her, and in his eyes was something she hadn’t seen before. Gratitude. And sorrow too deep to ever fade.

  Below, the city of Vayne went on living, unaware of the ghosts standing above it.