Vera could at least say she managed a little more sleep that night.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t much. Maybe an hour passed before the other patrons started moving through the halls, doors creaking, footsteps echoing, and voices murmuring low. With her sharpened senses, tuning it out was nearly impossible. Eventually, she gave up on sleep and decided to roll with it.

  Not like she wasn’t used to running on low sleep already. And with the way her body worked now, she was fairly sure she could go days before any real fatigue set in.

  Still, she didn’t get up right away. Even if sleep wasn’t happening for her, that didn’t mean Serel couldn’t enjoy a bit more of it. So Vera stayed where she was, lying on her back on the floor mat, eyes on the ceiling, listening to the soft, steady rhythm of the girl’s breathing above her. Her thoughts drifted in slow circles, much like they had for most of the night.

  Eventually, she heard the faint rustle of movement from the bed. Her body tensed almost reflexively, senses sharpening at the shift of fabric and creak of wood.

  “Mommy…?” came the small, tentative voice.

  Vera’s chest tightened. She closed her eyes and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead.

  Damn it.

  She had to get a grip.

  Shit happened. She knew that better than most. And she was supposed to be good at moving on. Letting things go. Not getting bogged down in emotions that didn’t do her much good.

  She drew in a breath.

  “Mommy?” the voice repeated, and a moment later a curtain of silver-gray hair slipped over the edge of the bed. Serel peered down at her, crimson-silver eyes filled with a careful, uncertain hope.

  Vera managed a faint smile. “Morning, little one. Sleep okay?”

  A soft smile broke across Serel’s face. “Mmm. Did you, Mommy?”

  “…Yeah. I did.” Vera pushed herself up from the mat, the loose-fitting tunic she’d slept in slipping a little at the shoulder. She’d considered sleeping in her normal gear, given that they were technically in ‘uncharted territory,’ but decided against it. No need to be that paranoid.

  Serel wore the same pastel-blue nightdress with faded constellations stitched into it that Vera had first found her in.

  Together, they cleaned up as best they could with damp towels and the supplies Caldrin had packed, skipping the inn’s washroom. Serel insisted on Vera joining her for that oddly thorough oral hygiene routine of hers, and Vera obliged. She couldn’t quite figure out how a kid with so much boundless energy had also developed such a disciplined habit, but she supposed it was a good thing.

  What unsettled her more was how quickly Serel seemed to have bounced back from the night’s events, and she was debating whether to feel relieved or concerned about that. On one hand, Vera was glad the girl didn’t seem afraid of her. On the other, was that… normal? Or did it speak to some worrying level of resilience that no kid her age should need?

  She didn’t have an answer. She was still completely new to all of this. She just got dressed, pulled up her hood, and led them downstairs to the common room.

  It was busier than the night before, though she figured a good number had already checked out, judging by the traffic she’d heard all morning. About a third of the tables were still occupied.

  She guided Serel to one near the corner of the room, close to the hearth where the last embers of a morning fire still glowed.

  From what she could tell, three people kept the inn running: a tall, lanky man with a short beard and dark apron moving between the counter and kitchen; a teenage girl with messy brown hair darting up and down the stairs; and the one-eyed tavern matron from last night. The woman spotted them as they sat and ambled over.

  “Mornin’,” she said with a grin, looking first at Vera, then Serel. “Trust you both got some rest, yeah?”

  Serel ducked her head, but not quite as nervously as she had yesterday.

  “About as good as it’d come,” Vera replied, glancing toward the kitchen door behind the counter. “Still doing meals? Three coppers?”

  Since they’d already used the Hearthbind Token, there was no quick hop back to Sablewatch Hollow for Caldrin’s food until nightfall. She could use Mark of Hollow Reach—but considering it was likely more than four times the max range she’d tested, she wasn’t keen on trying it without prep. The Resonance cost didn’t seem to increase linearly.

  Besides, it was a good excuse to sample the local fare. Judging by the flicker of excitement on Serel’s face, she was waiting for just that.

  “Two coppers if bread, stew, and mash’s enough,” the matron said. “We don’t start cooking the real stuff till evening. Takes a while, y’understand.”

  “Then four coppers.” Vera produced four small discs of stamped copper, each marked with the symbol of a still hand.

  A crest of House Hollow.

  Caldrin had mentioned that coinage varied city to city, most stamped with the marks of their most closely aligned divine House. Marrowfen’s had once almost exclusively held House Hollow’s crest, though that had started shifting in recent years.

  The matron picked up two of the coins, nodding toward Serel. “Kid’s on the house.”

  Vera lifted her brows but didn’t argue, tucking the other coins back into her pouch. “Thanks.”

  As the woman left, Vera glanced at Serel, who was now sneaking peeks at the other patrons.

