The old supply route began beneath the forest.
Seris found the entrance behind a collapsed stone marker, half-buried in mud and roots. The path was narrow enough that Kaelen had to turn sideways whenever the ceiling dropped.
Odrik had already taken the soldiers back toward Draeven March.
We had left before sunrise.
The prince’s horns had sounded twice after we entered the forest. By now, Prince Alric’s army should have reached the fortress.
Draeven March was no longer ours.
I kept walking.
The black fragment rested in my palm, wrapped in a strip of cloth. Even through the fabric, it pulled toward the north.
Toward Blackmere.
Kaelen walked behind me, one hand pressed against his ribs.
Seris moved in front of him. She had stopped bleeding, but the skin around her wrists had turned gray.
Neither of them looked well.
I was not doing much better.
The black mark beneath my collar had spread across my chest. It did not hurt all the time. It only burned whenever I thought about the fortress.
That was not helpful.
The tunnel ended at a broken wooden door.
Seris pushed it open.
Cold air entered the passage.
Beyond the door stood a small stone building covered in moss. The forest surrounded it on every side, but the road leading away from it was still visible beneath the weeds.
Kaelen stepped outside and looked at the sky.
"We’re not in Blackmere yet."
"No," Seris said.
She walked toward the road.
"We’re near the old Draven lands."
I looked at her.
She stopped.
"Your family owned the land before the crown took it."
"Why did the crown take it?"
She glanced toward the road.
"Your father refused to kneel."
That was not the kind of answer I wanted.
It was still better than silence.
Kaelen noticed my expression.
"You don’t remember?"
"Not everything."
"Your memories are still incomplete?"
"Some of them."
That was true.
The memories I had inherited came in pieces. Names without faces. Rooms without doors. Conversations missing their beginnings.
The original Veyr had known his family.
I knew almost nothing about them.
Seris continued walking.
"The Dravens were stripped of their lands after the southern rebellion. Your father kept the title, but lost everything else."
"Except the fortress."
"Draeven March was not considered valuable."
I looked back toward the forest.
A fortress built over a sealed door was not valuable.
That was comforting.
Kaelen adjusted the cloth around his ribs.
"You’re going to meet your family in Blackmere?"
"I don’t know."
Seris looked at me.
"Your aunt lives there."
I stopped walking.
She kept going for three steps before noticing.
"My aunt?"
"Vaela Draven."
The name meant nothing to me.
That was the problem.
The original Veyr should have known it.
I searched through the memories in my head.
A woman in a dark room.
A silver cup.
A hand pressing against my forehead.
A voice saying, "Don’t let your father see you cry."
The memory disappeared before I could reach it.
I pressed my fingers against my temple.
Kaelen stopped beside me.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"You grabbed your head."
"I’m fine."
He watched me for a moment, then continued walking.
He did not believe me.
At least he had stopped asking.
The old road passed through a valley covered in dead grass. Broken statues stood along the sides, all of them missing their faces.
At the end of the valley, a wall appeared between the trees.
It was not large.
Only three towers remained standing, and the gate had collapsed years ago.
A black crest was carved above the entrance.
Three claws around a closed eye.
The Draven symbol.
The moment I saw it, the mark on my chest burned.
The black fragment pulsed beneath the cloth.
Seris looked toward the ruined wall.
"We should leave the road."
"Why?"
"Because the house knows you’re here."
I looked at the empty towers.
"House?"
"The western estate."
Kaelen moved his hand toward his sword.
"Someone lives there?"
"Sometimes."
"That is not reassuring."
Seris walked toward the broken gate.
The wind moved through the ruined courtyard.
No soldiers appeared.
No arrows flew.
Then a voice came from the tower above us.
"Stop."
A crossbow bolt struck the ground between my feet.
Kaelen drew his sword.
I raised a hand.
Another bolt appeared on the wall.
This one was aimed at Seris.
A woman stepped out from behind the broken stone.
She wore a dark coat and carried a longbow. Her hair was tied behind her head, and a thin scar crossed her left cheek.
She was not old.
Maybe a few years older than Veyr’s body.
Her eyes moved from Kaelen to Seris.
Then they stopped on me.
The bow lowered slightly.
"Veyr?"
The name sounded wrong in her mouth.
Not because she had said it incorrectly.
Because she had said it like she had expected never to say it again.
I stepped forward.
"Who are you?"
Kaelen looked at me.
The woman’s expression changed.
For the first time, she looked afraid.
"You really don’t remember."
"I asked who you are."
She lowered the bow completely.
"I’m Lyra."
The name struck something inside my head.
A boy running through snow.
A girl following him with a wooden sword.
Someone shouting from a balcony.
