When Vera woke the next morning, it took her longer than she cared to admit to blink the sleep from her eyes and actually bother getting up. Back in her old body, she’d been used to lying around for too long because it had simply been hard to move, and she might’ve thought she’d want to do the opposite now. But she realized there was its own kind of comfort in staying in bed out of nothing more than laziness and choice—something she had almost forgotten how to enjoy.

  It helped that she’d slept without nightmares this time.

  When she finally did rise, it was with a jaw-cracking yawn, padding across the room before stepping out into the hallway. She stopped outside Serel’s door and gave the wood a gentle knock.

  She’d originally promised to teach the girl how to draw last night, but that plan had fallen through when Serel became so engrossed in showing her the ‘dragon’ book that they had lost track of time. By the end, Serel had been fighting sleep so hard that Vera had to be the adult one and insist it was bedtime.

  That was still a strange feeling.

  What followed had been somewhat awkward. Vera hadn’t known how to tell the girl it was probably best if she slept in her own room without making it sound like rejection. To her relief—and slight guilt—Serel had accepted it without much fuss, though Vera had noticed her holding something back.

  It did sting slightly to see that.

  It had only been after Vera offered to sit by her bedside and keep reading from the book until she drifted off that Serel’s face brightened again. Vera ended up staying there for over an hour, probably delaying the girl’s sleep more than helping it, but it seemed like a workable solution, one she might keep repeating if it spared Serel that crestfallen look.

  When there was no answer to her knock that morning, Vera assumed Serel was still asleep and checked with Mark of the Stillbound Veil, only to find that the girl wasn’t in her room at all, but somewhere else in the manor.

  She tracked her down to the dining chamber, nibbling at a loaf of bread at the table while a mess of parchment was spread out before her and Caldrin loomed behind with his arms folded. He was making what he clearly thought were helpful comments about her drawings, which only earned Serel small frowns as she pressed her charcoal harder, as though sheer determination might drown out his critique.

  The girl perked up immediately when she saw Vera, bouncing in her chair to show off her work. After a few moments of squinting, Vera realized it was probably meant to be the dragon from the painting last night, though the leap to that conclusion required a fair bit of generosity.

  That said, if they’d had a fridge, she had an inkling she would have pinned the picture to it on the spot.

  When she asked, it turned out Caldrin’s remarks had been focused on the ‘accuracy’ of Serel’s drawing: wing joint placement, horn length, the correct scale patterning described in old bestiaries. That was when Vera discovered the first thing the man was actually bad at.

  He had no soul for art.

  Sure, technically, maybe he wasn’t wrong. But drawing wasn’t about technical correctness alone. And even when it was, his idea of ‘correct’ was so narrow it barely left room for imagination. She loudly told Serel to ignore the stale old man—calling him old earned her an interesting reaction she mentally tucked away for later—and settled at the table herself while teaching the girl some of the basics.

  Since Serel was only six, Vera didn’t bother with any technique-heavy lessons. Instead, she gave small, simple tips, like how to keep lines loose instead of tense, how to shape with big strokes first before adding the little details, how sometimes ‘wrong’ lines made things interesting, and more.

  She let the girl keep drawing her own dragon, while Vera sketched a rough background to frame it—a stormlit mountain peak, jagged and dark, for Serel’s creature to spread its wings. She kept it purposefully rough so it blended with the girl’s… wilder lines.

  It was nice. Vera had never really taught anyone anything before, so it was a novel experience, as were most things related to Serel. And as usual, she found she genuinely enjoyed it. Enjoyed how seriously Serel nodded at her advice, how her little brow furrowed in focus, how her lip caught between her teeth when she pressed too hard and tried again without complaint. She even enjoyed drawing for herself again, more than the her from just a few days ago would have expected.

  She wondered if she shouldn’t make this a habit, as long as Serel kept finding joy in it. As far as morning routines went, it beat most of what she’d ever managed in her old life.

  But they couldn’t linger in the manor all day. Or, well, they could, but they probably shouldn’t. So eventually, she called an end to the drawing session, to Serel’s small pout of protest, and they began preparing for another day in Marrowfen.

  Soon enough, they stood in the Ember Gallery again, Caldrin offering his measured farewells as Vera reactivated the Hearthbind Token. Ash and emberlight swallowed her and Serel, pulling them back into Hollowstone Table’s Vice-Master’s office.

  The man was seated behind his desk when they arrived, spectacles perched low on his nose, a half-read parchment in hand. He looked up at their sudden appearance, giving them both a long, flat look.

