Page 12 of Veinblood
The upper floor offers a little more shelter, and is less exposed to the elements. Wind whistles through gaps in the walls, but the sound is muted, less vicious than the howling outside. I find a corner set back against the worst of the drafts, and pull shadows together to form a more comfortable place to sit.
I lift a hand. Shadows gather, coalescing into a sphere no larger than my fist.
“Asha’valen. Dosmira. Kelth.”
Heat gathers beneath my palm, drawn from the shadows themselves, transformed from cold into gentle warmth. I channel it into the waiting darkness. When it holds steady, I send it forward. The heat spreads slowly through the space, just enough to take the killing edge off the cold.
At the top of the stairs, I set two wards. They anchor easily, threading through the wood and stone. Invisible to the naked eye, they’ll give me enough warning to prepare, should anyone come near while I rest.
I sink down onto the shadow-cushion, and draw moreshadows close around me, like a blanket, trapping heat inside the barrier they form, then close my eyes. The warmth of the sphere chases the ache from my fingers, and dulls the stiffness in my legs, but sleep doesn’t come easily.
Every sound keeps me on edge—wood shifting, wind groaning through the frame, faint echoes I don’t recognize. In Meridian, I would know what each noise meant. A loose shutter, a prowling cat, the distant sound of the night watch making their rounds. Here, each new sound could mean I've been found, or nothing at all.
Outside, the storm continues to rage. Wind drives snow against the gaps in the walls, creating whistling sounds that rise and fall. Beneath it all, there is the occasional rumble of the metal beasts. I mark the noises without meaning to, my mind keeping count even as my body begins to succumb to its need for rest.
The metal beasts disturb me most. In my brief glimpses of them, they seem alive—moving with purpose, responding to their passengers' desires. Yet they show no signs of breathing, no indication of pain or pleasure. Are they creatures or tools?
Eventually exhaustion claims me and I fall into a dreamless sleep that lasts until dawn.
When I wake, pale light is filtering through the gaps. The storm has lessened but hasn’t stopped entirely, and my body aches from sleeping on a hard surface, despite the shadow cushion I created. My clothes are still damp, clinging uncomfortably to my skin. When I try to flex my fingers, they respond slowly. The coldhas sunk deeper than I anticipated, creating numbness that warns I’m at the limits of my body’s endurance.
Standing, I force myself to move through the basic fighting forms that kept me sane in the tower. Block, strike, counter, advance. Simple patterns burned into muscle memory through years of practice. They send blood flowing back to my limbs, but that isn’t the true purpose behind them.
They steady me. In the tower, these forms became anchors, pulling me back from the edge of madness. They represent discipline, control, the ability to impose order on chaos. Each movement hurts. Stiff muscles protest, joints crack and pop. But the pain is clean, honest. It reminds me that my body still belongs to me, and still responds to my will.
While I work to restore my body’s function, I test the connection to Ellie. It’s still there, still tugging northwest, though it’s still no stronger. The frustration of it gnaws at me. To be so close to finding her, yet unable to gauge whether I'm gaining ground or simply walking in circles. Every step could be bringing me closer, or carrying me further from where she waits.
Walking across the floor, I look down over the street below. In Meridian, storms mean sheltering indoors until conditions improve. Movement ceases. Roads vanish beneath ice, and even Authority patrols pause until the weather breaks.
Here, life continues.
The raven takes flight, rising into the sky, and sweeping the surrounding streets. It shows me the beginnings of morning movement. People come out from buildings, bundled in thickcoverings, their faces hidden beneath fur-lined hoods. Although it’s not like any fur I’ve ever seen.
Some walk with strange cups cradled between their covered hands, steam rising from the tops. Others eat food wrapped in paper, consuming their meals while walking through the snow.
The adaptability impresses me despite my circumstances. These people haven't just learned to survive in this environment, they've built a civilization that thrives in it. The storm that nearly killed me is, to them, just another morning.
My stomach makes a sound, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since before facing Sereven.
I need to find Ellie. I also need food, and water, and shelter from the elements that are slowly killing me. The priorities compete with each other, but I can't deny that survival must come first. I won't be able to find her if I collapse from exhaustion or starvation first.
Some of the buildings have opened shutters or windows. Food vendors opening their stores, despite the weather. The smells that drift on the wind are unfamiliar but unmistakably edible—bread, cooked meat, something sweet and rich. My stomach responds with renewed protests.
Then the raven draws my attention to something else. Uniformed figures walking regular patterns along the pathways. Their movement is too coordinated to be casual, too purposeful to be anything but official.
Are they this world’s Authority? Soldiers patrolling?
I need to be cautious. In Meridian, I know how to readthe cues that separate friend from foe. Here, I’m blind. One mistake, one misread signal, and the consequences could end my search.
The connection tugs at me again, that faint sensation that tells me Ellie is out there somewhere. I can’t stay hidden in this place forever. The longer I wait, the greater the chance she might move beyond my reach, or something might happen to her.
Yet I can’t wander the streets indefinitely in clothes that mark me as foreign, with no understanding of this world’s language, and without food or water. I need to adapt, at least enough to survive while I search for her.
I don’t know if she’s aware of the connection or that I’m searching for her. Maybe she thinks I’m lost. Iwillfind her, though. However long it takes, no matter how many obstacles this world puts into my path.
I leave the building the same way I entered it—down the stairs and through the gap in the wall. Snow crunches beneath my boots as I step back onto the street. My raven scouts ahead as I walk, searching for signs of her.
I pass building after building, each one filled with people, while the ones on the street hurry past with their heads down, ignoring my presence. They don’t look up, and they rarely speak to each other.
