They got back before the sun came up.
Three riders, like shadows pursuing the last of the night, slip through Greyrest's outer gate.
Despite seeing and recognizing them, the guards remained silent. The expression in Ethan's eyes caused their throats to dry up.
Unaware of what had roused just outside its boundaries, Greyrest was waking. With his cloak weighed down by dried blood and forest dew at the hem,
Ethan got off first. Gerran, limping and bruised, came next. Elen was the last to move, moving more slowly than normal and pulling her hood down. Words could never express what her silence did.
They chose not to go to the council chambers.
They visited the apothecary.
Before they could knock, Mearve opened the door. "You're ahead of schedule."
Ethan didn't grin. "We couldn't afford to be late." The hearth was warm inside, and Lina was sitting on a cushion, half asleep, with sketches all over her. Sensing the weight they carried, she stirred when she saw them but remained silent, just staring.
With her fingers trembling a little, Elen poured water into a basin while leaning against a wall. Gerran rubbed his side and lowered himself to a bench. He whispered, "One of them marked me." "I didn't even notice the blade."
Ethan placed a ripped piece of parchment on the table after unrolling it.
Black ink. None of them recognized the symbols in a spiraling language.
Ethan looked at Mearve and remarked, "We found this in the tower they rebuilt." "Gerran said It follows a pattern. Older than the Cataclysm, the runes are familiar to us. Rituals of blood. binding of memory. Something more.
Mearve's face went white as she gazed at the parchment. "The Sable Order is the source of these marks."
Elen's brows lifted as she turned. "Generations have passed since that name was spoken."
Mearve muttered, "It was never meant to be." After the Sundering, they were disbanded and believed to be extinct. But above all, they held the belief that memory is power. They were unwilling to obliterate history. Their goal was to turn it into a weapon.
Gerran swore softly. So, Blackmere is more than just a stronghold. It's a graveyard. They're also digging it up.
Ethan stated, "They're not scavenging." "Something is being awakened."
There was silence in the room.
"And they know we were there," Ethan continued.
Mearve's eyes snapped up. "You were pursued?" "Not then. However, they conveyed a message. He removed a piece of cloth from his wrist and saw a sigil, a mark etched into the flesh.
Elen took a step forward. "I observed it in their temple. over the basin. It was more than a warning. It was an invitation.
More like being the chosen.
"They want you to return," Mearve whispered.
Ethan added, "Not just me." "Everyone."
Before noon, the council met. Halric sat taller than normal, serious and intent. "Report."
The map that Ethan had unfolded days earlier was in front of him once more. The lines felt tighter this time, though. Nearer. Like someone pulling a snare.
"We verified that it was occupied. There are 27 verified figures, some of whom are cloaked and others are armored. emblems associated with the Sable Order. The site is being reinforced as part of a planned restoration. Rituals are in motion. new sacrifices. They are getting ready for something.
"They've constructed a chamber underneath the tower," Gerran continued. It wasn't until we went inside that our scouts noticed it. Down there, sound doesn't travel as well.
Elen gave a nod. It's a vault. or a prison. It's not empty, either.
Halric's expression grew gloomy. "Are we aware of their target?"
"We don't," Ethan stated. "Not just yet. It's more than just territory, though. They are unearthing something that has been buried. Additionally, they are doing so using knowledge that predates the majority of what we currently teach.
Then, with parchment in hand, Mearve entered, uninvited but not unwelcome. The records of the Sable Order are kept under seal in the Hall of Records. I sent for them. We must ascertain the gods or memories they served, as well as the rituals they observed.
According to Gerran, "they didn't serve gods." They provided remembrance. and retribution.
Halric's voice trailed off. Next, we get ready. Not for combat. Not just yet. Except for infiltration. Understanding. containment.
"What if we are unable to contain it?" Gerran inquired.
No one answered.
That evening, Ethan stood on the overlook above Greyrest, the city laid out in golds and ambers below. Smoke from chimneys curled like dreams into the twilight.
Footsteps behind him.
Lina.
She didn't speak, just handed him a folded sketch. An archway. Not just architectural, but symbolic. Half of it crumbled. The other rebuilt.
"I don't want it to fall," she said.
Ethan looked at her. "Then we hold it together."
"And if the cracks are too deep?"
He paused. "Then we become the mortar."
She nodded, as if that made perfect sense.
And Ethan, for all he had seen in the last three days, the symbols, the blood, the watchers in the trees, felt something spark in the dark.
Not fear.
But resolve.
Because the storm was no longer coming.
It had arrived.