The door clicked shut behind me.
I didn't light the lanterns.
The fire in the hearth had long gone out. The curtains were drawn. Shadows pooled at the edges of the chamber, curling around carved stone and silk-draped furniture like they belonged there more than I did.
My boots echoed on the floor—too sharp, too loud. Like I was intruding in my own room.
This isn't home. It never was.
I started pacing.
One step. Two. Turn.
The rhythm helped. It always had.
But the pressure in my chest wouldn't ease. It coiled tighter with every breath, every thought that replayed what had just happened in the hall.
They're going to send me away.
Dress it up however they want—call it tradition, protection, dignity—but I know what this is. A prettier cage in a quieter place.
And Vaelith.
What is she doing? What does she want?
She was cold. Distant. And yet—she stood up for me. Not once. Not lightly. She risked open war with three heirs.
Why?
Because I'm useful? Because I'm her sister? Or because—
Don't go there. Not now.
I turned again, and my eyes caught on something dark and smooth, tucked between the shelves.
The mirror.
I slowed. Took two steps toward it.
Stopped.
Then forced myself to look.
The girl staring back was too soft. Too clean. Pale skin like untouched snow. White hair feathered down to her shoulders—light, delicate, weightless.
Pretty, some would say. Fragile. Marketable.
I hated the word that came to mind.
But the truth was worse.
I look young.
My collarbone sat higher. My cheeks were softer. Even my fingers felt too delicate—like they'd never gripped a pommel, never braced for recoil.
Fifteen. Sixteen at most. Not the thirty-something mercenary who'd carved her way through bandits and border skirmishes. Not the man who knew how to track prints through frost or gut a boar in a snowstorm.
I leaned closer.
But the eyes…
Still mine.
Still blue—too sharp for a girl this young. Too old. And behind them, flecks of gold shimmered faintly like embers beneath ice. A dragon's eyes.
A reminder.
That no matter how soft the skin, how delicate the shape, there was something buried underneath.
I didn't look like a sellsword anymore.
But I still remembered the weight of steel in my hands. The bruises that never fully faded. The crunch of bone. The way a blade sang when it struck true.
This body was new. The instincts weren't.
The memories that remained were still mine. The scars—most of them—still mine.
I studied my reflection like I was trying to find a lie in it.
But there wasn't one.
This is Elyssia.
This is me.
I held the reflection for a heartbeat longer.
Then turned away.
Not out of shame.
Because I had decided.
They can dress it up however they want. Call it honor. Call it duty.
But I know what it is. A leash.
And I've worn enough chains for one life.
I needed to leave.
Not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon.
And this time, I wouldn't wait to be handed over like a token on the board.
But how?
Where would I even go?
This palace—this whole mountain—was a fortress. Vaulted halls. Warded passages. Eyes in every corner, even the quiet ones. I didn't even know where the palace ended, or what lay beyond the ice and stone.
Could I sneak out? Bribe someone? Fight my way through?
No.
Not here. Not yet.
And Vaelith… I could confront her. Demand an explanation. Demand a reason why she stood up for me like that.
But what would she say?
That I was important? That I needed to trust her?
That I wasn't ready?
Maybe she'd be right. But I couldn't afford to wait for permission anymore.
If I was going to do this, I needed a way out. A real one.
Something subtle. Something they wouldn't see coming.
I turned back toward the hearth, the pacing itch still alive in my legs. And that's when the thought surfaced.
The caves.
Old ones. Hidden ones.
Lirian had mentioned them once. Briefly. I hadn't thought much of it at the time, but now—
"The palace was built over older bones. Not all of them sealed."
The words floated up from memory, quieter than they'd been then. Just a passing comment at the time. Not meant for anything.
But I heard them differently now.
Older bones. Not sealed. Was he telling me this and I just now noticed after all his time?
The journal.
The journal still sat on the edge of the desk, half-buried under folded notes and scraps of ribboned parchment. I hadn't touched it in days—not really. Just glanced. Skimmed.
What more was there to see?
But now…
Now it felt like something else entirely.
I sat. My hands didn't shake, but they weren't steady either. The pendant was warm against my skin, pulsing in time with something I didn't quite understand.
Thrum.
A second heartbeat. Not mine. Not fully.
I opened the cover.
The familiar pages met me first—entries I knew by memory. Dry notes. Runes marked in shorthand. A record of what I was. What I had been.
Cycle 0, Day 112:
Magic remains stable. Subject shows consistent recovery…
Cycle 0, Day 349:
Minimal activity. Subject avoids transformation. Surges contained…
The pendant pulsed again.
Thrum.
I turned another page.
At first, nothing. Just more scribbled lines, Lirian's handwriting flowing in its usual, impersonal rhythm.
And then—
One of the ink lines shimmered.
I blinked.
The shimmer didn't vanish.
It bled across the page, quiet and deliberate, like it had been waiting. Letters darkened—reshaped themselves. A faint pulse rose from the pendant against my chest, steady and insistent.
Thrum.
A line of text shifted beneath my fingers.
My breath caught.
If you're reading this, then it means the binding held.
More lines formed, slow and steady, like ink rising through the page.
This journal was never meant to be a ledger. Not only. It holds what I couldn't speak aloud. What I couldn't risk saying directly.
You've always had questions. Some you asked. Some you didn't. I couldn't always answer them—whether for your sake or my own.
When I was first tasked with watching you, I treated it like any other assignment. Necessary. Temporary. Your situation was… unprecedented, yes—but not my concern beyond what was required of me.
That changed.
When I sent you into the fortress, I was confident you'd survive. Physically, at least. I didn't know if your mind would hold. That part haunted me more than I expected.
And still, I told myself it was just duty.
Maybe it was loneliness. Or boredom. Or the quiet guilt that comes from staying silent too long.
But eventually, I stopped lying to myself.
I looked forward to our talks. I started writing things down—not because I was told to, but because I wanted to leave something behind, just in case I couldn't say it later.
So this journal became something else. Something for you.
There are answers here. Not all of them. I don't know everything, and I won't pretend I do. I had theories about why she made you. Some are plausible. None are certain.
What I do know is this:
You are more than what they built. More than what they expect.
This book is tied to the pendant. Together, they'll reveal what I've prepared—entries, maps, notes on the old runes, even some of the unsealed paths I found beneath the palace. Some pages will only open with time. Others, with choice.
I don't know what you'll need, or when. But if you ever find yourself lost—start here.
It's not perfect. Neither am I. But I wanted you to have something that was yours.
In case I couldn't be there when it mattered.
...-L.
I stared at the last line.
The room was still.
Even the shadows felt softer now.
I ran my thumb along the edge of the page, feeling the slight texture where the ink had settled.
I closed the journal.
The fire in my chest hadn't gone out—it had just been waiting for air.
Let them whisper. Let them plan.
For the first time in days, I felt something settle. Not peace. Not clarity.
Direction.
And with it—hope.