“We suspected as much. That’s why we requested your particular… expertise.”
My particular expertise. A polite way of saying they need someone who can see through the lies that divine power tells. Someone with Auric Veil blood.
Someone expendable enough to send into the teeth of a god-forged executioner.
I don’t take offense. I’d have made the same calculation in his position.
“I’ll need access to the frozen zones beyond the city walls,” I say. “Whatever pattern the Arbiter’s following, I can track it. Find where it’s heading next, potentially predict?—”
“You’ll have a partner.”
I pause. The word lands wrong, like a stone dropped into still water. “I work alone.”
“Not anymore.” Voss doesn’t flinch from my stare. Most people do. Auric Veil eyes unsettle those who aren’t used to being seen clearly—the silver-gray tends to brighten when we’re reading magic, and that brightness makes people nervous. “I requested Tyr directly. You’re the only Auric Veil operative willing to work in a divine enforcement zone. He’s the only being I know of who has survived the Arbiter three times. Do the math.”
Three times. The claim was either impressive or impossible. I’d worked in divine enforcement zones for years, and no one I’d encountered had survived the Arbiter’s direct attention twice, let alone three times. Either he was exactly what Voss claimed, or he was bait.
“Commander, with respect?—”
“With respect, Wren, you don’t have a choice.” Voss shifts his weight, and for the first time, I see discomfort in his expression. Not fear of me. Fear of whatever’s waiting. “He’s already here. Been waiting.”
Before I can respond, I feel it.
A shift in the air. A pressure that’s got nothing to do with wind or weather. The frozen citizens around me don’t react—they can’t. A hairline split running through the crystalline surface.
Then I turn, and I see him.
He stands at the entrance to the square. Tall. Broad. Built for violence in a way that should make him obvious, heavy, loud. Instead, he carries himself with unnerving stillness. No wasted motion. No shifting weight. He simply exists in that space like he’s always been there, like the world arranged itself around his presence rather than the other way around.
Dark hair falls past his shoulders, loose and untamed. His clothes are practical—dark leather, worn armor plates at the shoulders and forearms. Nothing flashy. Nothing that announces power. The kind of gear that says he expects to move fast and doesn’t care about looking impressive while doing it.
But power’s there. I feel it radiating against my senses—a pressure that has nothing to do with temperature.
My Auric Veil sight flickers without my permission, drawn toward him like a moth toward flame. I see?—
Nothing.
No golden threads of manipulation. No chains binding him. No divine signature marking him as property of any god or crown. No lies woven into his existence. No control over his future.
Instead, there’s a void. An absence where conviction should be. Probabilities fail.
He’s a flaw in the system. A point where the Arbiter’s control can’t hold.
No wonder the Arbiter hunts him.
I realize with a start that he’s restraining himself. Compressing whatever power coils inside him into a form that won’t announce his presence to whatever might be watching.
The discipline required for that must be immense. And he does it casually, like breathing.
Each step he takes is deliberate. No nervous habits, no fidgeting, no tells. Not comfort. Deliberate distance.
I note the way his weight shifts. Balanced. Ready. He could be moving in any direction within a heartbeat, and I doubt I’d see it coming until it was already done.
He stops three feet away. Close enough for conversation. Far enough that neither of us would have to adjust our stance before striking.
“Zephyra Wren.” His voice is low, like stone grinding against stone. Every syllable precise. No extra words, no filler. “Auric Veil.”
Not a question. A statement. He already knows what I am.
