The rider with the banner of the First Thorned Blade crossed the last hill as dawn split the horizon. Light touched their armour—old steel, darkened with age, polished at the edges. The horse stopped at the edge of the witness path. Dust swirled around its hooves.
Leon stepped forward slowly.
The rider dismounted without a word. She removed her helm.
She was in her forties. Auburn hair tied back, a narrow scar across her chin. Her eyes were sharp, and she didn't bow. She looked straight at Leon.
"You have his face," she said.
Leon tensed. "Who are you?"
"Commander Eliane Thorne. Your father's sister. I led the last of the loyalists when the decree fell. They said you died. They said we all did."
Leon stared. No words came.
Veyne spoke instead. "She was declared dead. They buried her name with the rest of the rebellion."
"You knew?" Leon asked.
"I knew what they did. But she was never part of their list. She disappeared before the Council passed the final order."
