Velra did not like this town.

  It wasn’t just the smoke, or the way Embershade’s air scraped the throat like old ash. It was the emptiness, the mana-dead dryness that made magic feel loud and wrong whenever it surfaced. Like a candle burning in a sealed room.

  And now there were knights.

  Which meant attention.

  Which meant rules.

  Which meant the kind of scrutiny that turned “interesting” into “dangerous” in a single afternoon.

  Velra adjusted the hood of her disguise and stepped into the street like she belonged there.

  She looked like a merchant today: plain cloak, mud-caked boots, hair hidden, posture deliberately slouched. Even her scent was wrong. She’d scrubbed away every trace of iron and sweet-blood tang with bitter herbs and cheap soap.

  It wasn’t perfect.

  But it didn’t need to be.

  Most people didn’t look closely.

  Knights did.

  Her real goal wasn’t to play hero. Not really. If she’d wanted to fix Embershade’s problems directly, she would have already done it. Blood magic made a lot of things simple when you stopped caring about appearances.

  No, she was here for information.

  And for a test.

  If the knights had any plans for the woods, she wanted to know. If their orders had teeth, she wanted to feel how sharp they were. And if they were truly going to ignore the forest, she wanted to learn why.

  Because Audree would run headfirst into that tree line eventually.

  And Velra preferred her chaos to be informed.

  She spotted them near the market’s edge, two figures in clean armor that looked violently out of place against soot-black stone.

  Sir Valen Goldcrest stood tall, shield at his back, the golden sunburst on his tabard bright even beneath the smog. His posture was disciplined in a way that felt almost religious.

  Sir Sael Riftpiercer lounged a half-step behind him, spear resting casually on one shoulder, expression tired and sharp-eyed. His gaze crawled over the street like he expected the cobblestones to lie to him.

  Velra rolled her shoulders once.

  Then she approached.

  “Excuse me,” she called, letting her voice rasp like an older woman’s. “Sirs. Knights, yes? From Guildhaven?”

  Valen’s attention turned immediately. He offered a polite nod, professional. “Yes. Speak.”

  Sael’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t greet her. He just watched.

  Velra kept her face soft and harmless. “It’s about the woods.”

  There it was.

  Sael’s grip shifted on his spear, small, almost invisible, but Velra noticed. Valen’s expression didn’t change, yet the air around him felt heavier. Like the space itself had decided to behave.

  Velra hated that sensation.

  She continued, carefully. “People keep whispering about disappearances. About… things out there. If you’re here to calm rumors, you might want to…”

  “We are aware of the rumors,” Valen said, calm as stone. “We are investigating the town.”

  Velra tilted her head as if confused. “But the rumors point to the woods.”

  “They point everywhere,” Valen replied.

  Sael spoke for the first time, blunt and low. “They point to the same place too often to be coincidence.”

  Valen’s eyes flicked to him, warning. Sael ignored it.

  Velra let herself look relieved, as if grateful someone sensible existed. “Exactly. That’s what I’m saying. It’s strange, isn’t it? Like someone’s trying very hard not to look at it.”

  Valen’s gaze sharpened. “Careful with your insinuations.”

  Velra forced a small laugh. “Oh, I’m just a concerned citizen.”

  Sael’s eyes didn’t blink.

  Something in his stare made Velra’s illusion itch.

  He stepped forward a fraction. “Say that again.”

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  Velra kept smiling. “I’m just…”

  “Citizen,” Sael repeated, tasting the word. “From where?”

  Velra’s stomach tightened.

  Ah.

  So he was that kind of knight.

  She shrugged lightly. “Here and there.”

  Valen’s tone cooled. “State your name and occupation.”

  Velra could have lied.

  But lies were clumsy against trained authority. She’d learned that the hard way.

  “Just a traveler,” she said smoothly. “Passing through.”

  Sael’s spear tilted, not threatening yet. Just ready.

  “Passing through a mana-dead mining town,” Sael said, voice dry, “to warn knights about a forest we’ve been told not to touch.”

  Valen’s eyes narrowed. “Sael.”

  Sael didn’t stop. “That’s convenient.”

  Velra’s illusion flickered for a heartbeat, just a hair too slow.

  Sael’s gaze sharpened instantly.

  There was a strange pressure behind his attention, like he wasn’t just looking. He was listening for the seam in the world where the lie didn’t quite sit right.

  Velra swallowed her annoyance.

  Valen took one step forward.

  The air changed.

  It wasn’t mana. It wasn’t a spell the way mages cast spells.

  It was presence.

  Weight.

  Authority made tangible.

  Velra felt it in her bones like a command without words: stand still. Behave.

  Her disguise wanted to hold. Her blood wanted to lash out. Her instincts wanted to run.

  Valen’s voice came, clear and even.

  “Drop the illusion.”

  Velra’s skin prickled.

  How…?

  No. She knew how.

  She could feel it now, something behind him, above him, like a lawful star staring through his eyes. Not a keyword. Not mortal magic.

  Divinity.

  A lesser aspect, maybe. A sub-god’s chain.

  Either way, it made her uncomfortable in the oldest way.

  She smiled anyway. “Illusion? Sir, you must be mistaken.”

  Sael exhaled like he was tired of her.

  He moved.

  Not fast. Precise.

