Veyra turned sharply as they stepped out into the cool corridor beyond the healer's wing. Evening light stretched in narrow bands across the stone floor, catching the sheen of dried blood still faint on her sleeve.
Deyla fell into step beside her. Liora trailed a few paces behind—tired but steady, her shoulders drawn inward like a cloak against the weight of the day.
"Deyla," Veyra said quietly, not stopping, "the vault must be secured tonight."
The lieutenant nodded, jaw set.
"I want two guards posted just past the mural. Quiet ones. They stay in place. No questions."
"Done."
"Then take a silent scouting party below. No more than five. I want the ladder route tested—see if it opens directly under the east wing. Chalk the walls. If anything smells off, you turn back. We're not losing anyone in that crawlspace."
Deyla's pale eyes narrowed with focus. "And the other routes?"
"The wide one—I want it mapped. I want the burial chamber sketched. And someone needs to do a full charcoal rubbing of the mural. On linen. Get every name from those sarcophagi."
She stopped then, turning fully to face her lieutenant.
"Do not breathe a word of what's down there to anyone but me or my father. Understood?"
Deyla's hand pressed briefly to her chest in salute. "Aye. I'll meet Ryven within the hour."
Veyra gave a curt nod and stepped back.
That was when the boots sounded—firm, deliberate. A pause echoed, and then General Halvarin appeared at the bend of the hallway, cloak trailing behind him like a shadow pulled taut. His gaze flicked from Veyra to Deyla, then briefly to Liora—still leaning faintly against the wall behind them.
"You summoned me," he said without preamble.
"I did," Veyra answered. "But now may not be the time for a full report."
He raised a brow. "That so?"
She gestured subtly toward Liora. "We've had a long day. Discovered something that complicates… everything."
His attention followed the movement. For a breath, his features softened—but just for a breath.
"Then give me the short of it."
Veyra folded her arms. "The Eldranis envoys arrived tonight. ones. Deyla intercepted them before they could be taken by a runner sent by Councilor Tareth."
Halvarin's expression darkened.
"They were summoned without Circle approval. Without yours. If Deyla hadn't reached them first…"
"They'd have been used," Halvarin muttered. "Our relation with Eldranis is strained enough without someone manipulating our alliance."
Veyra nodded once. "They're who they say they are. Talan—the envoy healer—knows Liora. She vouched for her. I'll file a formal report at dawn, but the implications are already clear."
Halvarin's gaze passed over the three foreign envoys, sharp with the evaluation of a man used to weighing threats and alliances. His attention lingered only briefly on Sylra and Halwen—but when it shifted to Talan, standing a little closer to Liora, something in his expression changed.
His eyes flicked back to Veyra.
"You said one of them knows her?"
Veyra gave a slow nod. "Talan. A healer. They grew up near the South Stillwater forests, before Liora left."
Halvarin turned his gaze on Liora directly then, not unkindly, but with a trace of quiet calculation.
"You knew an Eldranis envoy as a child?" he asked, voice even.
Liora straightened slightly despite the weight of exhaustion behind her eyes. "We were both Omegas," she said. "From the same village. She always said I'd die if I left." A faint breath of amusement. "Turns out she was nearly right."
The general's mouth quirked slightly. Not quite a smile. Not quite disbelief.
"Well," he said, glancing back toward the envoys, "the Circle will have more questions. But for now, you three will be quartered in the guest wing. Guards posted outside your rooms, not inside. This is still a diplomatic arrival—albeit an unorthodox one."
He looked again to Liora, his tone quieter. "We'll talk another time."
Then he nodded to his daughter, turned on his heel, and left them in the hall's deepening quiet.
As General Halvarin turned and strode down the corridor, his footsteps echoed—measured, solid, final. He hadn't raised his voice once, but the air still felt heavier for his passing, as though the stone itself recognized the weight of his presence.
Veyra let out a slow breath and rubbed her thumb along the edge of her belt buckle—small, grounding motion.
Beside her, Liora shifted her weight, a soft exhale slipping through her nose. The brief conversation had taken its toll; the lines of fatigue around her eyes deepened in the lamplight.
Sylra, ever composed, stepped forward. "Your general is… formidable."
Veyra huffed softly. "He's seen more wars than most of the council combined. But he listens. And that's rare."
Halwen gave a faint nod of agreement. "He did not seem displeased."
"No," Veyra said. "But he's thinking. Always thinking."
Liora tilted her head toward Talan, voice just above a whisper. "Didn't think I'd be standing in front of a general tonight."
Talan smiled faintly. "Didn't think you'd be standing at all, with the day you've had."
That earned a huff of amusement from Veyra—so brief it barely touched her lips. She turned slightly, reaching to adjust the collar of her coat, then addressed Sylra more directly.
"You'll be escorted to the guest wing. It's walled, guarded, but private. Once you've eaten and rested, we'll speak again."
Sylra gave a slight bow. "That will be acceptable."
Just then, the sound of boots on stone approached from the far corridor.
Three guards in the colors of the Halvarin crest rounded the bend—a dark crimson band over muted iron gray. They halted in unison, one stepping forward with a crisp salute.
"Commander. We were sent to escort the visiting dignitaries to their quarters."
Veyra nodded once. "They're ready."
The lead guard turned to the envoys with practiced deference. "If you'll follow us, we've arranged rooms in the south-facing hall. Your belongings will be brought directly."
