Vera stopped, turning toward the man. “…What was that?”

  “I asked what you think you’re here for,” he rumbled, stepping closer. A handful of eyes tracked his movement as he came to a stop directly in front of her.

  Vera liked to think of herself as tall, but he stood a full head higher, his sheer bulk easily dwarfing her frame. Once, that might’ve actually scared her. But now? Nothing. Her body remembered itself differently. Just as with the Marks and Forms, she knew this man posed absolutely no threat whatsoever.

  She studied him for a beat, then glanced down. Serel had pressed in behind her, peeking out nervously from the safety of her mantle.

  Vera’s expression darkened.

  Her gaze snapped back up. “You’d better have a good excuse for striding over just to scare a child.”

  She didn’t want to find out what kind of mess she might get herself into if she let the instincts currently screaming inside her off their leash.

  The man’s eyes flicked to Serel. To his credit, Vera caught a flicker of indecision there. But then he folded his thick arms, squaring himself. “…You’ve got a writ?”

  Her eyes narrowed, sliding down to his forearm where a wide metal band sat, etched with patterns and enamel colors. A writband, if she wasn’t wrong. They denoted membership in a Chapter, as well as rank.

  Technically, she had one. She had one for all Chapters. But pulling it out would be the worst possible idea if she wanted to lay low. Her bands were all max-rank. Someone would notice. And for all she knew, they carried names or marks that tied directly back to Veralyth Mournvale.

  “That’s a no, then,” he said flatly. “So what’s your business here? What do you think you’re pulling a kid here for?”

  “Albor,” a woman’s voice called lazily from the marrowstone table. She leaned over the back of her chair, hair dark and cut blunt at her jaw. “Leave it. Don’t start another mess.”

  “Shut it, Han,” the man—Albor—snapped without looking at her. His eyes narrowed as he leaned closer to Vera, as though trying to peel her open with his stare. “Something’s off about you. What’s your Binding?”

  “Albor.” Han pushed herself upright, her voice hard now. She strode over in long, sharp steps and planted a hand on his shoulder. “I mean it. Don’t start stupid shit, or Gard’ll have your head.”

  Her eyes cut to Vera and Serel, assessing them coolly. “And you. This isn’t the place to bring your kid. Best ignore this lumbering ox, but finish whatever business you’ve got and get her out of here quick. Plenty of folk in this hall little ones shouldn’t meet. Him included.”

  Albor’s jaw tightened, anger flashing in his expression. He turned his head toward her, teeth bared. “You—”

  Han punched him in the face.

  Serel yelped and ducked fully behind Vera. Vera’s eyes widened slightly—but the man didn’t move. Blood streamed from his nose, yet he just stood there, staring at the woman.

  “You calm now?” she asked.

  Albor stayed silent for a while longer, then dipped his head. “…Yeah.”

  “Stop downing a whole barrel before noon, then.” She shook her hand out, exasperated. “Rot me sideways, you’re lucky I saved your thick hide. Learn to read a damned room. She was about to tear your fat arm straight off.”

  Vera blinked.

  Had she really looked that close to snapping?

  Albor scowled, snorting blood. “You think she could’ve torn my arm off?”

  “I know it. She’s at least a full Binding above you, you half-drowned brute. Now sit your ass down before Gard gets back and puts you through the wall.”

  The woman turned back toward the table. Albor cast Vera one last, sour look before moving to follow.

  “Oi. You.”

  Her voice stopped them both cold.

  “What do you think you’re doing, huh?”

  They turned. Han’s gaze narrowed. “…Lady, this idiot might be reckless, but you’d be worse if you actually started something over that little spat.”

  “Good thing I’m not looking for a fight,” Vera said. “But he scared the kid for no good reason. The least he owes is an apology.”

  She didn’t want to escalate this. But some sharp, prideful edge inside her refused to let him stalk off after frightening Serel without so much as a word.

  She wasn’t actually sure what Flamebinding or level they were. She could vaguely sense some Resonance from them, but beyond that, she lacked the familiarity to measure more. Not that it mattered. Every part of her knew these two didn’t stand a chance against her. And in this particular moment, she wasn’t afraid to lean on that fact.

  The woman studied her for a long beat, lips pursed. Finally, she gave Albor a hard pat between the shoulder blades. “Fair enough. Apologize, Albor.”

  The large man scowled. He looked from her to Vera, clearly not a fan of the idea. But his companion’s earlier words seemed to have stuck. His gaze settled on Serel.

  He tried what might have been a smile, though the blood running from his nose and the flash of crooked teeth made it more a grimace. “Sorry if I scared ya, kid.”

  Serel stayed silent, tucked firmly behind Vera’s side.

  A loud smack cracked through the hall as the woman slapped Albor’s back again. “That’s it? What about the lady?”

