Epilogue
TWO YEARS LATER
“From the grave of what was comes the birth of what might be.”
Writings of the Veinblood Masters
SACHA
The memorial gardens are empty at this hour.
It’s a little after dawn, the sun barely peaking over the horizon as I make my way along the stone markers arranged in neat rows where the old gardens once stood.
Each stone bears a name—Veinwardens and Veinbloods who died fighting, innocents caught in the war, and even Authority soldiers who turned away from their cause before the end.
The dead earned their place of remembrance here through sacrifice, regardless of which side claimed them first.
Near the center of the gardens is the marker I’m here to visit.
It doesn’t look any different from the others, but it’s set slightly apart from them, beneath an old tree.
I stop in front of it, and brush away leaves that have landed on top of it overnight, my eyes lowering to look at the name carved deep into the stone.
Sereven Torran.
I trace a finger over the letters, the same way I do every morning, and question why I persist in continuing this ritual.
Perhaps it’s the need to remember that Sereven was human once.
I will never forgive the Authority High Commander who committed genocide on my people, but the brother who spent hours teaching me how to anticipate an opponent’s strategy three moves ahead? That person deserves to be remembered, even though I had to kill the monster he became.
Standing here reminds me of the cost of power without conscience, of what happens when ideology replaces humanity, and doctrine justifies any cruelty.
Sereven believed he was saving the world from the chaos magic could bring.
He was convinced that order at any price was better than the alternative.
Instead, he created something far worse.
A system that fed on fear, and dressed brutality in the language of necessity.
I miss him, and I hate that I miss him.
“Sleep in peace, brother.” I touch my fingers to the stone once more.
The guilt of being the one to end his life hasn’t gone away, even knowing there was no other choice. But Ellie has helped me to see that I can miss him, and still be glad he’s dead at the same time. That one feeling does not negate the other, and both things can be true.
I turn away from his marker, and walk back toward the Spire.
A little over two years have passed since Ellie discovered Veinbloods in hiding, and convinced them to rise up and take back Ashenvale.
Two years since I killed my brother, and we drove the Authority from power.
Two years since we restored Meridian under the rule of the Shadowvein line.
Two years of rebuilding, of learning how to govern rather than fight, and discovering that victory creates problems no battlefield command ever prepared me to solve.
But the changes run deeper than simply having Shadowvein banners on the towers instead of Authority ones, or Veinbloods working openly in the city streets without fear of discovery and execution.
The way people move through the city streets is different.
There are no hunched shoulders, and downcast eyes, no fearful silences.
Where Authority patrols once marched, children chase each other through gardens that bloom again.
Their laughter carries on air that feels free, instead of being full of fear.
The signs of our victory are everywhere, but walking through my city and hearing the sound of people who believe they have a future worth planning for is the one that matters above all others.
The shift from destroying an enemy to building something better has been complex, and strangely it’s Ellie who took to it the easiest. She sees connections where I see systems, partnerships where I only consider tactical advantages, and possibilities where I see risks that need to be assessed and mitigated.
Together we’ve built something I never could have done alone—a foundation for a rule that’s strong enough to support what comes after the Authority.
I stride through the tower, acknowledging the curtsies and bows from servants as I make my way to my study. Varam is already there when I enter, and I pause to look at him. His head is bowed as he reads something, probably a report from a Veinwarden knot. He looks up when I enter, and smiles.
Two years have changed him, too, although he will never admit to it. He has a limp, favoring his right leg, but he smiles more than he did. He’s found new purpose in peacetime. Something neither of us were certain we’d manage to do once everything settled.
“Anything important?” I wave a hand to the pile of parchment on the desk.
“Nothing that can’t wait.” He sets aside the paper he was reading. “Though Mira wanted me to remind you about the Restoration Festival preparations.”
The festival was Ellie’s idea. A city-wide celebration designed to invite Veinbloods to demonstrate their abilities as art rather than weapons, while encouraging all residents, and anyone from towns and villages in Meridian to share their own skills and traditions.
She argued that the gesture toward unity would make acceptance of the Veinbloods re-emergence easier, and prove that magic could create rather than destroy.
But what surprised me most was how quickly it evolved into something that people look forward to with excitement.
“Also,” Varam’s expression grows more serious. “I had Telren search through the archives as you requested.”
My attention sharpens. I’d asked Varam weeks ago to have someone search through the remaining Authority scrolls and documents for any mention of Ellie, or her parents.
The Authority, as part of their regime, detailed everything they did, and I’d promised Ellie a long time ago that if we ever returned to Ashenvale, I would find a way to get answers about her past.
“Did he find anything?”
“Full details of her initial transport to Blackvault. Records of her being moved between Authority strongholds. But more importantly, personal entries from Sereven about her behavior during the time he had her here in Ashenvale.”
The idea of my brother documenting Ellie's suffering as a child sends cold anger through me, but I keep my expression neutral. “What kind of entries?”
“Notes about her ability to absorb power from the crystal. But the final entry …” Varam pauses, his expression darkening. “The last entry states his intention to return her to Blackvault to see if there was a limit to how much she could take from the crystal.”
“Were there any records of her parents?”
“Some references. I haven’t read everything.” He hands me a scroll. “Telren wrote all the important information down for you.”
“Thank you."
My head turns toward the window. Ellie is almost home.
I can feel her getting closer through our bond.
She’s been away for three days, visiting with Vorith.
She combined the personal visit with a chance to strengthen bonds between crown and people, and it’s a role she excels at.
She makes people want to do things for her …
me included. The connection we share has become the foundation of everything.
I can sense her contentment mixed with fatigue, the satisfaction of time well spent blending with her eagerness to be home. She’s not quite at the city limits yet, but close enough that anticipation begins a slow build in my chest.
The sensation still catches me off guard sometimes.
For twenty-seven years in that tower, I’d learned to exist in isolation, where needing nothing and no one became the only way to stay sane.
The idea that someone else’s presence could become so essential to my wellbeing still makes me pause some days.
“—listening?”
Varam’s amused voice breaks through my thoughts, and I pull my gaze away from the window and look at him.
“Ellie will be back soon.” I attempt to mask the eagerness in my voice. “I should return to my quarters.”
Varam laughs. “I would say give her my regards, but I don’t imagine you will be doing a lot of talking when she arrives.” He stands and walks toward the door. “I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re not to be disturbed until tomorrow … at the earliest.”
I make my way back through hallways that feel more like home with each day that passes.
We moved from my old quarters shortly after we returned to Ashenvale after Blackvault, and took over the ones where my parents lived during their reign.
Ellie insisted we furnish them with new things rather than preserving them as a shrine to the dead.
But where my parents preferred more formal furnishings suitable for receiving visiting nobles, she’s created something warmer.
Comfortable chairs are positioned for conversations in front of the hearth. Books lie scattered on tables because we both read voraciously and forget to put things away. Flowers from the gardens fill vases, bringing life to a space that was once locked away and left to rot.
I settle into a chair close to the window to wait, allowing myself this moment of quiet before she arrives.
The anticipation never gets old. This moment before she comes home when I can simply exist in the knowledge that soon she’ll be here, filling the space inside me that is incomplete without her.
Even when it’s only a few hours separation, the feeling is the same.
I’ve discovered there’s profound strength in choosing to need someone who chooses to need you in return.
The woman who stumbled through a tower door all those years ago has become my equal in every way that matters, and together we've created something I could never have managed alone—a partnership that makes us individually stronger and collectively formidable.