Page 63 of Orc's Veil

And I can see them all.

The faces in the walls become clearer—not just shapes pressed against a barrier, but people. Real people, with names and histories and loves they’ve lost. I see the farmer’s daughter whose infant face was stolen. I see the soldier who forgot his mother’s voice. I see the boy who lost his birthday cake, the bride who can’t remember her vows, the grandmother who no longer knows her wedding day.

I see everyone the Sovereign has consumed. Everyone I helped feed it.

And I feel their hands reaching for me—not to drag me down, but to lift me up. They know what I’m becoming. They know what I’ve come to do.

Free us.The voices whisper through my mind, a chorus of stolen grief becoming a prayer of hope.Free us, and we’ll help you destroy it.

“I will.” The words tear out of me, thick with blood and magic. “I swear it. Every memory I took, every soul I fed to this place—I’m taking them back.”

The trapped souls surge toward me. Not attacking—offering. Their memories flow into my blood, mixing with my power, becoming part of the ritual I’m performing. Each one makes me stronger. Each one makes the Sovereign weaker.

And each one brings me closer to Varkhul.

THIRTY-SIX

EIRENE

The transformation completes itself in a rush of agony and ecstasy.

I feel the boundary slide into my bones, feel the Veil wrap around my heart, feel myself becoming part of the magic I’ve served for eight years. I’m no longer just a witch who bleeds for the barrier. I am the barrier. My blood is its blood. My will is its will.

The Shadow Court recognizes what I’ve become. The darkness around me shifts—not fleeing anymore, but observing. Calculating. I’ve crossed a threshold no human was meant to cross. I’ve made myself into the door the Sovereign wanted to create.

But I’m not its door. I’m mine.

The creatures that were fleeing before now keep their distance with renewed fear. I can feel their hunger, their desperate desire to consume the power radiating from my wounds. But they can also feel what that power would do to them. My blood has gone from toxic to lethal. One touch, and they would dissolve like morning mist.

Good.

I start walking again. Faster now—the floor of stolen memories recognizes me, parts before my feet like water before a blade. The walls pulse with the freed souls I’m carrying, their power mixing with mine, their hope fueling my determination.

And in the mark on my chest, I feel Varkhul respond.

Not just his presence—his recognition. He can feel what I’ve become. Feel the change in our link, the way my blood now sings with power instead of merely dripping with sacrifice. He’s fighting harder, I realize. Holding on with renewed strength because he knows I’m coming.

Because he knows I’m not the same woman who fell to her knees in the darkness when the Sovereign first spoke in stolen voices.

I’m not a sacrifice anymore.

I’m a weapon.

The throne roomopens before me like a wound splitting wider.

I’ve been walking through nightmare landscapes for hours—corridors that shifted and changed, rooms that tried to trap me in memories that weren’t my own, pits that opened beneath my feet and swallowed my blood before I could pull myself free. The Shadow Court has thrown everything it has at me.

None of it has slowed me down.

The freed souls I carry have guided me, their whispered directions leading me through the labyrinth of stolen grief. They know this place—they’ve been trapped here for years, some for decades, some for longer. They know every turn, every trap, every horror the Sovereign has created from their consumed memories.

And now they’ve led me to its heart.

The throne room is vast—larger than any space has a right to be, stretching up and out until the walls disappear into shadows that feel like they could swallow worlds. The floor is paved with severed ties, each one a relationship destroyed, a love lost, a promise broken. Walking on them feels like walking on graves.

At the center of the room, the throne waits.

It’s built of crystallized darkness, all sharp angles and hungry edges. Empty, for now—the Sovereign doesn’t need to sit. It is everywhere in this place, woven into the walls, saturating the air, pressing against my transformed blood with endless hunger.