The Penance

Paige’s POV)

Not a dream steals the vision. A thief arrives like it.

A breath ago, sunlight touched my skin - pale gold, almost kind - as I passed shingles to Mara beside the mended roof. Then, without sound or warning, color drained from everything.

Cold that bites like fire. This is not crisp air from the far lands - instead, something wet sneaks under skin. Heavy snow moves down without sound. A dark mark where trees begin. There he stands: Noah.

Kneeling in the pale open space, he keeps his head down. Never giving up. Just spent, still resisting. Blood spreads wide over his thick coat, bright like red fruit in frost. The snow under him carries its mark. Nearby rests what remains of his blade, catching light without fire.

A shape looms above. Thin, stretched too far, as if the air split open. It grips a knife, slim and sharp, ready to drop without sound. Hooded, blurred by dusk, yet those eyes lock into place - hollow, still, beyond feeling.

A whisper, though it wasn’t heard - more like something deep inside knew: payback. Not noise, just weight settling in the bones

After that, it gets worse. Up comes Noah’s head, slow. Our eyes meet through the haze, through everything between us. Not fear there. Instead, anger mixed with sorrow, deep and raw. His mouth forms just one word, lost in the storm’s white noise: “Run.”

Back comes everything. My fingers go stiff, dropping the tiles - they slap hard against the stone below. Air fights its way into my throat, ribs tight under my palms searching for a cut that doesn’t exist. That chill from what I saw - it lingers deep in the marrow.

Out of nowhere - Mara’s voice cuts through the air, edged with worry. Her grip finds my elbow, firm and calloused, pulling me upright before I sway. What just happened? That look on your face… wrong. She does not let go. Is something inside you breaking down?

Everything gone quiet now. There it is, red spreading across white ground. A blade snapped near the hilt. Staring back at me - those wide open eyes.

“Noah,” I choke out. “I need Noah.”

That's when I spot him, inside the weapon room, going over crates of arrow tips alongside Alex. The second I stumble into view - pale, panting - he freezes completely. It hits him right then.

One moment he’s by the door, then suddenly close enough to touch. His fingers press into my arms without warning. Not harsh, but firm. Paige. That name cuts through the noise. His voice is low, urgent. Eyes lock on mine like they’re searching for something lost. A pause hangs between us, thick and heavy. Whatever you saw - tell me now

The words spill out of me, a broken, icy river. “The woods. The old pine clearing to the east. Snow. Blood. Your blood. A man… a shadow. He called it Penance. He had a blade. You were on your knees, Noah. You looked at me and told me to run.”

His face grows stiffer with each syllable. When my voice finally stops, he resembles the Duke of Ashes once more, shaped from cold rock that feels no mercy. That softer version - the one by the river, the one beneath sheets - has vanished without sound.

“Alex,” he says, his voice lethally calm. “Lock down the keep. No one in or out without my direct seal. Double the guard on the walls. Triple it on her door.” His eyes, like frozen earth, scan my face. “You will not leave these walls. Not for any reason. Do you understand?”

The fear in my gut curdles into something hot. “You can’t lock me in a tower. That won’t stop him. I saw it!”

“What you saw is a warning,” he snaps, his control fraying. “A warning I intend to heed. The only way to that clearing is through me. And he will find that a fatal path.”

“And if he succeeds?” My voice cracks. “What then? I’m just supposed to wait up here, listening, until someone comes to tell me you’re dead?”

A twitch jumps in his cheek. My fear stares back at him, matching what he feels - this only fuels his anger. Yes. You follow those words like they’re law. This is how safety works

“It means being buried alive!” I shout, the frustration and terror boiling over. “I didn’t escape one cage to be put in another, Noah! Not even by you!”

Heavy quiet fills the space. Gone now, Alex slipped away without a sound, just empty air where they once stood. The walls hold only cold steel and stillness.