  The spear’s tip slid through the air, not stabbing her body, but striking the space beside her cheek like he was aiming at something invisible.

  Velra’s illusion shuddered.

  For a split second, the merchant’s face stuttered, edges blurring, skin tone shifting wrong, then snapped back into place.

  Velra’s smile thinned.

  Valen’s eyes hardened. “Last warning.”

  Velra’s patience ran out.

  The “merchant woman” sighed, then let the disguise fall like a shed skin.

  Velra stood revealed, red-eyed and calm, dark travel robes marked with faint sigils, staff in hand, the orb swirling with living crimson.

  Sael’s expression didn’t change.

  Valen’s did.

  Not fear.

  Disgust.

  “A blood mage,” Valen said flatly.

  Velra clicked her tongue. “And you’re glowing like a sermon. How unfortunate for both of us.”

  Valen’s stance shifted, shield hand lowering, sword hand ready.

  His voice carried again, heavier than it should have been.

  “By authority of Guildhaven, you will submit for questioning.”

  The words weren’t mind control.

  Velra could tell.

  But reality leaned toward obedience anyway, like the world itself wanted to make his command true.

  Velra’s knees threatened to soften.

  She hated that.

  She tightened her breathing the way she’d taught Audree: slow, controlled, deliberate. She anchored herself in her own body, in the fact that her health was hers.

  “I don’t live in this country,” Velra said lightly. “And I don’t answer to you.”

  Sael moved again.

  A blink-fast shift, spear sweeping wide, forcing distance, cutting off her angle of escape without looking like he was trying.

  Velra’s eyes narrowed.

  She couldn’t figure out what he was doing.

  Not fully.

  But she could feel it. Every time she tried to slip away, she found the route suddenly compromised. Like the world had decided that path wasn’t whole anymore.

  She snapped her wrist.

  A ribbon of blood flicked from her palm. Not thrown wildly, but shaped into a thin arc meant to strike Valen’s shoulder and force him back.

  Valen raised his shield.

  The blood hit and hissed, like it had struck heated iron.

  The spell didn’t cling. It didn’t corrupt. It didn’t even smear properly.

  It slid off, repelled, breaking apart into harmless droplets.

  Velra’s stomach sank.

  “Of course,” she muttered. “Consecrated.”

  Valen advanced, presence pressing harder. The street felt smaller under him, like chaos was losing permission to exist.

  Sael’s spear darted again, this time aimed at Velra’s staff.

  Velra twisted away and the spear tip grazed the orb’s edge.

  The orb’s glow flickered, stuttering like the spell inside had lost its rhythm.

  Velra hissed and jerked her staff back.

  “What are you doing?” she snapped, more to herself than to him.

  Sael didn’t answer.

  He only watched the places where her magic wavered, then struck those, like he could taste weak points.

  Velra’s breath tightened.

  Fine.

  If they wanted a fight, she’d keep it short.

  She sliced her palm with a nail, quick and shallow, and the blood rose into a thicker veil between them, swirling like a living curtain. It wasn’t meant to kill. It was meant to confuse, to blind, to create space.

  Valen’s voice cut through it immediately.

  “Enough.”

  The word landed like a gavel.

  The veil shuddered.

  Not shattered. Velra still held it.

  But it buckled, losing momentum, as if the air itself had decided her spell was improper behavior.

  Velra snarled under her breath.

  Sael lunged through the weakened veil, spear leading, and for a moment Velra thought she had him.

  Then the illusion of distance she’d built faltered again, seams tearing where his spear passed.

  Her veil split.

  Not ripped apart violently.

  Just parted at the flawed points, like he’d found the places her control wasn’t perfect and refused to let them stay stitched.

  Velra stumbled back, more annoyed than hurt.

  Valen was already there, shield raised, aura pressing.

  Velra’s skin crawled.

  Divinity was always like that.

  Like standing too close to a judgment you didn’t consent to.

  She snapped her fingers, and the blood on the cobblestones behind her gathered into a shallow, shifting pool, red-black, reflective, wrong.

  Sael’s eyes flicked to it instantly.

  Valen stepped forward, voice sharp. “Stop!”

  Velra smiled, real this time.

  “I tried to warn you,” she said. “About the woods. But you’re too busy pretending orders can replace curiosity.”

  Sael’s eyes narrowed. “We are curious.”

  Valen barked, “Sael.”

  Velra backed into the blood pool.

  The world tilted for half a breath, like falling through warm water, and she vanished.

  The pool collapsed into nothing but damp stone and a faint metallic scent.

  Valen stood rigid, jaw tight, staring at the place she’d been.

  Sael exhaled slowly, spear lowering. His eyes stayed sharp, fixed on the street as if reality might stutter again.

  Valen’s voice was controlled, but strained.

  “Blood mages are learned through witchcraft.”

  Sael glanced at him. “She wasn’t here to kill us.”

  “She was here to interfere,” Valen replied.

  Sael’s gaze drifted toward the distant tree line beyond the town. “Or to point at the one thing we’ve been told not to touch.”

  Valen didn’t answer.

  But the silence between them thickened.

  And somewhere far away, somewhere hidden and moving, Velra Runeswell breathed out slowly, irritation simmering under her skin.

  They had plans.

  Not spoken.

  Not written.

  But there was something tight in the chain of command, something that didn’t want eyes on the woods.

  Good.

  That meant the story was real.