Halwen stepped back to let Sylra move ahead. Talan lingered a moment, her gaze lingering on Liora.
"Will I see you in the morning?" she asked softly.
Liora gave a slow nod. "You will."
Talan's smile returned—flickering but warm. Then she turned and followed her party down the corridor, their forms swallowed slowly by the deepening dark and torchlight.
As the last of their steps faded, Veyra didn't move right away. Her eyes remained fixed on the space where they'd stood.
Liora reached for her hand briefly—just brushing fingers to her sleeve. "I'm still here," she murmured.
Veyra looked down, silver eyes sharpening with something quieter. "I know."
And for a moment, neither said more.
Then Veyra straightened and exhaled. "Come. You need sleep. Deyla will oversee the rest."
They began to walk—slowly this time, the kind of pace that didn't defy fatigue, but acknowledged it with quiet dignity. Behind them, the corridor emptied, and Fort Dalen's keep returned to stillness once more.
—
By the time they reached Veyra's quarters, the keep had fallen into hush. Only the occasional murmur of distant sentries or the soft pop of torchlight against stone broke the silence. The corridor outside her room was warm with the low glow of oil lamps, casting golden light across the familiar oak door.
Inside, the chamber was quiet and dim—exactly as they'd left it. The heavy air of the underground catacombs hadn't followed them up here, but the weight of what they'd found clung to Liora's thoughts. She stepped inside slowly, easing off her boots and reaching up to undo the clasp of her vest.
Veyra moved with quiet purpose, shrugging off her cloak and belt. Her fingers worked quickly over the clasps of her tunic, leather giving way to the linen beneath. She peeled the layers down with muscle-honed ease, exposing the pale lines of her back and the old silvered scar along her ribs.
She thought nothing of it at first—until she turned slightly to hang the tunic over the chair and caught the stare.
Liora.
She had moved near the cot, holding her blanket but not moving. Her eyes—wide, bright, copper-gold in the low firelight—had gone unmistakably still.
Veyra paused mid-motion. "What?" Her voice was mild, but the edge of amusement curled underneath it.
Liora blinked as if yanked from a trance. "Nothing."
Veyra tilted her head, still shirtless, hair loose around her shoulders. "That didn't look like nothing."
"You looked—" Liora floundered, then laughed under her breath. "I mean, I looked. Briefly. It's your fault, anyway, for standing there like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're not extremely aware of the fact you're… undressed in a room with someone who's definitely not unaffected."
Veyra gave a soft, quiet snort as she stepped forward and pulled on a softer, sleeveless linen shift. "Noted. Next time I'll wear full plate."
Liora rolled her eyes and sat on the edge of the cot, mock-wounded. "Now you're just being cruel."
Veyra smirked, then moved past her toward the shelf near the window—and that's when Liora's eyes landed on it.
Her amusement faded.
There, just beneath the line of Veyra's collarbone and over her shoulder, the dim light caught on faint bruising. A bite. Still visible, even softened by time. The mark she'd left.
It hadn't faded.
Veyra turned slightly at the silence, eyes narrowing in question—until she saw Liora's gaze drop. And linger.
"You're staring again."
Liora's throat tightened. "It's still there."
Veyra glanced down at her own shoulder. She didn't lift a hand to cover it.
"I know."
"You didn't try to hide it?"
"No."
Liora hesitated, voice lower now. "But someone will ask."
"They can ask." Veyra crossed to the cot and sat beside her. "I'm not pretending it didn't happen. Are you?"
Liora's lips parted—but no answer came.
She looked at Veyra, then down at her hands in her lap. She flexed her fingers once. "I thought it was just… instinct. That it wouldn't last."
"It wasn't just instinct." Veyra's voice was soft but unwavering. "You held on."
Liora's breath shivered in her chest. She nodded, once, then pulled her legs up onto the cot.
"It's been a long day," she murmured, curling under the blanket. "I don't think I have anything left to say."
"Then don't," Veyra said. She rose briefly to dim the lamp, then returned, sliding beneath the throw beside her. "Just sleep."
The light dimmed, the shadows softened, and Liora—pressed close beneath the weight of something unspoken—closed her eyes.
Liora shifted beneath the blanket, her back half-turned, the fatigue of the day finally pulling at her bones.
Veyra lay quiet beside her for a breath, then spoke—low, like something that had taken time to choose its shape.
"…Would it help if I held you?"
Liora blinked slowly. The question was soft. Careful. Not coaxing—offered.
She didn't answer right away. Just listened to the weight of the words in the dark. Then she nodded—small, but sure.
Veyra moved only enough to close the space between them, sliding one arm gently around Liora's waist, the other settling near her shoulder. Her body was warm and steady behind her, heartbeat slow and calm where their backs touched.
Liora exhaled.
It didn't feel like being caged.
It felt… grounded. Like safety. Like breathing without armor for the first time in hours.
"You're warm," she murmured.
Veyra gave a quiet hum. "So are you."
Liora smiled faintly in the dark. "You don't always have to be the one holding everything up, you know."
"I'm not," Veyra said, voice brushing against her skin like wind through leaves. "Tonight, I'm just here."
Liora said nothing more.
She let her eyes fall closed, her hand gently wrapping around Veyra's forearm where it rested at her middle, fingers tangling just slightly—enough to anchor them both.
The silence that followed wasn't heavy.
And for once, sleep came easily.