The evening fog was already clinging to the winding lane that led to the edge of the Veilmouth northern outskirts. Selis’s house sat in the shadow of the encroaching treeline.

  A strong horse was tied near the door, damp from the mist and breathing white clouds in the cold air.

  Garen trudged up the path, his boots heavy with graveyard mud. His body ached from the hours of digging, but his mind was buzzing with a strange, nervous energy. He watched Selene pause beside the animal. She ran a gloved hand down its powerful neck in a quiet, calming rhythm, her expression unreadable, before she turned to the door.

  "Come inside," she said, pushing it open.

  “Garen stepped inside, grateful for the warmth from the house. The main room was cluttered, but his attention went straight to the center of the floor.”

  He stopped dead, the breath catching in his throat.

  Two more pine coffins sat there. They were identical to the ones he had just buried.

  “Architects’ mercy…” Garen whispered. He looked at Selene, eyes wide. “Did… did something go wrong?”

  "No one else has died, Garen," Selene said calmly. She walked past the coffins. “And these aren’t for burying people.”

  Garen stared at them, confused. "Then what—"

  “They’re for transporting people,” a soft voice said from the kitchen doorway.

  Garen snapped, eyes locking on the figure in the shadows as Selis stepped into the firelight. She was draped in a heavy black robe, open just enough to reveal the gleam of porcelain-white armor beneath. The hilts of twin swords rose in a sharp X over her shoulders, and beneath her dark cowl, the pale feathers of her mask flared like ivory wings, completely hiding her eyes.

  She moved with a fluid, blind grace, her head tilted slightly as if listening to things Garen couldn't hear.

  "You must be the porter," Selis said gently.

  “I… yes. Garen,” he said. He looked at Selene. “Transporting people?”

  "We are leaving Veilmouth, Garen. She gestured to a long, bundled object resting on the heavy worktable near the hearth. "But those are not your concern. This is."

  Garen approached the table.

  It was a sword. It was encased in a scabbard unlike anything he’d seen: thick, riveted iron bands reinforcing heavy, boiled leather. It looked crude, clearly fashioned in haste by a smith who prioritized durability over beauty, but it was massive. Nearly six feet long.

  “A smith friend put this together for me, along with the coffins,” Selene said, resting her hand on the hilt. “This is Nihil.”

  "It's big," Garen muttered.

  Selene let out a small breath of a laugh. "It is also heavy," she corrected.

  She ran a hand over the rough leather scabbard.

  "We tried to strap it to the horse outside, but it wouldn't take it. Agitated, kicking—it panicked every time the blade got close. She looked back at Garen. "And Selis and I can’t carry it while we carry… the others—we need someone strong. Someone who knows how to bear weight."

  She looked him in the eye.

  “This is the task we have for you. Can you do it?”

  Before Garen could answer, the sound of a latch clicking echoed from the back of the house.

  The door to the cellar swung open. The air in the room seemed to drop a few degrees instantly.

  Two figures emerged from the darkness below. The first was Sebastian. Behind him came Astraea, who made Garen’s blood run cold. She was striking, and her eyes glinted red in the firelight.

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  "So," Sebastian said, his voice smooth. He looked Garen up and down. "This is the… human?"

  “His name is Garen,” Selene said, her tone sharper now. “Everything is set for the morning. If today is any indication, there will be plenty of mist tomorrow to cover our movements.”

  Astraea approached Garen, circling him as she inspected him. Garen stiffened.

  "He smells of wet earth and sweat," Astraea mused, but does he have the spine for it? That blade is not ordinary, mortal."

  Garen frowned. He didn't like being talked about as if he were a mule. He look down at the iron-wrapped sword.

  “I’ve carried stone pillars up the Athenaeum steps,” Garen grunted. “A sword’s like a feather by comparison.”

  He stepped forward, planted his feet wide, and gripped the leather-wrapped handle of the sheath. He exhaled sharply and pulled.

  It didn't move.

  Garen blinked. It felt as if the weapon was bolted to the table. It wasn't just heavy; it felt dense.

  Astraea tilted her head and let out a light giggle. “Is that all you can do?”

  Garen gritted his teeth. Pride flared in his chest, a stubborn, Lowtown fire. He adjusted his stance, bending his knees. He didn't pull with his arms this time; he drove upward with his legs, his back, every muscle he had built over years of labor.

  Move. Move. Move. He repeated.

