"You don't blink like the rest of us anymore."
Clarisse's words stuck to the walls of my mind, echoing long after she left the room.
I had washed my face three times since returning. Scrubbed my hands raw. Tucked the shard beneath the floorboard.
None of it helped.
Because something was changing.
Not just in my skin.
In my soul.
---
Pain conversion: 63%
System stable.
Shard resonance fluctuating.
Memory bleed: active.
No skill unlocked.
---
I barely slept.
And when I did, I dreamed of roots growing from my spine.
Of women whispering my name — not Delmira.
Not Elira.
Another name.
A name I didn't remember…
But feared.
---
By morning, my decision was made.
If the Order of Vireh truly lived once beneath this palace, then its remnants had to remain.
Even after the fire. Even after my execution.
They couldn't have erased everything.
No crown is ever truly clean.
---
The chapel stood near the eastern garden — quiet, forgotten, buried in ivy and sun-kissed stone.
But below it… that was another matter.
There had once been catacombs under the eastern sanctum, before the war.
Closed off. Condemned.
Too "unstable," they'd said.
I doubted that.
What better place to hide a secret Order of blood-bound women than a tomb beneath the king's gods?
---
I waited until the sun began to fall and the priests left for the sunset prayer cycle.
Then I moved.
Quickly. Soft-footed.
Through the garden. Through the side hall.
Into the chapel.
The moment I stepped inside, the air changed.
The stained glass windows shimmered softly, casting gold and red across my face.
And near the altar — tucked behind a rotted panel — was a metal ring in the floor.
I lifted it.
And descended.
---
The stairs led into coldness.
Worse than the archives.
This was the kind of cold that remembered things.
---
At the bottom: a stone corridor.
The walls were lined with torch holders — long dead.
I lit one from the match hidden in my sleeve and held it forward.
The hall was narrow.
Too narrow for comfort.
And yet I moved forward.
Drawn.
---
Eventually, the corridor opened into a small room.
No furniture.
No symbols.
But the air—
It buzzed.
The shard in my pocket vibrated like it would split apart.
Then the torch flickered.
And the mirror appeared.
---
I hadn't seen it before. But it was there now — built into the far wall.
Tall. Cracked.
And in it, I saw myself.
But not myself.
She was taller.
Older.
Her hair was longer.
And her eyes —
Her eyes were completely black.
Not like fire.
Like void.
---
She opened her mouth to speak.
And I braced myself.
But no words came.
Just a name.
One word.
One name that burned into my mind like flame:
"Vaerra."
---
The torch blew out.
I was plunged into darkness.
And still — the mirror glowed.
---
Pain conversion: 67%
System instability: surging.
WARNING: Residual persona emerging.
No skill unlocked.
---
I gripped the wall, breath torn from my lungs.
That name—
I didn't know it.
But the sound of it felt like home.
And horror.
At once.
---
Behind me, I heard a footstep.
And a voice I hadn't heard since the masquerade.
"You shouldn't be down here, ash-blood. The king doesn't allow ghosts to walk free."
I turned slowly.
And there she stood.
The woman in the black swan mask.
Unmasked now.
Smiling.