Chapter 7: Ghosts of the Past

The village was called Thornwood, and it clung to the side of a hill like a man clinging to a cliff—desperately, stubbornly, refusing to acknowledge that it was already falling.

Kael saw the damage as they approached: burned buildings, collapsed walls, the telltale signs of wraith attacks that had been fought off but not without cost. The people who remained moved with the shuffling gait of the traumatized, eyes fixed on the ground, flinching at shadows.

"Surge hit them hard," Sera observed. "Two months ago, from the look of it."

"Will they help us?"

"They'll help her." She gestured to Lira, who was riding on Kael's back—the girl had been too weak to walk after what she'd been through, and Kael found that despite his exhaustion, carrying her barely slowed him down. "A child victim of cultists will earn sympathy. Two strangers with blessed weapons... that might earn suspicion."

They were stopped at what passed for the village gate—two broken posts with a rope strung between them, guarded by a pair of men who looked like they hadn't slept in days.

"State your business," one demanded, his hand tight on a pitchfork.

"We found a child," Kael said. "Taken by cultists, held for months. We rescued her, but she needs care we can't provide."

The guards' expressions shifted—from suspicion to horror to cautious, trembling hope.

"Cultists? You... you killed them?"

"The ones holding her, yes."

The men exchanged looks. One stepped closer, examining Kael's face, then his eyes dropped to the sword at his hip. The glow was dimmed, barely visible, but the man seemed to recognize what he was seeing.

"You're one of them. A Wraithbane."

"Something like that."

"We asked for help." The man's voice cracked. "After the surge. Sent runners to the Citadel, begged them to send someone. They said they were spread too thin. Too many attacks, too few hunters." His hands were shaking now, whether with fear or anger, Kael couldn't tell. "My wife died in that surge. My son. Where were you then?"

Kael had no answer.

It was Sera who stepped forward, her voice gentle but firm.

"We can't change what happened. We can only do what we can now. This child needs help—warmth, food, time to recover. Will you give her that?"

A woman had emerged from one of the less-damaged buildings—older, with iron-grey hair and a face lined by grief. She took one look at Lira, asleep on Kael's back, and her expression softened.

"Bring her inside," she said. "We'll take care of her."

---

They stayed in Thornwood for one night.

Kael didn't sleep. Couldn't sleep. The fragments of wraith memory were particularly loud after the fight with the cultists, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw the possessed child's face—those blank, terrible eyes staring at him as the Hollow King's voice poured from her throat.

*You cannot save her.*

But he had. Somehow, impossibly, he had.

*"You should rest,"* Netherbane said. *"Your body is still recovering from the purification."*

*How did I do it?*

*"I told you—I don't know. Something within me responded to your call. A power I didn't know I possessed."*

*That's not comforting.*

*"It wasn't meant to be. There are things about my nature that even I don't fully understand. The soul of every wielder who carried me is part of me now—their knowledge, their power, their secrets. It's possible that one of them knew a technique I had forgotten."*

*Or?*

A pause. *"Or something else is at work. Something that goes beyond the blade's normal function."*

Kael stared at the ceiling of the barn where they'd been given space to sleep. Through a hole in the roof, he could see stars—cold, distant, uncaring.

*The note,* he thought. *The one in the package. It said the blade was a key. That it would work together with whatever was in that vial.*

*"Possible. But we won't know until we understand more about both the blade and the vial."*

*Which means we need to reach the Citadel.*

*"Yes."*

Sera was awake too—Kael could see her shape in the darkness, sitting with her back against the wall, sword across her knees. She didn't speak, and he didn't try to start a conversation. Sometimes silence was the only thing two wounded people could share.

---

Morning came grey and cold, with rain threatening on the horizon.

Lira was awake when they went to check on her, sitting up in a bed that looked far too large for her small frame. The color had returned to her cheeks, and her eyes—while still haunted—were clear and alert.

"You're leaving," she said. Not a question.

"We have to." Kael crouched beside the bed. "But you're safe here. These people will take care of you."

"The things that were in my head... are they really gone?"

"They're gone. I promise."

Lira was quiet for a moment. Then: "I could hear them. The whole time. They were talking about you—about the blade you carry. They called it dangerous. Said it needed to be destroyed."

Kael felt Sera's attention sharpen behind him.

"What else did they say?"

"That there's someone in the... in the Citadel, they called it. Someone who works for them. Someone who's going to kill you when you get there."

The traitor. Another confirmation.

"Did they say who?"

Lira shook her head. "They just called him 'the Hand.' They said he was important. High up. That he'd been working for them for years."

*"The Hand,"* Netherbane repeated. *"Not a name, but a title. Someone high-ranking, with authority and access."*

"Thank you," Kael told Lira. "You've been very brave."

The girl reached out and grabbed his wrist with surprising strength.

"Be careful," she whispered. "They're scared of you. Really scared. And scared things are dangerous."

---

They left Thornwood within the hour, climbing back into the hills that would lead them to the mountain passes and, eventually, the Citadel.

The rain came as predicted—a cold, steady drizzle that soaked through their clothes and turned the path to mud. Sera moved with the sure-footed grace of experience, but Kael found himself slipping more than he should have, his enhanced reflexes not quite enough to compensate for the treacherous footing.

"You're distracted," Sera said, catching his arm after a particularly bad stumble.

