Vanded Blazegrip’s boots rang on worn oak floorboards as he walked down the corridor, wiping the grime and ichor from his armor with a frayed towel as he moved. Once he’d soaked the cloth through, he let it disappear into his Vaultring and brought out a fresh one to continue cleaning.

  Cryptling residue was always a pain to scrub off.

  “Eberhard,” he called to the wiry man following behind him, stopping in front of a familiar door. “Any idea where my Vice-Master’s off to right now?”

  “Off to…?” Eberhard asked in a confused tone. “I don’t think Gard’s left since you left, Chapter-Master.”

  Vanded glanced back at him, then to the door, studying it and sensing the office beyond. He could tell it was empty.

  A light frown touched his brow.

  He reached out and opened the door, stepping inside to survey the room.

  “What—? Where is he?” Eberhard’s surprised voice came from behind him.

  “Not here, at least,” Vanded said.

  He didn’t know Gard to be the type of man to leave his post without word. Had someone attacked him? But doing so inside the Chapter itself? Vanded scoffed at the thought, though there was an undercurrent of unease beneath it.

  He crossed his arms, gaze landing on a spot near the desk, staring at the empty air there.

  Was that… remnants of Hollow Resonance? Or was his mind playing tricks on him?

  Vanded had only just returned from the vault. He’d thought the Chapter would be fine in his brief absence, but given what he’d confirmed below, that assumption might have been dangerously naive.

  He turned, his cloak sweeping behind him as he exited the room. “The folk are gathered up, I assume?” he said as he set off down the corridor. “How many of us are there?”

  “You mean here?”

  “Here and overall.”

  “Sixty-seven waiting at the Table. Another dozen out in the city. A third declined the summons, and there are a few outside Marrowfen on assignments we don’t know the status of.”

  A dry chuckle rumbled through him as he processed the numbers.

  Just a few dozen strong, and they were squaring up against the Concord. He supposed this was why there were those who called him mad.

  The Concord’s forces were several times theirs. But Vanded had never let something trivial like a number advantage decide his course. Each of his Chapter members was worth more than a handful of the Concord’s, and with proper weapons and equipment, he’d have them cutting through any army. There wasn’t a shred of fear in his body.

  Not when it came to dealing with the Concord, at least.

  He moved through Hollowstone Table, reaching the broad central chamber where his people were gathered. Heads turned as his footsteps resounded through the doorway. Scattered voices rose—jeers, cheers, questions overlapping.

  “Oi, boss, you been hiding in the closet psychin’ yourself up?”

  “Blazegrip, where’ve you been? We really beating those Concord bastards down or what?”

  “Chapter-Master, your orders?”

  Vanded stopped. His gaze swept the assembly seated around the massive polished marrowstone table, illuminated by steady white glowlights overhead.

  He grinned. “What’re you all doing sitting on your arses like this is a blasted tavern? Half of you aren’t even dressed for a fight.”

  Commotion rippled through the room. Those already armored slammed the backs of those who weren’t. More jeers followed as people laughed and joked.

  Vanded brought his gauntlets together.

  The impact rang like thunder. Silence fell.

  “It’s true what you’ve heard,” he said, voice carrying to every corner. “The Concord’s lost what sense they had left. They’ve gone after our people. After the Chalice.”

  Anger murmured through the crowd.

  “None of us with any pride would sit by for that.” He paused, letting the weight settle. “But that’s not the worst we’re facing. Marrowfen’s got another crisis gnawing at its bones. Like we faced ten years ago.”

  Surprise flickered across faces.

  “Huh? You sure?” Albor rumbled from his seat, the man’s frame nearly matching Vanded’s own. He scratched his beard. “Concord ain’t all that.”

  “I am.” Vanded drew breath to continue—

  The outer doors opened. His Vice-Master stepped through.

  Every head turned.

  “Gard.” Vanded’s smile returned. “Not dead after all, are we? Thought you’d bitten the dust when I found your office empty! Where’d you run off to? Saying goodbye to some fine lady before the end?”

  Laughter rolled through the room.

  Gard’s expression suggested nothing could be further from the truth.

  Vanded’s smile faded. He studied the man, then turned back to address the room, voice hardening. “Those of you still dragging your feet—gear up. Now. Marrowfen might not have a tomorrow otherwise.”

  He saw the sudden nervous glances among some of the faces, mixed with uncertainty. He ignored those. Most knew what it meant to be here. Those who didn’t would learn from standing beside their fellows.

