The People had found a way to survive, even if doing so meant pivoting from traditions and routines they'd held for centuries. The sight gave her some hope that perhaps Krystopolis was not lost after all. That perhaps, given time, she could reshape it.
Auryn kept her head lowered as she and Lu’ma slipped through the narrow alleys, their boots splashing softly through gutters that ran dark with condensed moisture from the Cycle's lingering heat. As they passed through, too many eyes lingered on their backs. Lu’ma walked half a pace behind her, wrapped in similar shadowed robes—no violet or gold in sight. Her friend did not speak again, but Auryn knew all too well the glare boring into the back of her hood.
Disapproval. Concern.
Yet, despite this, Lu'ma still helped in every way she could. In this case, by keeping Auryn's focus on the destination. Every time a fascinating trinket or unfamiliar magical device caught her Host's gaze, Lu'ma tapped her shoulder or tugged on her elbow to help ground Auryn once more. Thanks to her friend, Auryn moved through the winding rows of stalls until she reached a narrow passage tucked deep between two leaning Polis crystal walls. No lantern hung above it. No merchant signed from within.
A child stepped forward when she approached. A young apprentice with flowing black hair and green eyes. No older than twelve years at most. His eyes flicked once to the hood shadowing her face before dropping respectfully to the ground. From beneath the stall’s cloth, he produced a small wrapped package.
“For the Veilweaver,” he said quietly.
Auryn slipped a hand into her robes and withdrew a shining pearl.
A Gleam.
The boy’s breath caught as she pressed it into his palm. No further words were exchanged. He disappeared beneath the cloth just as quickly as he had appeared.
She pried open the parchment on the box and lifted the lid. Inside, resting on cushioned wool, lay two identical ruby gems. Deep within their depths glinted a rune.Shâr’vel—for spacial magic. The same one carved into the dagger Kailorien used to summon portals through his blood. Auryn turned away, tucking the parcel into her sleeve. A weight shifted within, and her heart skipped in anticipation of bringing it back to her study in the Sokâr’s half-constructed wing.
‘Is this what Your Radiance needed this day?’Lu'ma signed.
Auryn nodded.
‘Good. Then let us return swiftly, but not the way we came. We cannot be seen twice.’
Lu’ma took the lead as they threaded back through the Bazaar’s shadowed paths. Neither of them spoke until the sounds of trade faded behind them. Auryn glanced down the alley ahead. It curved toward a narrow dead-end passage—one she knew well from hundreds of previous visits to this part of the city.
Empty. Shielded from most sightlines.
Safe enough to use her key sigil and summon a portal home.
“Here, no one should catch the magic if we are quick.”
They turned the corner.
And stopped.
The scent hit her first—ancient mana soaked in ritual. Like stone that had witnessed more centuries than morning could recall. A massive dark figure came into view. The scrape of talons on crystal. The shadow ahead grew, swelling into a familiar, terrifying shape. A pair of black wingscolossal enough to blot out the sun. And his eyes, gleaming like mirrors reflecting the light. Long elegant tail feathers moved behind him, the bone trophies on his waist, and the beads threaded into his hair clicking with each motion.
Before she could stop herself, the word slipped from her lips.
“Rö…”
As though in response, he set the end of his glaive in the ground. The thud rattled her knees.
Behind her, Lu’ma shifted and stepped forward. But Auryn held up a hand.
Just like before.
Because this creature did not forgive excess motion, and she did not know why he had come or what would set him to violence.
The Riven stood at the far end of the passage—a statue carved from stoneflesh—his towering frame blocking the only exit. His dark wings folded tight against his back, the long feathers brushing the cracked crystal walls.
“You’ve returned,” she said, raising her chin, shoving down her terror, summoning her Sokâr’s visage in its place.
Her voice sounded far steadier than she felt.
Rö’s expression did not change.