His fingers stay against my skin, yet the pressure eases. Eyes locked on mine, he studies me like someone drowning might study land - just once, barely visible beneath the surface, I glimpse not a nobleman but a person afraid of emptiness without me. "Paige," comes his voice, cracked and low, "you're facing no petty schemer sharpening words at dinner tables. You're staring down death trained to move silently - he came for us, sent because of who I am, because of what grows here." . Nothing matters to me outside these walls. Should it be needed, I’ll build a fortress piece by piece just to guard you

That love he speaks of - soft, glistening like morning dew - traps me tighter than rusted chains ever could. I find myself frozen, air slipping away without warning.

“Then let me help,” I whisper, pleading. “My visions… they can help.”

He leans his forehead against mine, a brief, desperate touch. “Your vision has helped. It told me where and when. The rest is my job. My penance to pay.” He pulls back, his expression settling into grim resolve. “Now. Go to our rooms. Stay there.”

(Noah’s POV)

A quiet hush settles over the hours ahead. Each moment stretches, pulled tight by unseen hands. Time moves slow, yet everything feels ready to snap. These forty-eight hours breathe close, holding stillness and storm together.

Inside Blackstone Keep, walls rise higher still. Only certain rooms allow Paige to walk, each watched closely. Through those spaces she drifts, pale-eyed, wide-faced, fixed on me with dread and hurt stitched together. Each glance lands like a blade.

That spot in the pines - it works. Space to move, yet hidden from eyes. A trapped messenger gets free by accident, carrying false words. The Duke rides out past dusk, checking tree borders, no guard close. The ground here holds echoes of older fights. Light fades just right for what comes next. Not much time now.

Out there, I’ll have company - Alex plus six others hidden among the trees. The one out in the open, though, drawing attention, that’s going to be me. Hidden just beyond the edge, they wait.

Outside, the sky holds its breath under a weight of clouds. My fingers tighten each strap, one by one, across chest and shoulder. Wool scratches beneath armor stiffened by fire and time. Across the room, she stands without speaking - her eyes fixed somewhere past me.

Outside, the sky hangs low. She faces the glass, still, outlined in dull glow. Not turning, she speaks. Her words carry no weight. “He will see the setup,” is what she tells the pane.

“Probably.”

“He’ll come anyway.”

“Yes.”

A sudden turn. The dress she wears matches storm clouds - deep gray, quiet. Braids pull her hair tight against her skull. There’s fire in her eyes, yet something breakable underneath. Not hesitation, but truth: his skill makes it real

Blade sharp enough. I tuck it into my boot without looking up. Not sure if he's full of himself - or just broke and chasing Greymont’s coin

One foot moves forward. “Will your people stay near?”

“Close enough.”

Quietly, she moves her head down once. A breath pulled tight through her throat. Those eyes of hers stay locked, tracing every part like it might vanish. What lives inside that look - care mixed with dread - settles on my chest like stone. Across the floorboards, I close the gap, hands lifting to hold her face. Skin under my thumb glides slow over her cheekbone. My voice comes low: "Returning to you - that’s set now," said like something carved into bone.

Shaking starts at her mouth. Not a word comes out - no “I know” - only movement toward my hand, eyelids dropping like stones. A breath slips through: “Be the mountain,” something old from northern winds.

A rush of lips, firm and fast, carries each vow, each worry, inside. Away I go, stepping out just in time - before staying becomes impossible.

(Paige’s POV)

Once the door shuts, quietness fills every corner like a shout. Silence takes over fast when hinges click shut behind you.

There I am, frozen, the trace of his kiss still tingling on my mouth, the image of red staining white snow burned into my eyes. One day he’ll return, they say. Just like before, I saw him believe it - right before everything broke.

Waiting right here, beside these flames, as he steps into that open space - no, that is not fear. That feeling? Closer to vanishing. Locked up like some prize isn’t what I’m meant for. Walking beside him - that fits better. Vision came through me first. This moment was mine before it ever became real.

A flicker - wild, sudden - catches fire behind the weight of fear.

Fast, I go. Off comes the gray dress, swapped for thick brown wool pants and tunic - the kind used near horses, good under trees and dim light. On go the heaviest boots that make no sound. A blade stays behind. Why bother at all. Still, there's something only I hold onto - the understanding.