  He gestured at Gard. “Come. We’ll talk.”

  Leaving the chamber, he walked through the corridors, waiting for his Vice-Master to catch up. He returned to the man’s office, stopping in the center and turning as Gard entered and closed the door behind him.

  “Where were you?” Vanded asked, studying his appearance. There were no visible injuries, but tension sat in his shoulders.

  Silence stretched before the man answered. “I was meeting with Miss Morgans.”

  “Morgans?” Vanded’s brows lifted. “The Tenth Binding lady?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Vanded nodded. “That’s good. What did she say? Will she join us? I’ve got a gift for her if she needs convincing.”

  Gard hesitated. “I’m... not certain she will. I spoke with her, and she was willing to offer her help. Then… complications arose.”

  “Complications?”

  “Her daughter went missing.”

  Vanded’s eyes narrowed, gone cold in an instant. “The Concord?”

  “No. That doesn’t seem to be the case.” Gard shook his head. “Frankly, I don’t understand what happened. The girl was in another room while we spoke, then she was gone. Miss Morgans left before offering a proper explanation, so I can’t even say where she is now.”

  “Can we help?”

  “That’s unlikely, I’m afraid.”

  Vanded was quiet, then he released a thick, heavy sigh. “A shame. Truly. We can only hope she finds the girl safe, then. Maybe she’ll still lend us her strength after. But her absence doesn’t change our course.”

  Gard met his gaze. “Do you intend to march on the Concord by nightfall?”

  “I do.”

  “Then I have something you need to hear.” Gard straightened. “We’ve confirmed the Pale Reconciliation is behind this. And Whitefinger is leading them.”

  Vanded went still.

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  A low, dangerous sound left his throat. “Whitefinger.” He stepped closer. “You understand what you’re saying? Whitefinger’s dead.”

  “I’m aware he’s supposed to be. But Miss Morgans’ subordinate knows him and encountered him directly in the Marrowvault. He confirmed it was the real Whitefinger.”

  “Subordinate? Who are they?”

  “He was apparently once an attendant at the Quiet Hall when Whitefinger was still a monk there. I believe his word can be trusted. According to him, Mereon Talse is Whitefinger’s current identity.”

  Vanded watched him closely, a cold fury coiling up inside him.

  Whitefinger.

  A name he’d prayed never to hear again. A man he’d once wanted to tear apart with his bare hands more than anyone else in this world.

  A demon wearing the skin of a person. A stain on everything it meant to be human.

  And he had been hiding in front of Vanded all this time?

  His jaw unclenched slowly.

  “Chapter-Master...” Gard’s voice dropped. “That’s not the worst of it… A Silent Lord may have returned.”

  Vanded held his gaze.

  Gard’s eyes widened. “You already knew.”

  “I suspected.” Vanded breathed deep, eyes closing to center himself. To not let the anger take over. “I confirmed it below. The Vowpale Ascendant’s heart is gone from the vault. I don’t know how they took it. But there’s only one reason they would.”

  “Then… is that what you intend to have us fight?”

  Silence held for a moment.

  “If necessary.” Vanded exhaled. His grin returned. “Don’t forget—I was among those who put that monster down last time. And I’ve grown stronger since then. Even alone, you shouldn’t count me out.”

  “Chapter-Master...” Gard studied him, gaze lowering. Then looked up again, that same iron resolve in his eyes that had made Vanded choose him as Vice-Master. “You won’t be alone.”

  Vanded laughed. “I certainly hope not! I’ve got no desire to play Korven the Lone at Ashbreak Ridge. And I’m not worried. Even without that lady’s help, I’ve still managed to secure some help of my own.” He looked around the room. “Witness! Show yourself.”

  Gard’s brow furrowed. He glanced around, confused.

  A shadow in the corner stirred. Pale silver and gray bled from the wall, and a figure covered in chains and tattered sigilcloth formed.

  “Blazegrip,” the specter spoke in its grinding voice. “You intend to fight the Vowpale Ascendant?”

  “‘Course! What else is there to do? You’ll join me, won’t you?”

  There was no response for several heartbeats.

  The specter’s head lowered slightly. “There is little choice. Promises must be kept. They have stolen.”

  “Hahaha! Always knew I could count on old friends.”

  Gard stared between them. “Chapter-Master... what... who is this?”