  “See anything interesting?” Vera asked.

  Serel jumped slightly, eyes dropping to the table. “There’s… a lot of people.”

  Vera smiled faintly and looked around. “If you think this is a crowd, you should see what it’s like where I’m from. People pack in like sardines wherever there’s a good café.”

  “Sardines?” Serel tilted her head, blinking up at her.

  “Small fish,” Vera said, holding two fingers close together. “They get canned tight, so when someplace is really crowded, we say it’s packed like sardines.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  The girl gave her a wide-eyed look. “People are fishies there?”

  A quiet snort escaped Vera. “No. It’s just an expression. Means there’s not a lot of room to move. An idiom. Or… simile.”

  Serel blinked, still puzzled.

  “It’s just a funny way to say a place has too many people,” Vera added.

  Serel seemed to mull it over for a while, then grinned and pointed across the room. “They’re packed like sardines!”

  “…Exactly. Nailed it.”

  Under the table, her legs swung with visible excitement, clearly pleased with the praise. But a moment later, her brow creased. “Mommy… what’s a ‘café’?”

  “It’s a place to buy and drink coffee.” Vera shrugged. “Kind of like this place, but smaller. A lot more faux-chic. And usually overpriced.”

  She paused, frowning to herself. Probably not the best idea to keep throwing out terms Serel wouldn’t know. Not unless she wanted to spend all day stuck in a never-ending what’s that and why.

  “Fah-sheek?” Serel echoed, sounding it out. “What’s that?”

  “Nothing important, really,” Vera said, shaking her head. “Just forget it.”

  At least she didn’t have to explain coffee. She was pretty sure it existed here—players in Ashen Legacy could buy it as a consumable, so odds were it had some real-world presence. Though she couldn’t imagine the supply chains looking anything like back home.

  Serel looked vaguely disappointed at being brushed off this time, but her curiosity soon drifted back to the room. Her eyes wandered, scanning the patrons again with a quieter kind of wonder.

  Vera followed her lead, taking a moment to assess the crowd.

  No one stood out too much, though she did spot one person who might’ve been wane-born: silver-blond hair tinged with gray, skin a little paler than average, like Vera and Serel. There was also a hooded pair near the wall, whose large builds suggested they might be duskwrought. And the matron herself, now moving behind the counter again—Vera wouldn’t be surprised if she had marbled blood in her, judging by that striking gold eye. Rare, but probably not unheard of among normal mortals.

  Most of the room, though, was just ordinary folk. Standard human variant. Which fit. Non-human bloodlines were uncommon, even in Marrowfen, where wane-borns were supposed to be more numerous.

  “Mommy?” Serel asked suddenly. “Can we visit where you come from?”

  Vera stilled.

  The girl was still watching the room, tone light and entirely innocent.

  “…I doubt it,” Vera said after a while. “There’s not much left to go back to there.”

  She had no idea how much Serel actually knew about Veralyth Mournvale’s past. Probably not much. And Vera didn’t plan to dump the truth about her past any time soon. But a few vague, casual references to her old world wouldn’t necessarily hurt. Might even help Serel get used to the idea that Vera came from somewhere else, if the day ever came to rip off that band-aid.

  That was part of why she hadn’t censored herself earlier. Cafés. Sardines. All of that.

  She just hadn’t expected Serel to ask about visiting.

  The girl turned. Maybe she sensed something in Vera’s tone. Or maybe she didn’t. Either way, she didn’t press. She just watched Vera for a few seconds, then quietly went back to observing the other patrons.

  Vera studied her for a moment longer, then exhaled and looked toward the counter.

  The tavern matron returned soon after, expertly balancing two bowls and a pair of mugs. She set them down on the table with a small flourish.

  “Stew’s rabbit, bread’s fresh, and that mash there’s my man’s pride and joy.” She pointed to the mugs. “Best have it while it’s hot—goes gummy once it cools.”

  “Then guess we’ll do our best not to insult his honor.” Vera lifted the wooden spoon she’d been given and tasted the stew. She nodded. “That’s good.”

  Saltier than she expected, but not in a bad way. She liked salty. She just wouldn’t have guessed a place like Marrowfen would necessarily have reliable access to seasoning.

  The matron gave a throaty chuckle. “I’ll let him know you think so. He’ll be struttin’ about the kitchen like a rooster soon as he hears it.”

  As she spoke, her eye drifted toward Vera’s hand, lingering on the sigil-scars there. Vera noticed—and made a conscious effort not to react.

  “…Say,” the woman began, cocking her head, “you wouldn’t be walkin’ the Hollow path, would you, miss? A follower?”

  “Of the path, at least,” Vera said lightly.

  “Don’t see many of your kind these days.”