Down the hall it goes smoother than expected. There, near the stairs, stands the guard - eyes locked on anyone climbing up. His back faces where I move, quiet through a hidden path spotted long before today.

Dark stones twist overhead, air tight with waiting. Through these halls I slip, quiet as dust between floorboards, guided by patterns learned over time. Into the weapons room I go, pulse loud beneath skin. A heavy black cloak hangs on a hook - Noah’s extra one - I pull it down. It drapes over my frame, thick with his scent: old wood, metal, silence.

Out the door feels impossible. A shout pulls the guard’s attention - his back turns - and that split lets me slide past, fading under the wall’s heavy dark.

Frost grabs me right away, sharp against the skin. Above, clouds hang low - dull purple like an old wound. My fingers clamp the edge of the cloak as my feet start moving - not headed for the big entrance, instead cutting sideways onto a narrow trail marked faintly on old charts. This route swings wide, climbing rough ground behind, aiming for pines through jagged stone.

Frozen air scrapes deep inside my chest. Each crack of dead leaves, each shuffle through the brush, sounds just like footsteps closing in. Yet something pulls me ahead anyway - what I saw won’t let go. Seeing it again matters more than stopping. Being close changes everything.

The sun fades while I pull myself onto the ridge overlooking the open space. At the rim, I inch forward, eyes shifting past naked tangles of thorny vines.

Just like that, how my eyes caught it. Right there, plain view.

A space emptied of color, like chalk spilled wide. Tall trees standing still, dark shapes pressed into fog. Then him - Noah - not moving.

There he is, planted like stone, wrapped in black leather. Cold mist rises each time he exhales. Silence presses around him - deep, unbroken. A sharp ache grips my chest, stealing air. Fog hangs low between the trunks. My eyes trace each shadow along the ridge. Not a branch shakes. Could they be crouched beyond sight? Maybe silence means trouble instead.

A shape pulls away from the dark beneath an enormous pine tree.

The Penance.

A shadow unfolds on the edge of sight, long limbs cutting through low light. Not quite solid, more like smoke given shape and height. Grey threads cling to him, layered deep into black at the edges, blending seam into dusk. You do not see his eyes - only motion where features should be. Slipping forward without weight, each step dissolves before it lands. Silence follows close behind.

Slowly, Noah pivots toward the man. His hand stays off the hilt - for now.

Frozen ground stretches between them, twenty feet of white nothing. Eyes lock, sharp as blades cutting through cold hush.

From somewhere beneath the hood comes a whisper, brittle as old paper. Wingknight. That name scrapes out slow. You gave yourself away, it mutters. Not through skill - through feeling

“I like to be accommodating to guests,” Noah replies, his voice calm, conversational. The Duke’s voice. “Greymont’s coin must be running low to hire a relic like you.”

A thin, humorless sound escapes the hood. “The old duke pays for a result. Not for gossip.” He takes a step forward. “They say you have a witch. That she whispers the future in your ear. Did she whisper this?”

A shift happens in Noah’s posture, small but sure. Waiting now. Her words echo: "He’ll arrive behind schedule."

The Penance moves.

A shape shifts before your eyes. In one breath he stands still, then suddenly leaps forward, a narrow wicked knife flashing into view. The steel of Noah's weapon sings free just in time, clashing midair, fire bursting where metal strikes metal.

The movement starts. Nothing like the fights I have watched before. Harsh, quick, each move planned to kill. Strength leans toward Noah, every hit landing heavy as a forge tool. Speed favors the Penance, though - slithering, avoiding, always just out of reach. His knife moves without warmth, finding gaps between breaths.

A scream of metal splits the air. Clouds of snow fly, thrown by unseen force. My hands grip the ground, fingers buried in frost. Move. Go now, Alex. Still - nothing stirs.

A sudden shift downward - then up comes The Penance’s strike. Noah parries, yet movement flickers at his edge. One hidden hand lunges forward, steel glinting. Skin parts where metal passes, cutting past armor layers. Blood rises along a thin trail.