  His Vice-Master turned slowly to the specter, watching it with a wary expression. “...Hello. I am Gard Whiteforest.”

  “I do not care. Neither of us are long for this world.”

  Gard turned back to Vanded.

  “Don’t worry. He warms up eventually,” Vanded said.

  He clapped his hands once. The sound cracked through the room. “Right then. About time we move. We’ve got a city to save and dead men to put back in their graves where they belong.”

  The Marrowvault groaned around her.

  Stone cracked. Bone splintered. Slate buckled. The very structure gave way, as if the walls themselves recoiled from her presence.

  Vera’s senses swept throughout the vault. Resonance burned within her as she pushed outward, further, and further still.

  But there was no Serel.

  The girl’s presence was etched in her mind—every contour of it. She was confident that even here, buried beneath the city, she would recognize it instantly. But no matter how far she reached, she found nothing.

  Mark of the Stillbound Veil.

  She tried again. Stillwake flared in her grip, sigils pulsing along its shaft in time with her heartbeat as she took everything in.

  Once more, nothing.

  A ragged cry split space as the halberd carved through the air in a vicious arc. Resonance poured out. A section of wall exploded inward, debris cascading from the ceiling.

  “Damn it!”

  The words split from her chest. She had no better way to express the helpless emotion inside her. Cinders flared across the ground where she stood, spreading from her feet in rippling waves. She didn’t even bother tempering the deviating Resonance.

  Every trace she followed dissolved to nothing. Every invocation of the Mark of the Stillbound Veil revealed nothing. She’d combed the city above, the wilderness beyond, the entirety of the Marrowvault, and everything that lay beneath. Anywhere Hollow Reach could bring her, she’d searched. Burned more Resonance than ever before. Downed Echophials just to keep moving. But each time, she came up empty.

  Heavy silence pressed tight around her as the debris settled.

  Vera clenched her hands until the fabric of her gloves creaked. She could still see Serel. That tiny form. That trust in her eyes. Just gone.

  She’d promised to take care of her. Accepted that responsibility. And now she felt like a wretched failure barely stopping herself from bringing down the tunnels around her.

  When the fury ebbed enough for thought to return, she turned on her heel, tore open a new Hollow Reach, and stepped through.

  “My lady—”

  Caldrin looked up from the unconscious Korrin as Vera arrived in The Hallowed Shear, breathing hard.

  “I can’t find her, Caldrin.”

  He paused.

  “I can’t find her.”

  The man watched her silently.

  Vera shook her head. She didn’t know what to do. She’d looked away from Serel for just a moment, and then she was gone, and now Vera had nothing—no leads, no trail, no answers. A literal deity might have taken Serel, and she had no idea how to fight that. She’d tried everything she could think of.

  “…I’m sorry, my lady. I do not know what to do either,” Caldrin said softly.

  Vera met his gaze. Their plans had been entirely derailed by Serel’s disappearance. Marrowfen was facing a crisis, and all Vera could do was tear through the city hunting for one girl instead of helping. But she couldn’t just ignore her. She couldn’t.

  Caldrin straightened slightly. “Perhaps you could try the Emberward Reliquary. That is where you first encountered this phenomenon, was it not?”

  Right. There was that. Still a chance.

  She raised Stillwake again, ready to open another rift, but paused. She turned back to Caldrin, watching him, then glanced down at Korrin.

  “…I should apologize, Caldrin. I left earlier without barely speaking to you."

  When Serel had vanished, Vera hadn’t been thinking straight. Even now, she was only barely holding together.

  Stillwake tore through the air.

  Mark of Hollow Reach.

  A surge of Resonance left her.

  She gestured at Caldrin and Korrin. “I opened it to Sablewatch Hollow. Bring him through. Then you can make the preparations to come back here yourself. You can still help Hollowstone Table even if I’m not there.”

  The man studied her for a long moment before inclining his head. He picked up the old barber carefully, carrying him as he stepped toward the rift. “My lady… I wish the best of luck to you and the young miss.”

  “Thank you…” Vera mumbled as he stepped through.

  She pulled out another Echophial and drank it down. Then swung Stillwake again.

  Mark of Hollow Reach.

  The Emberward Reliquary was quiet when she appeared inside it, abandoning all attempts at subtlety. The old Votive Steward who’d helped them before nearly fell backward when he saw her emerge near the center of the room. “Y-You’re—”

  “Do it again,” Vera said.