  He shot her a dark look. “The kid’s the scared one, yeah? Then the kid gets the ashbitten apology. Lady brought her here and should know better. ‘Sides, if she’s a Sixth or Seventh Binding, she don’t need my damned sorry.”

  Han rolled her eyes and let out a sigh. She turned back toward Vera. “That enough?”

  Vera considered them both, then looked down. Serel peered up at her, looking a little lost, but gave a small nod. “I’m okay, Mommy,” she whispered.

  Vera’s jaw tightened, but after a moment she turned back to the pair. “…Sure. That’s enough.”

  “Great.” Han’s tone made it clear she was glad to drop the matter. “Then best of luck with whatever business you and the kid’ve got here.”

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  They returned to the marrowstone table under the watch of several curious stares. Han shoved Albor down into his chair with another slap between the shoulders hard enough to nearly topple him. He growled, but grumbled something before snatching up a bone mug and taking a long swig. Han just laughed and sat back down, spearing a plate of cold meat with a knife.

  Vera watched them a moment longer before turning away.

  Serel tugged gently at her sleeve. “Mommy… can’t I be here?”

  “‘Course you can,” Vera said. “Pretty sure there’s no rule against it. As long as I’m around, you can be wherever you want. Just… be careful if I’m not there.”

  The girl nodded quickly. “Okay.”

  Together they crossed the hall, this time without interruption, though a few lingering gazes followed.

  At the far corner, a man in more practical attire—clean but plain, rolled sleeves, and a loosened collar—sat behind a wooden desk. He leaned back in his chair, flipping through a slate pad filled with papers and notes. He should be one of the workers here.

  He glanced up as they approached, setting the pad aside and leaning forward with practiced attentiveness. “Can I help you?” His eyes dropped to Serel, considering her before focusing on Vera.

  Vera studied him in turn. She didn’t recognize him, which was a good sign.

  “That’s what I was hoping.” She stopped at the desk, resting her elbows on its edge. Serel stood beside her, only just tall enough for the top of her head to peek above the counter. “I’ve got some questions, if you don’t mind.”

  He raised his brows, glancing past her to the table. “Questions, huh? I’ll do what I can. What are you looking for?”

  “I haven’t been in Marrowfen for a while. Wanted to know the current state of things. How’s the Chapter been holding up?”

  He shrugged. “Depends on who you ask, but overall? About the same as ever. Plenty of contracts, especially from the Boneward Concord. Where’d you come in from?”

  “Far south. Thornequay.”

  “Then you’ve heard of the edict?”

  “I have.”

  “Well, that had folk worried when it hit. Same with us here. A lot of our contracts come from local merchants moving materials inland, and the ban choked off some of that. But the Concord covered the losses.” He thumbed over his shoulder at the wall pinned thick with contracts. “They’ve had us running slayer and collector jobs back-to-back. Clearing beasts, hauling parts, and just generally stacking materials in piles. You a writ for any Chapter?”

  “I am,” Vera said. “But not Hollowstone Table.”

  Her eyes scanned the contracts pinned up. Most were pretty straightforward: resource harvests and culling beasts she recognized from this zone. Fencoil Striders were on that list—the same type Serel had tried hunting—as well as significantly deadlier names.

  A faint crease touched her brow. “So the Concord’s the one taking everything from these contracts?”

  “They’re the ones paying, so yes.”

  “What are they doing with it all?”

  “Not sure. Could be stockpiling to resell later. The Chapter’s not the only outfit the Concord’s been snapping up contracts from. Much of the dredging done in the Flow is going toward them as well at the moment. Some folks think they’re gathering supplies for something big—maybe a response to the tribulation.”

  “Can they even afford that?”

  Vera couldn’t say she knew too much about the internal politics and logistics of the Boneward Concord, but it felt somewhat unlikely they could make up for Marrowfen’s lost trade and still carry the city on their back forever. What would they even want with piles of low- and mid-tier reagents?

  “For now, at least,” the man said. “We’ll see how long it lasts.”

  “Hmm.” Vera’s eyes drifted across more of the parchment, but her thoughts were already shifting. “You mentioned the tribulation. I’ve only heard passing talk here in the city about it. People don’t seem too concerned yet, though I doubt that’ll last forever. Do you know anything solid about it? Has Hollowstone Table gotten involved?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, lips pressing tight. “We get bits of news here and there. Not much firsthand. Most of our members have stayed in Marrowfen. But the Chapter-Master left for the central dominions, took a handful with him.”

  “You don’t know anything about the tribulation itself? Which regions have fallen?”

  “Well, some whispers say it’s tied to one of the Forgotten Thrones, but I don’t know how much to trust that. Folk said the last one was an Echo God, too, and that turned out false, didn’t it?”

  Vera shook her head. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but it was still off the mark. Maybe she really had overestimated how much the average person would know about divinity here.

