The moment the cursed caravan vanished into the mist, the city erupted.
Bells clanged from the watchtowers. Guards shouted orders, sealing the outer gate with reinforced barricades. Mages arrived in hurried clusters, their robes fluttering as they traced wards in the air, their spells flickering like dying candlelight against the unnatural fog.
Veyrion didn't move.
He stood in the center of the chaos, staring at the spot where Aelira had been. His left eye burned—not with power, but with memory.
"You always pretended not to understand them."
A lie. He'd understood her perfectly. That was the problem.
"General!" The captain of the guard skidded to a stop beside him, breath ragged. "Orders? The council's already demanding answers—"
"Tell them to choke on their questions." Veyrion finally turned, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. "And get me the gate logs. Every entry and exit for the past three days. Anyone who so much as sneezed near this checkpoint, I want their name."
The captain hesitated. "Sir… that woman. Who was she?"
Veyrion's expression didn't change. "A ghost."
Then he walked away, leaving the man standing in the rain.
---
The Ivory Spire – Council Chambers
The High Chancellor's fist slammed onto the marble table. "She was executed! We watched the pyre burn!"
Veyrion leaned against the chamber's far wall, arms crossed, watching the nobles unravel like frayed rope. The council chamber was a gilded cage—high ceilings, stained glass windows casting fractured light over panicked faces.
"Clearly, someone lied," Veyrion said.
"Or someone failed." Lady Sylria, the youngest and sharpest of the council members, flicked her gaze toward him. "You were there that night, General. Did you see her die?"
The question hung in the air like a dagger mid-fall.
Veyrion met her stare. "I saw fire. I saw chains. I saw a sentence carried out by this very council." He pushed off the wall. "But if you're asking if I checked her pulse afterward? No. I had other problems that night."
Like the hole she left in my chest when she betrayed us all.
The High Chancellor rubbed his temples. "This changes nothing. Dead or alive, Aelira is a traitor. If she's returned, she will be hunted down—"
"With what army?" Veyrion interrupted. "The one still recovering from the last war *she* started? Or the one you've been starving to fund your new palaces?"
Silence.
Lady Sylria's lips curled. "You always did have a way with words, General."
"And you always had a way of missing the point." He turned for the door. "I'll handle Aelira. The rest of you? Handle the rot in your own house. Because if she walked through that gate, she had *help.* And I doubt she came alone."
---
The Undercity – That Same Night
Beneath the polished streets of the capital, where the nobles never dared to tread, the air smelled of damp stone and iron. The Undercity was a living thing—a tangled web of tunnels, black markets, and forgotten souls.
And in its darkest corner, a figure waited.
Aelira sat at a crooked table in a nameless tavern, her fingers tracing the rim of a wineglass she had no intention of drinking from. Across from her, a hooded man trembled.
"You promised it would be clean," he whispered. "No bodies. No attention."
She smiled. "I lied."
Before he could react, her hand shot out, gripping his wrist. The silver ring on her finger glowed faintly. The man's eyes widened as veins of black spread beneath his skin, crawling up his arm like poison.
"W-what are you—?"
"Making sure you understand the stakes," she murmured. "Tell your masters I'm here. Tell them I remember everything. And tell them…" She leaned closer, her violet eyes gleaming.
"The Gatekeeper won't save them this time."
---
To be continued…