As the weave pulsed, more words bled across the page, glowing faintly before settling into ink:

  General,

  I pray these words find you, though centuries have passed since I left this world. After the battle, the land began to heal, little by little. Marius wept bitterly at your funeral. All the commanders did. As for me, I was furious, heartbroken. You broke our promise.

  In time, everything changed. What Marius feared most came to pass. The King was assassinated. The Prophet seized power and placed Arabus on the throne. It is said that within the Tower of Radiance lies a floor that only the King could unlock, a safeguard against misuse. With the King dead and Arabus crowned, that safeguard was undone and nothing stood in the way of Arcadia’s fall. Marius founded a new order in your name, the Crimson Wing. As for me, I wandered, honing my perception until I could wield it as both shield and spear. At last, I settled in this small village, now their matriarch. Can you believe it? I, leading people. Still, the Crimson Wing holds its heart to the north, in the City of the Crown, though this village remains a quiet branch of it.

  You once told me I had the potential to create miracles. Perhaps you were right. I forged my own Law, inspired by the Selenic Hymn. I call it the Law of Foresight. With each casting, I glimpsed the future. And praise Selen, I saw you, walking into a hut beside one bearing Syr blood, a crimson cloak upon your shoulders. I could not believe it, so I tried again and again, piecing fragments of futures into one.

  But each glimpse demanded a price. With every casting, I surrendered years of my life. Today I write on the final day of my sight. Perhaps my last day at all. So hear me: I believe this may aid you.

  Go south. The people of the future call it Azul. There stands a tower. Marius was right to fear it. It is no mere ruin but a divine tower, one bound to Shraak, who still lives.

  Yours faithfully,

  Shayara of the Crimson Knight

  Ragnar closed the letter, its weight still heavy in his hand. Katya’s mind spun. The man beside her was not only a living relic of legend, but the commander tied to both the founder of the Crimson Wing and the first matriarch of her own village. History had not only walked back into the world, it sat beside her.

  Ragnar kept staring at the folded parchment, his expression unreadable.

  After a long silence, Katya spoke softly. “Are you alright?”

  Only one word left his lips. “No.”

  The quiet stretched, thick as stone. Minutes later, Ragnar finally lifted his gaze to the matriarch. “You said there were notes. About the one with dead eyes.”

  Aisha inclined her head. “Yes. The Prophet. In Shayara’s writings, she described him. Others across the years have spoken of beings with such eyes, wrong, hollow, lifeless. Most who encountered them did not live long after. Rumor says they have lingered for decades. Perhaps even centuries.”

  Her voice grew heavier. “One such encounter touched our village. Two of our own… Anish and Rubia.” Her eyes shifted to Katya.

  Katya froze. Her breath caught as the names struck her like a blade. “Father… and Mother?” she whispered, disbelief breaking through her voice.

  “They crossed paths with the being in Vardan Forest, two decades past. They survived, barely, but madness took root in them. In time, it consumed them.”

  Katya’s chest tightened, panic rising as her voice cracked. “No… no, that can’t be. They died in a bandit raid. Grandma said… but she told me…”

  Aisha lowered her gaze. “I am sorry, child. Raha was Crimson Wing herself. She knew the truth, but you were too young. She carried that burden so you would not.”

  “Your mother and father were gathering information on behalf of our village, and for the Crimson Wing as well,” Aisha said quietly. “When rumors spread of such a being haunting Vardan Forest, they went to investigate. In the end… it was nothing but tragedy.”

  Katya’s body shook. Words slipped from her lips in fragments, desperate and broken. Her mind flashed with half-forgotten images of childhood, faces blurred by time, almost lost to her memory. She could barely remember her parents’ warmth. But her grandmother, yes, she knew. Grandma had raised her.

  Aisha’s voice pressed on. “Your parents, and Raha too, sought only to protect you. If those beings had infiltrated further, our village would have fallen. All those tales of bandit raids in the surrounding lands, the carnage was theirs, not mortal hands.”

  Aisha’s tone softened, though her words cut no less deep. “It was through their final report, written in the grip of madness and agony that we learned more. Their sacrifice, paired with the teachings left by Shayara, allowed us to fashion a ward strong enough to fend those beings off.”

  Katya staggered to her feet, tears spilling freely. “Please… excuse me,” she whispered, and before anyone could stop her, she fled outside.

  The elder seated beside Aisha called after her, but Katya was already gone.

  Silence pressed heavy on the hall until Ragnar finally spoke. “I will see to her. Fate is often cruel. Gather every record you have of these beings. I will need them.”

  Aisha gave a solemn nod as Ragnar turned and followed Katya out.

  Katya sat slumped on the porch, her head bowed, shoulders shaking with the remnants of her sobs.

  Ragnar stood a moment in silence, searching the fractured echoes of his memory for something, anything, that might console her. Nothing came. So he simply lowered himself beside her, quiet as stone.

  Time passed. Her sobs ebbed. At last, Katya lifted her gaze, eyes red but steady.

  “Do you think my parents were right? Sacrificing themselves, abandoning me?”

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  Ragnar’s voice was low and deliberate. “Your parents, and even your grandmother, made the only choice they knew. The choice to keep you safe. And because of it, you became what they hoped for: a seeker brave enough to unravel the mysteries of the weave.”

  Katya suddenly leaned into him, arms wrapping tight, clinging as though afraid to let go.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “Though… I’m not that brave.”

  Moments passed in silence before Katya finally spoke. “I want to say sorry.”

  “For what reason?” Ragnar asked.

  “When we first met, I wanted to capture you,” she admitted, lowering her head.

