The sigil on Veylan's palm glowed faintly as they moved through the frost-touched trees, its silver light pulsing like a heartbeat. It lit their path through the half-dead forest, weaving between roots and ancient stones that hadn't felt footsteps in decades. Wren moved at the front now—her cloak flaring, her fingertips still warm with coiled magic, every sense sharpened.
She didn't look back.
Cassian and Veylan flanked her like twin blades—one forged from fire, the other from shadow. They didn't speak much, only when they had to. Silence had settled between the three of them, not from distance, but from purpose. From fear.
From what lay ahead.
"Are you sure this is the right way?" Cassian asked at last, his breath visible in the cold.
"I see it," Veylan murmured, eyes fixed on the horizon. "It's not just guiding me—it's pulling me."
Wren glanced at him. "What does it feel like?"
He didn't answer right away. Then: "Like grief and fury wearing a wedding veil."
A shiver rolled through her spine. The Thorned Bride wasn't whole—but her voice, her memories, her pain—they echoed in Wren's bones too. As if something deep inside her knew this path. Had always known it.
As dawn began to break, the trees thinned, revealing a forgotten hollow veiled in mist. Jagged stones rose like the ribs of something long-dead, and in the center sat a circle of scorched earth and broken sigils—worn, faded, but not powerless.
Wren stepped into it and felt her magic flare, unbidden.
"She was held here," Veylan said, brushing snow from the stone. "Bound and bled."
Cassian crouched beside him, running a hand over a carved rune. "This is old. Pre-Circle. Meant to contain gods."
"She was close to one," Wren whispered. "Or maybe they just feared her like one."
Something in the air shimmered.
A whisper slid over her skin—soft, feminine, fractured:
Daughter of fire. Blood of ruin. Bring the blade. Break the seal.
Wren staggered back. "Did you hear that?"
Cassian's head snapped toward her. "What?"
Veylan stepped closer. "She's speaking to you."
Wren looked down at her hands. The flame was back, brighter than ever—but laced with something colder now. A silver flicker beneath the gold. The Bride's magic?
"I don't know what blade she meant," Wren said. "We don't have—"
Veylan pulled something from his coat. A small dagger. Black iron. Serrated edge. "She gave this to me. Or… left it in my mind. I woke up holding it."
Cassian narrowed his eyes. "That's not just a weapon. It's a key."
"To what?" Wren asked.
"To the vessel," Veylan said. "The one they're building for you."
A weight pressed on her chest.
"If we find it," she said slowly, "can we destroy it?"
Veylan nodded once. "With this."
"And if it's too late?" Cassian asked.
Wren looked at them both. Her voice was steady.
"Then you destroy me."
Neither of them answered.
Cassian's jaw clenched. "That's not an option."
Veylan's eyes burned. "We didn't come this far to lose you now."
"I'm serious," she said. "If they awaken the Worldfire and I can't control it—if I become what they want me to be—don't hesitate."
Cassian reached for her, cupped her face with one hand. "You listen to me, Wren of the flame. You are not a weapon. You are not theirs. You're mine."
Her breath hitched.
Then Veylan stepped forward, his hand grazing her arm. "And you're mine, too. Whether you burn or bloom."
For a moment, the world stilled—three souls bound not just by magic, but by choice. Pain. Hope.
Then, in the far distance, a bell tolled.
Not a temple bell. A war bell.
Wren's eyes went cold. "They know we're coming."
Cassian unsheathed his blade. "Let them."
Veylan passed her the dagger. "This ends tonight."
And together, they stepped beyond the circle, into the forest of ghosts, and toward the war the Bone Circle never wanted her to survive.
Wren didn't just feel like a reckoning anymore.
She was one.