Page 122 of Shadowvein

“This woman changes everything. You understand what her arrival might signify?”

“She represents a potential advantage. Nothing more has been established.”

“Telren spoke earlier of dreams. But you need to understand something. These weren’t just scattered tales. They spread across Meridian without messengers. No one commanded it. No one taught it. People who had never met dreamed the same words.”

I say nothing. The concept of prophecy has always troubled me—too easily manipulated, too readily twisted to serve agendas. And yet, the timing of Ellie’s arrival, the nature of her effect on the binding, coincidence seems an increasingly inadequate explanation.

“When shadows lengthen and dawn falters,” she says softly, her voice carrying the cadence of something long committed to memory. “The Vein will flow once more. Brought forth by one who walks between worlds, beyond the boundary of our knowing.”

Nevik recited the same lines in Ravencross. I dismissed them at the time. Superstition, shaped into prophecy by desperate men and women who needed something to believe in.

“But there’s more,” she continues, eyes never leaving my face. “A continuation of the vision that came later, reported by those in settlements even farther apart.”

I remain silent, granting permission for her to continue.

She draws in a deep breath. “Where shadow leads, storm will follow, awakening that which lies dormant in the void.”

I wait, but she stays quiet. The words resonate with possibilities I’m not yet ready to acknowledge. Storm. Shadow. The silver light that emanated from Ellie. My mind flashes back to that moment after the mountain collapsed. When I thought I caught the edge of silver in my shadows.

The connections are too convenient, too perfect to trust without question.

“When did these dreams begin?”

“Three months after your death. We didn’t take them seriously at first. Many still believed you might return, regardless of the evidence. But when the same phrases began appearing in settlements with no way to communicate … we began keeping records.”

“And you believe Ellie is the stranger these visions foretell?”

“I believe nothing without evidence, you taught me that. But I watch patterns. Someone from another world arrives. You escape. The lightstone shatters. These are not coincidences.”

She steps toward the door. “There’s more to them though, fragments we’ve pieced together over the years. You should hear them all. But not tonight.”

Her hand touches her chest gently, then lifts to her lips, beforefalling back to her side. Her voice, when it comes again, carries both command and reverence.

“Tonight, we celebrate your return. The return ofShadowverin … The Vareth’el. And tomorrow, we will plan the way back to Ashenvale.”

She leaves without waiting for permission, and I allow her to go.

For a long moment, I remain at the table, letting the silence settle around me like an old, familiar friend. The mention of Ashenvale brings darker thoughts. Not just of reclaiming what was stolen, but of confronting the man at the head of the snake. He walks the halls of Ashenvale, commands the forces that hunt me, and knows my methods better than any other living person. He’s my greatest threat.

It’s not until Ellie moves, her chair scraping against the floor, that I remember she’s there.

“What happens now?”

I don’t lift my eyes from the map, while I trace the routes around Ashenvale with one fingertip, memorizing the paths where risks outweigh gains, where shadows could slip unnoticed between watchtowers. Her question demands more than a simple answer, but what happens now depends on too many variables. Authority movements, Veinwarden loyalty, the instability of Ellie’s growing abilities, and my need to reclaim what was taken from me.

“We determine how your abilities are manifesting,” I say finally. “And whether they can be controlled through intent rather than left to react in moments of fear or distress.” I look up, watching her carefully.

“You think I can control this?” Skepticism colors her voice, but beneath it lies something else. Hope, perhaps. Or the fear of hoping.

“I don’t know, but wedoneed to try, regardless.”

“And my way home?” Her eyes seek mine, searching for promises I cannot give her. “Will this help with that?” Her voice carries more than longing. It carries survival. A need to believe there is an end to this path that does not keep her here forever.

“Your connection to this world’s magic may be the key to understanding how you arrived, and how you might return.” I choose each word carefully. It’s not a lie. But it’s also not a truth she can rely upon.

The interplay between world-boundary magic and innate power is neither simple nor predictable. It’s a delicate architecture of thresholds, intentions, and the will to shape or sever ties that were never meant to exist.

But what matters now is more simple. Cultivating her control. Teaching her to steady the force she doesn’t yet understand, so that when the time comes—whether to defend herself, or tear open a path back to her home—she is ready.

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