Then the memory broke.
Lyra took one step toward me.
"I’m your sister."
I did not answer.
The black mark under my collar burned again.
Lyra saw it.
Her face went pale.
"You opened the door."
Seris moved closer to me.
"Not here."
Lyra’s gaze shifted toward her.
"Why did you bring her?"
"She came with us," Kaelen said.
Lyra raised the bow again.
"I wasn’t asking you."
Kaelen did not lower his sword.
Seris reached for his arm.
"Don’t."
"I’m not doing anything."
"You’re holding a sword in her courtyard."
"She aimed at us."
"Both of you," I said.
They stopped.
I looked at Lyra.
"We need shelter."
She stared at me.
Then at the fragment beneath the cloth.
"You brought part of the key."
"I didn’t know what it was."
"You knew enough to take it."
"I took it because something was trying to kill me."
"That sounds like you."
The words were quiet.
Not an insult.
More like an old habit.
Lyra turned toward the ruined house.
"Come inside before the patrols find you."
She did not wait for an answer.
We followed her through the broken gate.
The estate was larger than it looked from the road. Most of the buildings had collapsed, but one stone house remained intact near the back wall.
Inside, the air smelled of dust and old wood.
Lyra led us down a staircase.
The room beneath the house was small. A table stood in the center, covered with maps and dried herbs. A single lamp burned beside the wall.
Kaelen sat as soon as he saw a chair.
Seris ignored the second one and opened a cabinet.
"You still keep the redroot leaves," she said.
Lyra looked at her.
"You remember the house?"
"I’ve been here before."
"When?"
"Before your family was accused of treason."
Lyra’s hand tightened around her bow.
"That was not an accusation."
"Then what was it?"
"The king wanted our lands."
Seris placed the herbs on the table.
"He wanted the fortress."
Lyra looked toward me.
"He wanted what was beneath it."
No one spoke for a moment.
Kaelen leaned back carefully.
"Your family knew about the door?"
Lyra did not answer him.
She looked at me instead.
"Did you see the heart?"
I pulled the black fragment from the cloth.
The piece was small enough to fit between two fingers. A red line moved across its surface.
Lyra’s face changed.
"You touched it."
"Yes."
"And the guardian recognized you?"
"Yes."
"Did it call you the bearer of blood?"
I nodded.
Lyra looked away.
I waited.
She did not explain.
That was becoming a problem.
"Tell me what it means."
She placed the bow against the wall.
"It means the door still recognizes the Draven bloodline."
"I already know that."
"No, you don’t."
She opened a wooden chest beneath the table and removed a folded cloth.
Inside was a ring.
It was black like mine, but cracked down the center.
She placed it beside my hand.
The two rings reacted immediately.
The room went cold.
A red line appeared between them.
Kaelen stood despite the pain.
"What is that?"
Lyra did not take her eyes off the rings.
"Our father’s ring."
I looked at the broken piece.
"Where is he?"
Lyra was silent.
The answer arrived before she spoke.
"Dead?"
She nodded.
"When?"
"Three years ago."
"How?"
"He was executed."
Kaelen’s hand tightened around the edge of the table.
"For treason?"
Lyra looked at him.
"For refusing to open the door."
The room became quiet again.
I looked at the broken ring.
The original Veyr’s father had known about the door.
He had refused to open it.
The king had executed him.
And the church had been searching for the key ever since.
The pieces were starting to fit.
Not perfectly.
But enough.
"Why was I still at the fortress?" I asked.
Lyra’s expression hardened.
"Because Father believed you had chosen the crown."
The answer did not feel right.
"Did I?"
"You were there when he was taken."
"I don’t remember."
"You watched the royal soldiers drag him away."
The old memories stirred.
A courtyard.
Snow.
A man kneeling in the mud.
A boy standing near a black gate.
Someone placing a hand on his shoulder.
Someone else saying, "Don’t move."
My chest tightened.
Lyra continued.
"You did nothing."
I looked at the broken ring.
"Why?"
"Because the king promised to spare you."
Kaelen looked at me.
I could feel the question he did not ask.
What had the original Veyr done?
What had he traded?
What had he allowed?
The room seemed smaller.
Lyra turned away.
"After Father died, the crown gave you the fortress."
"They gave me a prison."
"They gave you the place they wanted you to watch."
"And you?"
"I ran."
"Why didn’t you take me?"
Her hands stopped moving.
"Because you didn’t come with me."
The answer was simple.
That made it worse.
I looked at the woman who claimed to be my sister.
I did not remember loving her.
I did not remember abandoning her.
But she remembered both.
Seris placed the redroot leaves into a bowl and poured water over them.
"You can discuss the family tragedy after he stops bleeding," she said.