"The girl's warning. 'The Hand.' If someone that high up is working for the Wraith Lords—"

"Then we walk into a trap by going to the Citadel. I know." Sera's face was grim. "I've been thinking about it since she told us."

"Any ideas?"

"A few. None of them good." She released his arm and continued walking. "The Order has five divisions: Combat, Intelligence, Logistics, Spiritual Affairs, and the Council. 'The Hand' suggests someone who does the dirty work—probably Combat or Intelligence. High-ranking would mean at least a Blade Master, possibly higher."

"How many people is that?"

"Combat division has three Blade Masters, two Wraith Knights, and one Archbane. Intelligence has two Blade Masters and one Wraith Knight." She paused. "Then there's the Council—five Archbanes who oversee everything. If the traitor is one of them..."

"Then we're walking into the lion's den."

"Yes."

They walked in silence for a while, the rain drumming against their hoods.

Finally, Kael asked: "Why are you still helping me? You could have abandoned me after the cultists. Let me walk into whatever trap is waiting. Aldric is avenged either way."

Sera stopped.

When she turned, her eyes were hard—but beneath the hardness, Kael caught a glimpse of something else. Pain. Old and deep.

"My brother was a Wraithbane," she said. "Three years ago, he was assigned to investigate rumors of corruption within the Order. Two weeks later, he was dead. They called it a training accident."

The weight of that statement settled over Kael like a second cloak.

"You think the traitor killed him."

"I know the traitor killed him. I just couldn't prove it. Couldn't find anyone willing to listen." Her voice had gone flat, controlled. "Aldric was the only one who believed me. He was going to help me investigate, once he returned from his patrol."

"But he never returned."

"No. He didn't." Sera resumed walking, her pace faster now. "I'm not helping you just for Aldric's memory. I'm helping you because you're carrying the one weapon that the traitor fears. Whatever they're planning, Netherbane is the key—either to their victory or their defeat. And I intend to make sure it's their defeat."

*"She has her own agenda,"* Netherbane observed. *"That doesn't make her untrustworthy—but it does mean she might make choices that serve her goals over yours."*

*I know.*

*"Good. As long as you understand."*

They climbed through the rest of the day, the mountains growing closer with each step. By evening, they had reached a small shelter—a way station built into the rock of a cliff face, maintained by the Order for travelers on this route.

It was supposed to be empty.

It wasn't.

---

The fire was the first sign—a thin trail of smoke rising from the shelter's chimney. The second was the horse tied outside, a fine animal with the Order's brand on its flank.

Sera gestured for Kael to stay back, then crept forward, her sword drawn.

A voice from inside called out: "You can stop sneaking, Initiate Vane. I know you're there."

Sera froze.

"Your technique is good," the voice continued, "but I've been tracking you for two days. If I wanted you dead, you would be."

The shelter door opened, and a man emerged.

He was perhaps forty, with a weathered face and eyes the color of old iron. His hair was grey at the temples, and he moved with the easy grace of someone who had spent decades learning how to fight. At his hip hung a sword that gleamed with the same silver light as Netherbane—another soul-bonded weapon.

A Wraithbane. A real one.

"My name is Marcus Webb," the man said. "But most people call me Ghost. I've come to escort you the rest of the way to the Citadel." His eyes moved past Sera to fix on Kael. "Both of you."

Sera's stance hadn't relaxed. "How did you find us?"

"Netherbane's awakening was felt across half the continent. Tracking the blade was easy enough." Marcus's expression was unreadable. "The harder question is why you didn't bring him in yourself, instead of wandering through the wilderness fighting cultists and exposing him to danger."

"I was protecting him from—"

"From the traitor in the Order. Yes. Aldric's final warning." Marcus nodded slowly. "I know about that. I've known for longer than you'd believe."

Kael stepped forward, Netherbane in his hand.

"Then why haven't you done anything about it?"

Marcus looked at him—really looked, his iron eyes seeming to measure something invisible.

"Because I didn't have proof," he said. "Because every time I got close to evidence, it disappeared. Because the people I trusted kept ending up dead." A muscle twitched in his jaw. "But you're different. You're carrying a blade that can see things other weapons can't. And you've already survived encounters that should have killed you."

"What does that mean for us?"

"It means I'm offering you a choice." Marcus stepped aside, gesturing toward the shelter. "Come inside. Get warm. Let me explain what's really happening in the Order, and what I need you to do about it."

*"He was Aldric's friend,"* Netherbane said. *"I remember him. They fought together many times. He can be trusted—to a point."*

*What point?*

*"The point where his mission conflicts with your survival. He's a true believer in the Order's purpose. He would sacrifice anything—including you—to protect that purpose."*

Kael looked at Sera. She was watching Marcus with an expression that mixed hope with wariness.

"Your call," she said quietly. "You're the one carrying the blade."

Inside the shelter, the fire crackled. Outside, the rain continued to fall.

Kael made his choice.

"All right," he said. "We're listening."

Marcus's face didn't change, but something in his posture relaxed—just slightly.

"Good. Then let me tell you about a man called the High Inquisitor, and why he's the most dangerous person in the Order."

He turned and walked into the shelter.

After a moment, Kael and Sera followed.

The door closed behind them, shutting out the rain and the cold and the distant, watching eyes of things that hunted in the dark.

But the danger was already inside.

They just didn't know it yet.