  He blinked. “Do what?”

  “The Rite. Do it. Now.”

  “Miss, I—”

  Breakstep.

  With a single stride, she’d crossed the distance between them, her hand closing on his collar as she pulled him toward the small hall beyond the main chamber. The hearth at the chamber’s far end guttered and bent sideways under the pressure of her aura, flame bowing as if in fear.

  “You’re going to do it again,” she repeated. “I don’t care what it takes.”

  The old man’s throat worked, even as his face paled. “The flame—what happened before—”

  “I don’t care if it was your fault or not.” She forced her voice lower, trying to keep it even. “I need it to happen again.”

  Something in her tone seemed to reach him. He fell silent, then nodded once. Her grip loosened as he started moving on his own, leading her to the same chamber where they’d performed the Rite of Embercalm before. There, he began to hurriedly, shakily move through the preparations—lighting the braziers, murmuring incantations. Vera positioned herself at the room’s heart.

  A tiny fire sparked to life in front of her. She focused on it. Waited for anything to happen.

  But the fire sputtered and died.

  She stared.

  Looked up at the steward. “What happened?”

  He shifted, hesitant. “The rite was… denied.”

  “Then do it again.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Do it.”

  “I would if I could, but I can’t.” He met her eyes, and she saw genuine regret there. “House Emberward will not allow you to perform the rite again. The refusal wasn’t from me—it was from them."

  She stared at him. For a moment, she thought she might force him. Realized she couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Either or.

  Instead, she turned away and left without another word.

  She wasn’t sure what brought her to her next destination. Maybe whatever errant hope still flickered inside her was just clutching at straws, reaching for whatever magical solution she could find.

  Who knew if the Quiet Hall would provide it.

  The structure stood tall and stark, carved from pale ossified bone. Archways curved into inverted crowns, still hands, and silent mouths along the facade, reminding her of crypts and burial chambers. It was far larger than the Emberward Reliquary but felt strangely empty.

  The center for House Hollow worship in Marrowfen.

  The Hall’s doors stood half-open, spilling dim light onto the marrowstone street. She pushed them wider and stepped inside.

  The silence here was different. Like the weight of memory and the stillness of burial, both at once. Profound and absolute. Pale candles burned low along the pews that ran through the single vast hall, and old incense hung heavy in the air.

  A few people in robes knelt scattered among the pews. Some glanced at her, but none spoke.

  Vera crossed the hall, moving toward the altars and shrines arrayed at the far end. Faceless statues with inverted crowns. Burial niches standing empty. Still hands folded in repose. Stone tablets etched without names.

  She stopped in front of them all.

  “…I don’t know if you can hear me,” she said. “If you care. If you can.” Her eyes moved over the effigies. “Mourning Throne. Sleeper in Gray. Pale Chorister. Gods of Stillness. Keeper of the Beneath. Whatever might be listening. I don’t care. Just…”

  She gave a small, almost bitter laugh. This was the first time in her life she had ever prayed for real.

  “…Please help this once,” she whispered.

  There was no answer. Only her breathing and the faint rustle of movement from the pews behind her.

  She hadn’t been expecting anything. The Houses couldn’t interfere as they wanted. There was a reason you needed rites, and the only ones she knew couldn’t be performed here.

  A deep breath escaped her.

  She turned.

  And then she felt something.

  Resonance, stirring.

  Her eyes swept back across the altar, roaming over the offerings and icons before landing on a small, unassuming urn to the side.

  Vera stepped closer.

  It was almost nothing. So faint, so weak it was a miracle she even noticed. And it was nothing more than a strand. A sliver of Resonance with almost no strength. For a single heartbeat, she saw it—that strand shimmering through layers of distance to an empty expanse overlooked by a sky of thread-bound hands.

  Then it snapped, and was gone.

  Her breath caught.

  The feeling was fading already, dissolving from her mind like smoke.

  Stillwake appeared in her hand. Gasps echoed through the hall. Cinders burned through Vera’s entire body and all of her Resonance surged, Stillwake thrumming with power as she reached toward that vanishing thread, even as it felt like the world itself seemed to crush down on her.

  Stillwake’s blade fell.

  A rift tore open.

  Mark of Hollow Reach.

  The world tilted as Resonance drained from her all at once. She staggered, the aftershock buzzing through her skull.

  But she didn’t care.

  Her gaze fixed on the rift before her.

  “Got you,” she whispered.