Chapter 36. In Fire, Forgotten

It wasn’t the fire that woke her.

It was the scent.

Aroma older than rot, sharper than sage—something burned, but not recently. Something burned long ago, and still left its echo in the air. She sat up, heart already quickening.

The door to her room was ajar.

She hadn’t left it that way.

She reached for the blade tucked into the side of her mattress, but paused when she saw it—a trail of ash. Not smoke. Just dry, bone-white ash scattered in the shape of footprints.

They led down the corridor.

No guard in sight.

She followed.

The trail twisted through unfamiliar halls—darker now, cold in ways that stone alone couldn’t explain. Aria didn’t call out. The keep had many eyes, and not all of them wore flesh.

Finally, she reached a circular room lit only by iron lanterns.

And in the center—seated on a low stool, wrapped in a cloak made of crow feathers and burlap—was a woman.

Not young.

Not old.

Her face bo