  Vera raised a hand in casual greeting. “Morning.”

  She’d had some time to think about their meeting the night before, and she realized she’d acted… different from her usual self. It hadn’t been that obvious to her in the moment, but it nagged at her afterward. Maybe there was a part of her that leaned more toward grim and serious than she wanted to admit, and that part seemed to have slipped out yesterday.

  Honestly, it was a bit embarrassing. She had never fancied herself the sort who’d stalk around being dramatic, no matter the circumstance. The thought made her oddly self-conscious now. Unsure how to carry herself in front of him. Which was why she went for something more laid-back.

  Gard raised an awkward hand in return. “…Hello.”

  Serel, mirroring Vera, waved more brightly. “Hello!”

  The girl seemed to have warmed to him pretty quickly once she’d learned of his shared interest in dragons. Though Vera suspected at least half of her enthusiasm came from the promise of the dragon texts he’d mentioned lending them.

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  This morning, she had considered that maybe whatever texts he could provide, there was a chance those—and more—were already waiting in the Ashledger Archive at Sablewatch Hollow, meaning they might not even need to borrow from him. But with how eager Serel was, it might be better to just keep quiet and save the Archive for a surprise some other day.

  More than that, Vera was simply happy to see Serel wasn’t just inherently withdrawn or scared around others. It would have made sense, given how she’d apparently been raised, but yesterday’s outing and now this showed the girl could open up even to strangers. That was good.

  “Miss Morgans,” the Vice-Master began, studying them with a look that wavered somewhere between formal caution and uncertainty.

  “We’re only here because this is the return point we set for Marrowfen,” Vera explained. “We’ll be out of your way in a moment.”

  He was silent at first, then gave a small nod. “I see.” He regarded them both another second before sliding open a desk drawer. From within, he retrieved a small stack of books and bound papers, which he placed neatly atop the desk. “These are the texts I mentioned yesterday. You’re welcome to take them.”

  A tiny gasp escaped Serel, and Vera couldn’t help a faint smile before she stepped forward. She picked up the books, slipping them into her Vaultring. “Thank you. We’ll return them once we’re done. I assume there’s been no progress on the other matter yet?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. I haven’t had the chance to speak outside the Chapter, but I have sent a few discreet letters to acquaintances across the city. With luck, they’ll shed light on where exactly the Concord’s materials are being funneled.”

  “Alright. Good luck with that. I’ll stay in touch.”

  Vera turned toward the door with Serel in tow, but the Vice-Master coughed softly behind them. She glanced back.

  “Ahem.” He shifted slightly in his chair. “If possible, it may be best if you left by other means. Questions might be raised if you’re seen leaving my office when no one saw you enter.”

  “…Right.”

  Vera summoned Stillwake, brushed a quick pulse of Mark of the Stillbound Veil through the nearby district, and found a quiet alley without people around. A Hollow Reach tore open, and she stepped through with Serel at her side.

  They emerged in between two old stone buildings, the hum of Marrowfen resettling around them. From there, they started toward their first stop of the day.

  After some thought, Vera had decided that would be the Emberward Reliquary. The moment she’d described the place, and that they could test Serel’s ‘strength’ there, the girl had latched onto the idea, so it seemed as good a destination as any.

  She already had a sense of its location, so they only had to ask directions twice before they found it. The district was a quieter one, its narrow walkways curling past moss-grown arches and weather-smoothed bone carvings that regularly caught Serel’s curious eyes.

  The Reliquary itself was modest. A single-story structure of dark brick and timber bracing, built low with a slanting roof. A wide central chimney released slow curls of gray smoke into the late morning air, carrying the sharp tang of charred incense across the area. Above the doorway, a blackened sun had been carved into the lintel, ringed with inlaid scorched iron.

  Inside, warmth pressed in at once. Some of it came from the braziers spilling emberlight along the walls, but Vera could also sense a quieter undercurrent of Resonance in the air. It wasn’t too different from the ambient Resonance she’d felt in the Marrowvault, but of a different texture. A different taste, she supposed. The chamber itself wasn’t too large, no more than a dozen meters across, and at its far end was a great burning hearth. In front of it were reliquaries of bone, splintered spears, and charred fragments of armor, each arranged with ritual care.

  Serel’s gaze darted everywhere as they stepped inside, wide-eyed with curiosity. A low voice greeted them from across the room, and an elderly man in layered ash-gray robes stepped forward. A Votive Steward, presumably.