  “Really? Has it thinned out that much? Ten years ago, you couldn’t swing a staff without hitting someone from House Hollow, from what I’ve heard.”

  Marrowfen and the Marrowvault were both key locations for House Hollow, after all.

  “Still a handful here and there.” The matron gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Mostly the highborn, though. Fancy types keep to their manors and high halls these days. City streets ain’t so friendly as they used to be since those Pale Reconciliation nutters went struttin’ about. Folk see one set of Hollow scars and reckon they’re all the same.”

  She folded her arms, expression hardening just slightly. “World’s the world. Nothin’ to do but live in it.”

  “I see…” Vera murmured, brow tightening.

  She’d known about the growing aversion toward Hollow followers in Marrowfen, at least in theory. She just didn’t know to what level it had spread. Anyone who actually understood the difference wouldn’t lump them together like that, though. House Hollow had no formal connection to the Pale Reconciliation.

  The Pale Reconciliation had been a group of zealots—fanatics devoted to the Hollow King and his Silent Lords. In Ashen Legacy, he’d been the central antagonist of the first expansion. The Hollow King was part of the Triad of Quiet Flame, an older divine pantheon from the previous age, whereas House Hollow’s roots were younger.

  But she couldn’t entirely blame people for the confusion. There was overlap, and the pantheons and factions in the game could be complex and hard to follow. Even seasoned players invested in the lore sometimes got things mixed up.

  “It’s not worth you twistin’ yourself up and wearin’ that frown over,” the matron said, clapping a broad, surprisingly warm hand on Vera’s shoulder. “No one in Marrowfen’s gonna come botherin’ you over a few scars, at least. Place might’ve cooled some to you folk, but the Hollow and its kin still have enough respect hereabouts. Only a mooncalf’d spit on what you’ve given.”

  “All I’ve given…?” Vera asked, glancing up at the woman.

  “Maybe not you in particular, love—Hollow folk in general.” She straightened. “Ain’t a soul in this city doesn’t know whose gods the Ashborn Ascendant called on. Half the folk here owe her their skins, so they’ll still think twice before openly moving on a Hollow mark on the street. ‘Specially with a kid in tow.”

  The woman huffed through her nose, like a laugh tangled with an old memory, and jabbed a thick thumb at her chest. “Met the lady myself, y’know. Back ‘fore she was out topplin’ divine tyrants and breakin’ castles. Sat her backside on one of my benches, she did. More than once.”

  Vera stared at her, eyes narrowing slightly. Surely she didn’t know…?

  But the matron only gave her one last pat before stepping back and clapping her big hands together with a hearty smack. “But that’s talk for another time. I won’t pester you or your little chick any longer. You need somethin’, just give a holler—me or my girl’ll be about. Same goes if you’re lookin’ for another room, or want the city’s gossip.”

  Her mouth split in a broad, toothy grin that showed a hint of wolf under the warmth. She shot Serel a look, who shrank back a touch at the sight. “See you ‘round, sprig. Mind you enjoy that stew.”

  And with that, she strode off.

  Vera watched her go, thoughtful.

  So. That answered one question.

  She hadn’t wanted to bring up the name Veralyth Mournvale herself, worried the woman might recognize her. But now she didn’t have to. Veralyth was indeed a known figure here—a legend, like Caldrin had implied. And the matron’s casual mention of divine tyrants and broken castles suggested that at least some of the bosses Vera had taken down in-game counted as Veralyth’s victories here.

  “Mommy?” Serel asked. “Who was that woman talking about?”

  Vera turned to her. “You mean the ‘Ashborn Ascendant’?”

  The girl nodded. “Mmm.”

  “That’s me.”

  Serel blinked. “You?”

  “Yep.”

  She giggled. “You’re lying, Mommy.”

  Vera shook her head. “Nope. That’s what they call me. Veralyth Mournvale—Chosen of the Hollow, Slayer of Tribulations, Ashborn Ascendant.”

  “But she said she met you before!”

  “She did, yeah.”

  “But she didn’t recognize you!”

  Vera tugged her hood a little lower. “And wasn’t that lucky? I thought she might.”

  Serel stared at her, squinting, her lower lip beginning to pout as she clearly struggled to figure out whether Vera was messing with her or not.

  Vera couldn’t help it—she laughed. “Don’t overthink it, alright? Just remember: we’re hiding. So no telling anyone who I really am.”

  She pointed at Serel’s mug and bowl. “Now, eat. You heard the lady. It’s gonna get gummy.”

  Serel’s eyes widened in alarm. She snatched up her spoon and began shoveling food into her mouth, and from the looks of it, she was enjoying it.

  Vera chuckled again and finally turned back to her own food.

  After this, they’d head into the city and explore some more. There, she’d start finding out just how deep Veralyth Mournvale’s reputation really ran.