The walk back to the Academy was silent. Elen kept glancing at Yegr like she wanted to speak but couldn't find the words. Darin, on the other hand, chewed noisily on a strip of dried fruit he'd pulled from his pocket, completely unbothered by the night's events.
But Yegr's mind wasn't on them. It was on the masked figure's last words — and the image of Darin bleeding out in the siege.
When they reached the outer courtyard, Yegr stopped dead in his tracks.
A statue stood there.
It hadn't been there before.
Not in his memories.
It was of a tall man in flowing robes, one hand raised in a gesture of command, the other clutching a scroll. The name carved into the base made Yegr's chest tighten:
Archmage Lorran Sile — Defender of the South Gate, Fallen in the Siege of Vardun.
Yegr's heart sank. Lorran had never defended the South Gate. In the real timeline, he'd been assassinated two years before the siege even began.
"Yegr?" Elen's voice was cautious.
He forced his breathing to slow. "When was this put here?"
Darin shrugged. "Couple months ago. Academy wanted to honor the anniversary of the Southern Stand. You know, when Lorran bought us three days before the reinforcements came."
Three days. The siege had lasted four in Yegr's memory.
The masked figure's words echoed again: Every change comes with a price.
And this — this was only the first ripple.