Chapter 21. Where Ash Walks

The ash didn’t drift down from above. It billowed up from beneath her boots, as though the earth itself were exhaling its buried sigh. At first glance it resembled pre-dawn mist—curling between cobblestones, seeping through cracks in doorframes, a ghostly tendril wrapping itself around your ankles. But when Aeryn stepped beyond the hall’s threshold for the first time since the invocation, the ash clung to her skin like fine wires of sandpaper—dry without being dusty, weightless yet substance—stinging her arms and throat. And it carried a scent older than decay: the metallic tang of memory, of history trembling just out of time’s reach.

Behind her, the others emerged in hushes, their faces pale beneath the faint glow of the hall lanterns. Ryker’s tall shadow fell over the line of girls, herded forward but reluctant—each one’s breath a cautious flutter. Sera hovered at Aeryn’s elbow, eyes wide, but didn’t dare touch her newly branded skin. Not yet.

The courtyard looked unc