Whitebridge, Southern Seyuun – Four Days Later
The city of Whitebridge shimmered in the summer heat, its domed spires and river arches casting long shadows across canals swollen with trade barges. It was a city of silks and secrets—open gates, veiled eyes, and the quiet music of coin on marble.
Aeron hated it already.
Their arrival passed without fanfare, just another dusty band of riders pushing through the outer markets. The banner was folded away. The guards barely looked up.
Yet inside the walls, someone was already waiting.
The House of Tides – Inner Quarter
Lady Mirelle Caerwyn stood atop a stone balcony, framed by silk curtains caught in the sea breeze. She wore no crown, no colors of court, only a loose gown the color of ash, hair bound in ribbons of copper and pearl. Her eyes—still storm-grey—did not flinch as Aeron entered.
"You're late," she said.
"You're dressed," Aeron replied.
Harwin coughed lightly. Elric rolled his eyes. Tarn stared, half in awe.
Mirelle dismissed her handmaids with a flick of her fingers. Only the rider who had delivered her message remained, standing in the corner like a statue.
"You came," she said at last.
"I said I would."
She turned toward the sea. "They say you carry your house's banner again. That it was last seen riding south with seven swords and no fear."
"I carry no banner," Aeron said. "Only names."
"Spoken like a ghost," she said.
He stepped closer. "Why summon me? Seyuun has no stake in Thorne lands. And Caerwyn flies the Crown's Hand."
"Not this Caerwyn," she said.
Later – A Garden of Statues
They walked amid broken sculptures—warriors, saints, beasts—once proud, now mossed over and headless.
"My family sent me here to heal," she said. "A polite way of saying vanish."
"You never vanished," Aeron said.
"I watched your name burn," she replied. "Watched them hang boys for wearing it. And still, I waited."
"For what?"
"For this." She handed him a folded parchment. "The Crown is planning a second purge. Not against rebels—against houses with old ties. Any who once bent knee to your father."
Aeron scanned the names. Some he recognized. Others were already dead.
"Why give this to me?"
She hesitated. "Because you'll remember what they were before the fire."
Silence passed like a blade between them.
Then she whispered, "I have no power here. Not truly. But I can offer three things—coin, safe passage south, and a name to kill."
Aeron looked up. "Who?"
She answered without blinking. "Lord Caerwyn. My father."
That Night – Rooftop Shadows
Harwin found Aeron alone on a tower's edge, staring at the moonlit canal far below.
"She's changed," Harwin said.
"No," Aeron murmured. "She's just taken the mask off."
Harwin handed him a letter. "From the border. A reply from the old bannermen. They'll ride. Slowly. Quietly. But they'll ride."
Aeron nodded. "Then we have a start."
"What about her?" Harwin asked.
"I don't know," Aeron said.
"Do you trust her?"
A long pause.
"No. But I remember her."
A gust of wind scattered petals across the rooftop.
"And memories," Aeron said, "are the sharpest blade."