  “May the Wounded Sun light your way,” he said softly. “What brings you here? How may I serve?”

  Vera studied him for a moment. She got the sense he was Kindled, but not of particularly high Binding.

  “Is it possible for us to perform the Rite of Embercalm?” she asked.

  The old man regarded her carefully, then lowered his gaze to Serel. He lingered a breath before nodding. “Yes. The rite is open to all, so long as the fire within still stirs. Does the child already carry the flame?”

  Vera narrowed her eyes slightly, but finally, she nodded. “She does. I want to confirm her binding. And mine.”

  The steward bowed his head. “Then the rite will answer.”

  He turned and gestured for them to follow. They crossed the chamber together, past the hearth and into a small hall. At its end, he opened a heavy door, and a wave of heat rolled out.

  The chamber beyond was small, ringed with shallow braziers that flared to life as they entered. The walls were bare stone, curving slightly inward toward the ceiling and giving the space a vaguely crucible-like feel. At its center was a shallow basin, its stone scorched dark.

  Serel’s hand slipped into Vera’s, small fingers clutching tighter than usual, her bright demeanor suddenly tempered by a quieter thread of nerves.

  Vera couldn’t exactly blame her. Personally, she’d always felt a bit strange around churches and the like when she was a kid.

  She glanced at the old man. “What exactly does the rite do? How does it work?”

  “It lays your soul bare,” the steward said in the steady rhythm of someone who had repeated the same words a lot of times. “Every soul is branded by flame, existent in the eyes of the divine. The Bindings are the flame’s measure of how deeply it has taken root, and the Resonance of their soul. The Rite of Embercalm calls upon the Quiet Pyre, which stirs that brand to the surface, and through willing sacrifice it reveals the Flamebinding already etched into the soul.” He stepped toward one of the braziers, adjusting the iron ring around it with a practiced motion, then turned back to Serel with a gentler smile. “Sacrifice does not mean pain, nor loss. It is the sacrifice of temporary stillness, of holding oneself open. Nothing more. There is no reason to be afraid of the rite.”

  Serel didn’t let go of Vera’s hand, but her grip eased, just slightly.

  The steward motioned toward the basin. “You may kneel or stand. For a child, kneeling is sometimes easier.”

  “Can we both perform the rite at at the same time?” Vera asked.

  “If you wish.”

  “And it’s true you can’t speak of what you see here with anyone?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Great.”

  Vera brought Serel forward, stepping into the basin with some care. She eyed the dark, pitted stone underfoot, feeling she already had an idea of how it got like that. Still, she trusted the rite was safe enough, given that Caldrin had pointed them here.

  Serel seemed unsure whether to kneel or not beside her, looking around with uncertain eyes as her currently dark hair caught the flicker of the emberlight. Vera gave her hand what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

  The steward circled the chamber, murmuring a quiet incantation as he passed from brazier to brazier. With each, the walls behind him lit with the glowing sigils of House Emberward. When he completed the circle, the braziers flared, their flames tightening into a steady crimson hue.

  At Vera’s and Serel’s feet, a tiny fire sparked to life. It curled up from the basin’s center like a small bloom. The air rippled, brushing across Vera’s skin.

  Serel stiffened. Her eyes widened, fixed on the curling flame. It rose no higher than her ankles, and it didn’t burn, but there was something old in its movement. Not wild or volatile, but very… quiet.

  Fitting.

  Vera watched it closely.

  The flame began to twist, reaching upward, shifting into something less like fire and more like form.

  “Are you ready?” the steward asked from across the room.

  Vera looked down at Serel. “Are you ready?”

  The girl didn’t answer at first. She stared at the flame, her small body tense, until Vera squeezed her hand more firmly. She swallowed, then gave a quick nod.

  “Then may the Quiet Pyre reveal you.”

  With one final flare, the flame expanded to swallow them whole.

  Serel flinched, trying to pull back, but Vera wrapped both arms around her, steadying her. She was still slightly on edge herself, but she could tell this wasn’t dangerous. The fire didn’t sear them, and instead it felt like being wrapped in weightless cloth, pressing close without smothering. It was very comforting.

  But then, there was a sudden cold.

  The air shifted. The fire around them suddenly drained into new hues, dusky lilac and bleeding violet rippling through its heart. From somewhere far away, the steward’s alarmed voice echoed.

  Then the chamber was gone, and so was the flame.

  And they were surrounded by nothing.