The faceless man from her dreams of sanctity and sin is faceless no longer. He stands revealed, unchanged by time, while she has grown older beneath his influence. The same youth. The same beauty. The same authority wrapped in false holiness.
I freeze the image of him and share a look with Orán.
A dark, thunderous expression settles over his face.
“In all the time you knew him,” I ask carefully, “did he always appear this way? Youthful and untouched by age?”
“Yes,” she answers faintly. “Always.”
Who is he? Orán asks me mind to mind.
Not of this world, I reply. That much is certain.
Why her? Orán presses. Why create the Order? Why single her out?
That question burns just as fiercely within me.
But I have pushed her far enough. Any further, and I fear she will fracture or come to hate me beyond repair.
Orán senses it too. After a moment, he nods.
“That’s enough for now, little one,” I say gently, easing my grip on her mind. “Rest. You are safe. We will see you home.”
I persuade her toward sleep, guiding her thoughts toward quiet and stillness. I tell her she will remember, but not now. For now, she is held. For now, she is protected.
Her body goes slack.
Orán withdraws the branches and vines encasing her, and I catch her before she falls, gathering her into my arms. She is light—far too light for all she has carried. I cradle her against my chest, feeling the fragile steadiness of her breath.
Neither Orán nor I speaks.
We have seen only fragments of her life, but even those glimpses are enough to leave us shaken. Enough to understand how much she has endured in such a short span of years.
There is still so much we do not know.
But this much is certain: whoever that man is—whatever immortal hides behind that stolen reverence—he will never come near her again.
Whatever doctrine, authority, or false divinity he used to bind her will be unraveled. Piece by piece. Thought by thought.
She is ours now.
And we will mend what he broke long ago.
I carry her through the forest and back into her home. I lay her gently on her bed, tucking her in as though she were something sacred because she is.
When I should leave, I do not.
I lie down beside her instead.
Orán takes his place on her other side, silent and watchful.
And together, we guard her sleep.
Chapter Forty-One
Wrathborn
Eridessa