  A vein bulged in his neck. The leather creaked.

  Slowly, the massive sheathed blade lifted. Then it was clear of the table.

  Garen held it. The weight was crushing, but he held it.

  "I... can... carry it!" he wheezed, staring defiantly at Astraea.

  Sebastian raised an eyebrow, genuine surprise flickering across his face. "Remarkable." He nodded once, a gesture of respect. "Very well. You will suffice."

  Selene stepped in, placing a hand on Garen’s shoulder. "Set it down, Garen. Save your strength."

  Garen let the sword land with a heavy thud that shook the floorboards. He leaned against the table.

  “Selis,” Selene said. “Take him to the kitchen. Get him food—meat, bread, whatever we haven’t packed. And let him sleep. He needs to be at full strength for tomorrow.”

  Selis nodded, extending a hand. "Come, Garen."

  Garen didn’t argue and followed Selis out of the room.

  Once they were out of the room, the atmosphere in the main room shifted. The pretense of normalcy evaporated.

  "Tell me Sebastian," Selene said. "What did you learn last night?"

  Sebastian’s gaze settled on the coffins. "The valley is a kicked hive. The death of the Baron was... unfortunate. But the death of Adelaide and the Ardent twins has the Circle in a panic."

  "They know something went wrong?"

  “As if this mortal thought they controlled anything at all,” Astraea spat, a flicker of a tempted smile crossing her face. “Adelaide is dead. The Ardents are ash. By your doing. That is what happens when you are weak—pathetic mortals.”

  Selene gave Astraea a sideways look, disagreeing with what she had just said. Then she turned to Sebastian. “What about Eldric. Or Aldric?”

  "It seems that, at the moment, they have higher priorities in mind," Sebastian replied.

  Selene nodded, relieved. “I hope it stays that way. At least until we leave Veilmouth. “I wouldn’t want to run into a group of the Circle’s men searching for them as we take our leave from Veilmouth.”

  She looked at the window, where darkness pressed against the glass. The village slept, unaware of what was about to transpire. Inside, the fire burned down to embers, the hours passing in a heavy, waiting silence—until the black of night finally surrendered to the gray of morning.

  The mist from the river had risen up to swallow the lower half of Veilmouth. Outside Selis’s house, the air was wet and thick with silence.

  Garen stood outside the house, adjusting the straps across his chest. The sword—Nihil—was slung across his back. It was a crushing weight, tugging at his shoulders, but he found his balance.

  He looked up as the door opened.

  "Ready?" Selene asked.

  She stepped out, and Garen’s jaw dropped.

  She carried one of the pine coffins strapped across her shoulder, holding it casually as if the weight were nothing. Her white hair was tied back, her look focused.

  She paused beside the horse, shifting the coffin’s weight with terrifying ease to reach her vest and draw out the pocket watch. She looked at it for a brief moment, then tucked it into the saddlebag. She no longer needed its rhythm to steady herself, but she wouldn’t leave the memory behind.

  A few steps back came Selis. She moved slower, but she too bore the weight of the second coffin on her narrow shoulder. Every step she took looked, painful, yet she didn't falter, her faith seemingly lending strength to her limbs.

  "Close your mouth, Garen," Selene said dryly, moving past him. "Or a bug might crawl in."

  Garen blinked, snapping his mouth shut, but the image seared into his brain. Just yesterday, in the graveyard, it had taken all his leverage just to drag those same pine boxes. They were dead weight in every sense of the word. Yet here was Selene, handling one like a rolled-up rug, and the blind woman, bearing the other without a word of complaint.

  He felt a grudging spike of respect. Then a simple thought from earlier surfaced—transporting people. His eyes snapped fully open as the realization hit him. Are there bodies inside of them!

  He spoke quickly, a little too loud as the shock took hold. “Selene—”

  Selene didn’t hesitate. “Would it change anything if I said yes?”

  He’d heard the jokes in the Lowtown taverns, men warning that the women in valley were a different breed. He realized now the drunks were right after all.

  As he accepted this blunt display of strength, he shifted the massive iron-bound sword on his back. If the blind woman could carry a coffin, he certainly wasn’t going to be the one whining about a piece of metal on his back.

  He heard Selene calling him. Come on, Garen. We have to go.

  “Right,” he muttered to himself. “It’s just the way things are.”

  He stepped out onto the path, following them both into the mist.