their rank and position. It deliberately resembled the Ashfire sigil and was almost as old. The Riders hadn’t worn them under Cassian’s new regime until recently, when he’d wanted to present a united—and slightly more impressive—front to the locals in the wake of the empire’s attack. Even Veronyka had one, simpler and less finely made than Tristan’s and stamped with a single wing to indicate she was still an apprentice.
Tossing the leather aside, Tristan stretched and settled back more comfortably in the soft brown tunic he’d been wearing underneath.
“I mostly just listened to their stories. They want to be heard, to feel like we care. They’re scared, I think—scared there’ll be more attacks, that Pyra will become a battleground again like it was during the war.” He sighed heavily, ruffling his hair as he sank lower into the packs. “I have to thank you, Nyk,” he muttered, voice drifting off. “Veronyka,” he corrected, straightening slightly and darting a glance in her direction. She could just make out the edge of his face in the darkness, brows arched apologetically, but she only smiled. She’d told him he could call her whatever he wanted, and she meant it. She even missed the moniker from time to time. Seeing that she wasn’t upset, he continued. “They warmed considerably to me when they heard what you guys were doing… with all the cleanup.” He yawned widely. “They have plans for a new bridge already drawn up, plus an estimate of the supplies they think they need.” He paused. “I don’t know what help the commander will give them.”
Veronyka leaned next to him, their shoulders just barely brushing together. Her body was heavy with fatigue, but there was a peacefulness that came with it. She’d done something of value today—they all had—and it eased some of the restlessness that had been gnawing at her for weeks.
“Even if he refuses to send more aid, we’re not expected back for another day at least, right?”
“Right,” Tristan said through another yawn. “I didn’t expect to finish our meetings in a single day.”
“So we’ll stay tomorrow, finish whatever we can?”
His head bobbed up and down. “Yeah… I think they’d appreciate that. It’s the least we can do, after everything. Plus, they want to meet you.”
“Me?” Veronyka asked in surprise.
He smiled, a flash of teeth in the darkness. “The local girl who became a Phoenix Rider.”
Tristan went quiet after that, and Veronyka settled down deeper onto her pack. She supposed she was a local, in a way, though she wasn’t from Vayle originally.
Or am I?
Veronyka had no idea. Still, she felt strong ties to this place—to the cabin she and Val had shared. It would be good to see it again, even if it brought up painful memories. Veronyka needed to see it. She needed to say goodbye.
Tristan’s slow, steady breathing filled the silence as the campfire burned low. Before long Rex shuffled over, huddling down next to him and burying his face under his wing. Warmth enveloped Veronyka as Xephyra settled into a similar position on her other side.
They slept there, under the stars, while the tent beside them stayed empty.
Pyraean folktales claim that during the Dark Days, every time a strix fell from the sky, a deathmaiden was born. They were shadows made solid, darkness personified, who took on the form of the dead and haunted battlefields. Instead of letting the dead find their place among the stars, the deathmaidens tried to ensnare the lost souls and lead them into the endless black abyss of the dark realms.
This concept likely originated from the clusters of black flowers that cover the upper reaches of Pyrmont, shifting and whispering in the breeze, their color so deep and dark that they seem to absorb light. Superstitious locals likely saw these Shadow Blooms as deathmaidens themselves, and believed their presence was meant to mark some ancient battle fought long ago where a strix had fallen from the sky.
Others maintained that the death of a strix merely lured the deathmaidens, and from this belief arose the custom of using Shadow Blooms as a means to draw and distract the deathmaidens, helping lost souls avoid their clutches and find peace in the heavens.
—Myths and Legends of the Golden Empire and Beyond, a compilation of stories and accounts, the Morian Archives, 101 AE
Sometimes I think we were nothing more than two
lost girls with the weight of an empire on our narrow
shoulders. What might we have been if we’d been born
in a different time… under different