  Ragnar studied her quietly. “That choice still bore good fruit. I recovered a part of myself because of it, still fractured, still uncertain, but tethered.”

  “Still,” Katya murmured, “I wanted to say it. So I said it.”

  Behind them, the voice of the old woman carried softly. “How are you now, dear?”

  Katya instinctively pulled back from Ragnar. “I’m better. Though I should be going. We have to gather supplies.”

  “Stay the night,” the old woman said kindly. “Your grandmother’s house is still standing. We tend to it from time to time.” She offered them a warm smile.

  Katya led Ragnar through the town toward a small tavern.

  “See? You can pass for human now,” she said with a grin.

  “These people lack perception,” Ragnar replied, his tone distant. “Your matriarch Aisha saw me for what I am.”

  “She’s pure Syr,” Katya explained. “We’re known for our perception.”

  “You too?” Ragnar asked.

  Katya pouted. “I’m mixed. My mother and grandmother were Syr, but my father was from the Mirin bloodline. Besides, I’m not much for sorcery.”

  “But you want to understand the Weave?” Ragnar pressed.

  “Correct.” Katya tilted her head back, eyes on the sky. “Because the Weave is the source of truth. To understand it is to know what lies behind reality. All those stars, the spaces in between, this vast world… all of it is connected by the Weave.”

  In front of a tavern they stopped.

  “They make great stew, though I don’t know what they put in it. Let’s eat,” Katya said, already pushing the door open.

  Inside, the air was warm with chatter and the smell of broth. A modest crowd filled the room, eating and drinking.

  “I’ll have two meat stews,” Katya told the server as she pulled out a chair. She gestured for Ragnar to sit across from her.

  “I don’t think I need to eat,” Ragnar said flatly.

  “I know.” Katya leaned in, lowering her voice. “Both are for me. Just pretend, otherwise it’ll be embarrassing.”

  When the bowls arrived, Katya dug in happily. Ragnar watched her for a moment, then lifted a spoon himself. He mimicked the way she ate, slipping the broth into his mouth and then immediately dropped the spoon, the metal clattering against the bowl.

  Katya froze. “You… ate? How was it?”

  “I could almost taste it,” Ragnar said slowly. “Then it burned. My insides felt on fire.”

  “It’s not that spicy,” Katya said, blinking. Then her eyes narrowed. “Wait. You have a tongue, but inside… you’re hollow. Where does the food even go?” Her voice dropped to a whisper.

  Ragnar turned his gaze away, his face unreadable. “I don’t know. I am a creature that should not exist, and yet still does.”

  Katya’s spoon paused halfway to her mouth. She remembered what she had just said. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”

  She ate the rest of her stew in silence. Ragnar’s gaze never left the window.

  “I’ll wait outside,” he said suddenly, pushing his chair back. Before Katya could respond, he was already striding toward the door.

  By the time she finished, Katya darted out, scanning the street until her eyes found him. Ragnar stood motionless in the square, watching a street musician play the flute. The melody curled softly through the air, carried by the hush of an overcast sky. Clouds pressed low, muting the light, and the whole village seemed steeped in a quiet, heavy calm.

  Katya hurried to his side and whispered, her voice small, “I’m really sorry about earlier.”

  Ragnar didn’t look at her. “In the army, many soldiers had talent for music. It wasn’t only to pass time—it was how we bonded.”

  Katya listened for a moment. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly, standing close beside him.

  “It’s vague,” Ragnar admitted, “but the fragments of me… echo with the tune.”

  “You’re still you,” Katya said, her words tentative but earnest. “Fragments or not, even now your legends echo.”

  “The legends are not me,” Ragnar answered flatly.

  Katya fell quiet.

  When the song ended, Ragnar finally turned. “We should take the notes from Aisha.”

  Ragnar and Katya made their way back to the village center. Aisha was still seated where they had left her, incense smoke curling faintly in the dim room.

  “I’ve gathered the notes we keep on those dark beings,” Aisha said, handing several worn pages to Ragnar.

  Her eyes softened as they turned to Katya. “And you? How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine,” Katya replied quietly.

  Ragnar scanned the notes. “They’ve been sighted many times in Vardan Forest. Why there?”

  “We do not know,” Aisha admitted. “Something draws them, but no one has uncovered what it is.”

  Ragnar flipped another page. “They were also reported in Azul. That must be where the other tower stands.”

  “The Pangui chieftain, Gortash, may know more,” Aisha said. “He hunts them relentlessly. But reaching him will not be easy.”

  Ragnar pulled the carved Earth Token from his belt and set it on the table. “This grants an audience, does it not?”

  Aisha’s eyes widened. “An Earth Token…”

  “The wasteland chieftain gave it to us,” Katya explained.

  “This may serve you well,” Aisha said slowly. “But beware. The Pangui of the wilderness are not like their Rotkin kin. The Rotkin look outward for allies. The Wild tribes guard their own fiercely and trust outsiders little. Yet you, Katya, carry Syr blood. The Syr are one of the Iscor tribes, as the Pangui are. That makes you part of their greater kin. It may grant you standing, especially before Gortash, who leads not only the Pangui, but all the tribes of the Iscor plains.”

  After reading through the notes, Ragnar spoke. “Very well. We should seek out this Divine Lord, the Pangui chieftain. Once we have the answers we require, we can set our course for Azul.”

  “The town lies on the edge of the Vardan Forest. It is called Juno,” Aisha said, producing a folded letter. “I have written a letter of introduction. It will help. From Juno, follow the forest path into the inner settlement. Show the Earth token, and they will grant you an audience with Chief Gortash. When you meet him, present this letter.”

  Katya nodded, committing each detail to memory.