Chapter 1
Part V
The tunnel ended in broken stone and fractured sunlight.
Velrona stepped cautiously from the gloom, Erlin's body still unfamiliar, each muscle tugging like wet rope across bone. His boots, worn thin at the soles, crunched over pale grit as she crossed into the surface light for the first time in—
How long?
She didn't know.
Not yet.
The morning was overcast, the sky above a thick tapestry of grey. The sun hung low, dull and uncommitted, veiled by mist and time. Cold wind swept over the hilltop where her tomb had been buried, tossing dry weeds and cracked talismans nailed to the old stones.
Her body winced against the chill.
Or rather, his body did.
She felt the twitch—not her own command, but his.
The boy was still inside. Quiet, watching, like a caged bird unsure whether the hand reaching in held grain or blade.
System Status: Possession active. Host resistance at 32%. Mind drift detected. Soul friction within safe range.
Velrona exhaled slowly.
She would have to deal with him. Sooner rather than later.
The world outside had changed.
Below, down the winding path, a new road curved into view—carved where none had existed before. Wooden pylons marked its edge, each painted with a black-and-white symbol: a burning shroud. A mark of purge.
So. The sects were still trying to erase her.
Even after death.
She descended the slope slowly, cloak pulled tight to mimic the way Erlin might have walked. She had his memories in fragments—just flickers of laughter, fear, jealousy, hunger. Not enough to pass perfectly. But enough to fake her way through the world, at least for now.
Halfway down the path, she spotted a small wooden shack, sunken into the earth like a drunkard's tooth. Smoke curled from a crooked chimney. The scent of broth, sharp with ginger and root-stem, drifted on the wind.
Her—his—stomach growled.
The sensation startled her.
She had forgotten what hunger felt like.
A voice called out from behind the shack. "That you, Erlin?"
Velrona stiffened.
The name hit like cold water.
She turned. A woman emerged—older, with stiff braids and a carved walking stick. Her face was weatherworn, but her eyes were sharp. Familiar. This was someone Erlin knew.
Velrona forced a smile.
"Yeah," she rasped. Her voice cracked—real from disuse, not acting. "Just needed to breathe."
The woman frowned, eyes narrowing.
"You look pale," she said. "Like you saw something."
Velrona nodded slowly. "I saw her."
That was all she said.
The woman paled. Her mouth opened. Closed. She reached for a talisman around her neck.
"You're not joking?"
Velrona stepped closer.
"I think she's still down there," she said, tone flat.
The woman turned toward the shack, fumbling with a satchel. "We need to tell the Pale Brothers. If there's Veil magic leaking—"
"No," Velrona said.
The word stopped her.
The tone was too final. Too calm.
The woman turned.
And Velrona saw fear.
Not of her. Not yet.
But the seed was there.
It would grow.
She stepped back. "Just… don't go near the tomb," she said. "That's all."
Then she walked on, down the road, Erlin's heart thudding with borrowed panic, her own mind clear.
System: Host soul attempting communication. Internal resistance weakening. Memory bleed likely.
Velrona slowed.
In the back of her mind, a voice—young, raw, familiar.
Why are you doing this?
She didn't answer.
This isn't you. You're not me. This is my life.
Still, silence.
Please. Just let me go. You've got your body now. You don't need mine.
Finally, she replied—within.
I don't have a body. I have ashes. Smoke. Memory. You're a shell, and I'm already inside.
Then kill me.
That surprised her.
The voice was calm. Not defiant. Not pleading.
Velrona's lips curled faintly.
You want me to?
I want to matter. Either way. If I'm going to die, I want to mean something.
She stopped on the path.
A choice pressed in.
She could kill him. Take the body fully. The system would help.
Or… let him live.
But that meant risk. Exposure. Rebellion.
Trust.
Velrona closed her eyes.
In the old days, she would not have hesitated.
But she was no longer what she was.
Her hand moved to the satchel at Erlin's hip. A small dagger rested there—ironwood hilt, chipped blade. She held it.
Weighed it.
Then put it back.
"I'll let you live," she murmured aloud, low enough the wind swallowed it.
"But we're sharing this road now."