Ash still clings to Seren’s cloak as she returns from Hollowreach.Not as dust.Not as soot.But in deliberate lines, stripes drawn by grief, symbols painted by fire and the dead. The remnants of sacrifice mark her arms like sacred ink, dark against her pale skin, like a language only the fallen could speak. She doesn’t brush them away.She wears them.They are part of her now.Her steps into Emberhold make no sound. No fanfare. No horns. No ceremonial call from the towers. But the city feels her arrival.Because they saw the sky burn when she left.And they saw no rage in her return.Only fire.Only resolve.The courtyard fills slowly at first. Wolves arrive first, silent and solemn, their ears twitching toward her as if tuning into a sound only they can hear. Then come the witches, their robes still wet with last night’s starlight. The humans follow, hesitantly, then more steadily. Farmers, smiths, apprentices, scribes. Finally, from shadowed corners, come the hybrids. The half-born
Last Updated : 2025-08-27 Read more