Here comes a shadow of what I saw. Crimson spills across white ground.

A heavy sound escapes Noah as he spins, blade cutting through air in a broad sweep, pushing the Penance away. Yet forward comes the assassin, unyielding. Twin swords flash like quicksilver threads stitching danger all around. Backward steps Noah, parrying each strike, ground lost with every move toward the clearing's heart.

Who took them? Fear tightens my chest. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Yet here we stand, trapped instead.

A sharp kick hits Noah's knee. Down he goes, one leg sinking into the snow. Exactly as seen before. Up comes the killer’s primary blade, aimed straight down.

“NO!”

A sound rips out of me, sharp and sudden. Up I jump, already moving fast, sliding over loose stones, catching myself just before the open space.

A sudden stillness grips them both. Over to me spins Noah’s head, shock flooding his face. “PAIGE! GET OUT!”

Slowly, the Penance swivels his covered face my way. His stare feels hollow, like a room with nothing inside. "The witch," he says, voice cracked and dull, yet somehow twisted with curiosity. Two fates wrapped in one deal - that's what slips out, croaked through lifeless lips

A sudden move brings him closer, leaving Noah behind without a glance.

On his feet now, Noah bellows, “Look at me!”, yet the moment he shifts weight, his hurt leg gives way.

The silence of his steps feels louder than any sound. Focused only on me now, I stand bare-handed while he moves closer. The Penance turns away without a glance. Easy target - that thought must cross his mind.

Shaking, I stay put, the oversized cloak slipping off one shoulder. That image comes back - Noah's shattered blade gleaming in fragments. What reached his ears wasn’t just sound - it was weight. Not a title, more like a burden settling deep inside. Something owed. A wrong that hasn’t finished speaking.

Truth is mine, even if control isn’t. Power slipped away long ago, magic never came near. Right now, none of that matters. The tale stays with me. This instant shapes who I stand as.

Out of the silence, I meet the dark inside his hood. My words arrive soft, not loud, yet they carry - steady, sharp, marked by something deeper than thought. This knowing has weight. Older than breath. Like stone remembering.

“Your penance is not here.”

Everything about The Penance just halts. Complete silence follows.

“Your debt is not to Greymont’s gold,” I continue, the words flowing through me. “It is to the child you left fatherless in a ditch south of Rosemere. It is to the silence you sold for a bag of silver. It is to the light you have spent a lifetime extinguishing.”

Shaking takes hold of his narrow body. From deep inside comes a groan - raw, broken - like something caught in a trap. The sword flickers, unsteady, in his grip.

The weight of those words hangs still - your time has come to an end. Not with noise, yet clear enough to cut through silence. There is nothing left to carry forward

Off balance just a moment before, Noah steadies himself. A breath shifts everything.

A shape throws itself forward, not blade first, but bone and muscle twisted tight. Snow explodes as shoulder meets ribs, sending the figure sideways. Grunts tear through the cold air, uneven breaths tangled together. Something snaps - too loud. Then silence folds in around a choked sound, like water pulling under ice.

Then silence.

He pushes up from the ground, lungs tight, red streaking down one forearm. Snow holds the other man still, head twisted wrong. A cold wind hums between them.

Breathing hard, Noah keeps his eyes locked on me instead. His face shows surprise, anger - even wonder, maybe. Not once does he turn toward the other man.

Out of the treeline they come at last, Alex alongside the others, expressions heavy with bewilderment and guilt. My lord, we got trapped - not real targets out there, just tricks hidden among the trees - it overwhelmed us before -

A raised palm stops the words mid-air. Unblinking, his gaze stays locked on me.

Footsteps slow as evening thickens, he moves closer. Snow starts drifting down, white bits sticking in the strands of his black hair.

A step short, he freezes. Humming in the space where we stand - leftover tremors from the fight, plus what came out of me, that odd strength in speech.

Out of nowhere, his voice cracks - thin, worn down to nothing. A moment passes before the sound even feels real.

“What,” he whispers, low and sharp, “is standing before me?”