Chapter 1
Part V - Extended
And Erlin, she realized grimly, had been known here.
The old woman—the one who'd called out to her—was still watching from the shack's doorway. Her hand had not left the talisman at her throat. Velrona didn't need her spirit-threading to know the woman would talk.
She reached the bend in the road where the slope curved into a valley. Fields, wide and brittle, stretched beyond. Autumn was nearing. Crops had been pulled. Only stumps remained, turned grey by the sun.
A post station sat at the bottom of the hill—three buildings built into the base of a stone rise. A small watchtower. A feedhouse for oxen. And a squat building with ward-marks painted sloppily over the doors.
She scanned them through Erlin's eyes. His memories flickered behind her vision. He'd been here before—knew the smell of the place, the creak of the inn's front door, the soft mud near the latrines. More importantly, he knew who lived here.
System Notice: Soul memory fragments available. Host identity mask adaptable. Confidence threshold: 82%.
Useful. She needed to pass for him until she could find somewhere to anchor herself, to learn, to watch.
Inside Erlin's mind, his voice echoed again.
They'll know.
Then give me what I need, she replied.
A pause.
Then—a flood.
Names. Faces. Routes. A sister who had fled to the coast. A cousin who worked supply wagons. A girl from the bar who liked his eyes but not his words. Each fragment fed into her, memories slotting into place like stolen bricks mortared with tension.
System: Memory overlay successful. Role assumption risk minimal.
Velrona adjusted her pace. Rolled her shoulders. Lightened her step to match his looser, slightly slouched stride. She wiped her mouth with his sleeve and let a trickle of breathless nervousness coat her expression.
She was ready.
The innkeeper looked up as she stepped inside.
"Erlin," he said, voice neutral but with recognition.
Velrona nodded. "Back early."
"You find anything?" The man eyed her hand, which still bore a smear of blood.
She hesitated. A thousand lies lined her tongue. The best ones were nearly true.
"Went too far in," she said. "We stirred something. I think… someone's already been there."
The innkeeper frowned. "Like a rival crew?"
"No. Something older."
The man's face changed. Not fear. Not quite. But a stillness, like someone staring too long at a closed door and waiting for it to knock.
"You tell Father Lirn?"
"Not yet," she said. "Wanted to clean up first."
The man nodded. "Trough's warm. Food's better than usual. Sit. Eat. Then you go talk to him."
Velrona sat. Not from hunger, though Erlin's stomach still growled. She needed to watch. To listen.
She needed to know who ruled this place now.
Two hours passed.
She ate slowly, watching the inn fill with workers, travelers, and locals. She tracked every eye that turned her way. Most offered nods or silence. A few stared too long. One—a woman with inked fingers and a scarred cheek—kept glancing from her to the door, as if expecting someone to enter who never would.
Eventually, the door opened again.
And in walked a man wearing the robes of the Pale Brothers.
White linen. Black trim. A chain of copper bones around his neck.
Velrona's fingers twitched under the table.
So they'd moved in here, too.
The man's eyes swept the room. He spotted her immediately and approached.
"Erlin," he said.
She nodded, carefully.
"You came from the tomb?"
"I did."
"You saw something."
It wasn't a question.
Velrona forced a breath. "There were signs."
"What kind?"
She met his eyes. Let just enough fear show.
"The kind that make silence feel loud."
The man stared at her. Then, unexpectedly, he sat across from her and removed his gloves.
"I've been waiting," he said softly. "We all have."
Velrona stiffened. Not visibly. But within, her spirit bristled.
"Waiting for what?"
"For her. For the bones to whisper. For the black breath to rise again."
He smiled.
It was a gentle, terrifying smile.
"Some of us still remember the old rites. We don't fear her. We serve her."
Silence stretched.
Erlin's voice rose within her, soft and panicked.
What is he talking about? Is he one of yours?
Velrona stared at the man.
"You expect her to return?"
The man nodded. "And you'll be her mouth."
She felt Erlin shudder.
She didn't correct the man.
That night, she sat in the inn's upper room, looking out over the quiet hills.
The stars above were faint, blurred by mist.
In the room below, people drank, laughed, whispered.
In her hand, she held Erlin's dagger.
The soul inside her still pressed, faint but constant.
He had not resisted again. Not overtly.
But she felt him—watching.
Listening.
And when she whispered aloud, she didn't use his voice.
She used hers.
Raw. Damaged. Creaking with disuse. But hers.
"I am not gone," she said.
Then she turned and slept in borrowed flesh, the system humming faintly beneath her skin.