  In Ashen Legacy, the gods had always fallen into three broad categories.

  The first were the Houses—like House Hollow or House Emberward. These were the youngest form of divinity, barely a century and a half old, established at the end of the last age cycle and the start of the current Amber Cycle. However, their relative youth didn’t mean they should be underestimated. A House was a new kind of divine construct. An abstraction and binding of several ageless dominions and aspects under a shared mantle. The Sleeper in Grey was one such aspect of House Hollow. They’d become the dominant pantheons of the current age for a reason.

  Most Houses were also affiliated with several older gods. Hollow’s old gods of Stillness, for example, had likely walked the world for millennia before the House itself ever existed.

  The second category was the Trinities. These were an older form of pantheon that had been common during earlier cycles but were now almost extinct. The most well-known was the Triad of Quiet Flame, constituted by the Ashkeeper, the Hollow King, and the Last Ember. Two of those had been the final bosses of past expansions.

  And finally, the third category. The oldest. Divinity from an age before pantheons and alliances. Before dominions were shared. Where beings so vast and terrible existed they couldn’t bind themselves together without destroying everything around them, whose very existence warped the world, and so they clashed endlessly.

  These were the Echo Gods and the Forgotten Thrones.

  They were largely a mystery. The kind of gods you only saw mentioned in forbidden relics, fragments of ruined temples, and centuries-old books. In the present age, people thought them long dead and gone.

  As a player, Vera knew better. She and other players had been able to read between the lines and knew that couldn’t be the whole truth. But in the overarching narrative, all the NPCs had been shocked when the third expansion’s boss revealed itself as the Chainfather—one of the Echo Gods.

  Except it hadn’t truly been him. Long story short, it had been the Chainfather Ascendant, who had conjured an avatar of sorts of the Echo God. Even so, that avatar had been strong enough to anchor an entire expansion as its main antagonist. Which said more than enough about the real Chainfather.

  And about The Silence Between—the fourth expansion’s boss—which was supposed to be a Forgotten Throne. Something on par with a real Echo God.

  “If you’d like to know more,” the man said, drawing her back, “I’d either suggest heading out east yourself or waiting until the Chapter-Master returns. He’s due any day now. He’ll have the most up-to-date word. Doubt you’ll get to speak with him directly, but someone in his entourage might talk.”

  Vera weighed his words. Meeting the Chapter-Master would probably have to wait. Someone like that would probably recognize her. But speaking with someone else from that group sounded like a plan.

  Until then, she should be able to occupy herself.

  She lifted a finger, pointing at one of the contracts pinned on the wall that had caught her eye. “That one says there’ve been problems with Shriekbound Servitors in the Marrowvault. How hard is it to get in there right now?”

  “Not easy. Concord’s got the ossuary under tighter lock these days. Unless you’re part of a bonewright guild, you’re not getting down there. Our Chapter gets clearance for certain sections when it’s time to cull monsters, but that’s it.”

  “…Then can I take that contract?”

  The man gave her a skeptical look. “Not unless you’ve got a writ with Hollowstone Table.”

  “And if I get one?”

  “Then technically, yes.” He scratched his chin. “Normally we’d reserve something like that for a seasoned member, but it’s been sitting untouched for three weeks. No one wants to tangle with a Servitor. If you had a writ, I wouldn’t mind passing it to you. Worst-case scenario, you die. That’s all.”

  “Then what’s the fastest way to get one?”

  He studied her for a long moment, then his eyes slid to Serel. At last, he shrugged. “Show you’re strong enough, and I’ll handle the rest. Easiest way for that is a duel.”

  He rose from his chair, rifling through a stack of papers. “We don’t bother tracking members’ exact Bindings, but is it true you’re at least Sixth or Seventh?”

  “It is.”

  “Good enough.” He cupped a hand to his mouth. “Hey, Han!”

  Across the hall, the woman from earlier looked up from the table where Albor had somehow fallen half-asleep, face buried in his mug.

  “Since you stuck your nose in earlier,” the worker called, “I’ve got a fight for you. Say no, and Gard hears about that ruckus you caused.”

  A scowl cut across her face, but she shoved a fist into Albor’s back—earning a grunt—before pushing to her feet. She strode toward them with long steps, her expression caught somewhere between irritation and resignation.

  Vera blinked, a little surprised at how fast this was all moving. She’d expected at least a couple more steps involved. Then again, considering what she knew of the man who was the Chapter-Master here, maybe it made sense that Hollowstone Table wasn’t big on formality.

  Han stopped in front of her, giving Vera a once-over before glancing at the man. “What, I’m fighting her?”

  “You are. She needs a writ.”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Fine. I just hope you give me more than a warm-up.”

  Vera met her gaze—and found herself smiling dangerously at the prospect of getting to fight again. “I could say the same.”