#Chapter 35: Ashes of the Past

(Violet’s POV) It took three hours by skiff and another hour on foot to reach what was left of the village. No one called it by name anymore. On court records it was listed only as a “neutral burn site,” part of the rogue raids that swept through the lowlands during the last territorial surge. But I remembered what it was before that. I remembered the crooked rooftops and blue window frames, the scent of pinewood and boiled honey, the way children laughed through the square barefoot in every season, too wild for rules, too fast for grief. I remembered my mother’s voice echoing over snow. I remembered the fire. The wind was sharp by the time I crested the hill, cutting down from the pines with the kind of bite that cracked lips and stole breath. My coat did little to stop it. Neither did the silence. It pressed into me like a second skin. The village had been swallowed by frost and ruin. What once were homes were now just ribs of stone and blackened timber. Nothing moved