Ashen Keep Chapel
The chapel was small.
Not the grand hall where the Council t, not the briefing room with its maps and cold light. This was a side chamber, tucked away behind the armory, used for quiet things. Funerals. morials. The monts between battles when there was nothing left to do but rember.
Alistair had asked for no ceremony. No flags. No official notice. Voss was still a fugitive in the records. The Council wouldn’t have approved.
But he didn’t ask them.
He asked the team.
They ca in without speaking. Cora stood near the door, her arms crossed. Mason leaned against the far wall, his gauntlets off for once. Sera sat on a wooden bench, her hands folded in her lap. Derek stood beside her, his staff planted, his ghosts tucked close.
Lucian sat apart.
He was in the back row, near the shadow of a pillar. His jacket was still torn from the blast. He hadn’t changed. He hadn’t slept.
A small table at the front held a single candle. Its fla flickered in the still air.
Alistair stood behind it.
His hands were clasped in front of him. His face was calm, but his eyes were red. Not from lack of sleep. From sothing else.
"I’m not going to lie about her," he said. His voice was rough. "Voss was not a good person. She made terrible choices. She hurt people. She betrayed the Guard. She betrayed ."
He paused.
The candle flickered.
"But she wasn’t born that way. None of us are."
He looked at the fla.
"I knew her before. When we were young. When we both believed we could make a difference. She was fierce. Loyal. Quick to laugh." His voice cracked. He stopped. Cleared his throat.
"She was also broken. Long before I t her. The things she’d seen, the things she’d survived—they carved out parts of her and left wounds that never healed."
Alistair’s jaw tightened.
"When she sold out our team, I wanted to kill her. For years, that was all I felt. Rage. Betrayal. A hunger for justice that was really just revenge."
He looked up at the team.
"But she ca back. Not for a pardon. Not for forgiveness. She ca back because Valentine was worse than anything she’d ever done, and she couldn’t let him win."
His voice dropped.
"She gave her life so that you could walk out of that ambush. She didn’t have to. No one would have blad her if she’d run. But she stayed. And she died."
Alistair’s hand trembled. He pressed it flat on the table.
"I don’t know if I forgive her. I don’t know if I ever will. But I know she was more than the worst thing she did."
He stepped back.
The candle flickered.
"That’s all I have."
---
The room was quiet for a long mont.
Derek shifted his weight. Sera stared at the floor. Mason’s expression didn’t change, but his hand rested on the wall like he needed sothing to hold.
Cora looked at Lucian.
He was still in the back, still apart, still watching the fla. His face was calm, but his eyes were distant.
She walked to him. Sat beside him.
She didn’t say anything. Just took his hand.
His fingers were cold. They didn’t move at first.
Then they closed around hers.
---
Alistair walked to the table and blew out the candle.
The room went dark.
No one moved.
Then, one by one, they filed out. Mason went first, his boots heavy on the stone. Derek followed, his ghosts trailing. Sera paused at the door, looked back, then left.
Alistair stayed.
He stood in the dark, his hand on the table where the candle had been.
His shoulders shook.
He didn’t make a sound.
---
Lucian and Cora walked through the empty corridors.
The Keep was quiet. The night shift was at their posts. Everyone else was asleep.
"I didn’t like her," Lucian said.
Cora looked at him. "I know."
"She tried to kill us. She worked for Valentine. She lied to everyone she ever t."
"But she saved us."
He was quiet for a mont.
"She saved us," he said. "That doesn’t make like her. But I respected her. At the end, she chose sothing harder than survival. She chose to make it right."
Cora squeezed his hand. "She chose her end."
"I know."
The corridor was empty. The lights were low.
"It still hurts," he said.
Cora stopped walking. She turned to face him.
"Good," she said.
He frowned. "Good?"
"Because if it didn’t hurt, you’d be like them. The people who use people and walk away. The people who don’t care." Her voice was soft. "You’re not like them, Lucian. You never were."
He looked at her.
Then he pulled her close.
She wrapped her arms around him.
They stood there in the empty corridor, holding each other, saying nothing.
The Keep was quiet.
Sowhere, a clock struck midnight.
---
Alistair sat in his office.
The door was closed. The lights were off. The only illumination ca from the street outside, filtering through the blinds in thin lines.
He stared at the wall.
A photograph sat on his desk. Old. Faded. He’d kept it in a drawer for years, face down, never looking at it.
Now it was face up.
Voss stared back at him. Young. Smiling. Her silver hand wasn’t silver then—just flesh and bone. Her eyes were bright. Alive.
He rembered that day. A mission completed. A celebration. Soone had taken the picture without them noticing.
They looked happy.
They were happy.
Alistair picked up the photograph. His hand shook.
"I’m sorry," he whispered.
He didn’t know what he was apologizing for. The years of hate. The silence. The fact that she died alone in a street while he stood in the shadows.
The photograph blurred.
He wiped his eyes.
"I’m sorry."
He set the picture down.
Then he sat in the dark and rembered.
---
Lucian lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
The shard of the crystal was on his nightstand. It didn’t glow anymore. Just sat there, cold and dark.
He thought about Voss. The way she’d looked at him before the explosion. The almost-smile.
He thought about Alistair’s voice breaking.
He thought about Cora’s hand in his.
He closed his eyes.
She chose her end.
He didn’t know if he believed in redemption. But he believed in choices.
And Voss had made hers.
He slept.
The crystal stayed silent.
The Keep stayed quiet.
And sowhere, in a place no map could find, Valentine looked at the pendant in his hand and smiled.
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