I looked down.
A dark line of blood had reached my boot.
The spear wound from the forest had reopened.
Kaelen noticed.
"So did mine."
Seris looked at him.
"Take off your coat."
"I’m fine."
"You’re bleeding through it."
"I’ve had worse."
"You’ll have more if you keep arguing."
Kaelen removed the coat.
Seris began treating his ribs first.
Lyra watched her work.
"You still use blood magic."
Seris pressed the redroot paste against Kaelen’s wound.
"You still use a bow."
"That was not an answer."
"It wasn’t meant to be."
Lyra’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.
I sat on the edge of the table while Seris treated the cut on my thigh.
The room smelled of bitter herbs.
For several minutes, no one mentioned the door.
Then the ground shook.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
The two rings on the table pulsed together.
Lyra grabbed her bow.
"They found us."
I looked toward the ceiling.
"Who?"
She moved toward the stairs.
"The king’s men."
A horn sounded outside.
Then another.
The same horn pattern used by the royal army.
Kaelen stood too quickly and nearly fell.
Seris caught him.
He pushed her hand away, but more slowly this time.
"How many?" he asked.
Lyra listened.
"Enough."
A voice shouted from outside the estate.
"Lyra Draven! By order of the crown, surrender the house and the traitor Veyr Draven!"
I looked at the broken ring.
The royal army had followed us.
Or they had known where we were going.
Lyra glanced toward the fragment in my hand.
"They’re not here for the house."
"No," I said.
"They want the key."
"They want both."
She looked at me.
The old Veyr would have ordered her to open the gate.
He would have chosen the safest position and let the soldiers die outside.
I knew that because everyone in the room seemed to expect it from me.
I stood.
"Is there another exit?"
Lyra stared.
"You’re not going to fight?"
"We have a wounded man, an exhausted mage, and three people who don’t trust one another."
Kaelen looked toward the stairs.
"Four people."
I ignored him.
Lyra studied my face.
Then she walked to the back wall and pulled away an old tapestry.
A narrow passage opened behind it.
"It leads to the river."
"How far?"
"Far enough."
Another horn sounded.
The soldiers outside began breaking the main gate.
Lyra handed me the cracked ring.
I looked at it.
"Why give me this?"
"Because Father kept it for you."
"Why?"
She hesitated.
"He said the door would open for the son who returned."
The ground shook again.
This time, the lamp went out.
In the darkness, the black fragment in my hand began to glow.
A red line appeared on the floor.
It led through the hidden passage.
Toward the river.
Toward Blackmere.
Behind us, the main gate broke.
Royal soldiers entered the estate.
Kaelen drew his sword.
Seris lifted her blood-covered hands.
Lyra nocked an arrow.
I closed my fingers around the two rings.
The old Veyr had stayed silent when his father was taken.
He had lost his family without raising a hand.
I did not know what kind of person he had been before the crown took everything from him.
But I knew what I was going to do now.
"Move."
We entered the passage.
Lyra closed the hidden door behind us.
A moment later, the estate filled with steel and shouting.
The royal soldiers searched the room.
They found the broken table.
The empty cabinet.
The blood on the floor.
But they did not find us.
The tunnel sloped downward.
Water dripped from the ceiling.
Kaelen walked at the front despite his injury. Seris stayed behind him, supporting herself against the wall.
Lyra walked beside me.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, "You’re different."
I looked ahead.
"So I’ve been told."
"You would have left me."
"I almost did."
She looked at me.
I did not know why I had said it.
Maybe because lying to her felt worse than admitting it.
Lyra lowered her eyes.
"At least you remember that much."
We continued toward the river.
Behind us, the royal soldiers were still searching.
Ahead, the water grew louder.
The red line on the floor moved beneath our feet.
It led us toward Blackmere.
But the cracked ring in my hand had begun to pulse in a different rhythm.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The same rhythm as the knocking beneath Draeven March.
Lyra heard it.
Her face changed.
"What?"
She looked at the ring.
"That isn’t the door beneath the fortress."
"Then what is it?"
She stopped walking.
The tunnel ahead ended at a stone wall.
There was no river.
No exit.
Only another black door.
A Draven symbol had been carved into its center.
The cracked ring grew warm in my hand.
A voice spoke from behind the door.
Not the voice from the ring.
Not the guardian.
A woman’s voice.
Soft.
Tired.
Familiar.
"Veyr?"
Lyra stepped back.
I stared at the door.
The voice spoke again.
"Is that you?"
The black mark on my chest burned.
I knew that voice.
Not from my memories.
From the body.
From the pieces of the life I had inherited.
It belonged to my mother.
And she had been dead for eight years.