I return before noon.
The smuggler camp is rubble behind me, its routes disrupted, its message delivered. No lives taken—only networks severed. Stonefold's filth will scramble to respond, but by the time they do, I'll already be moving somewhere else.
Marga hums a tuneless melody as she stirs her pot. She doesn't ask where I've been. Good. I leave the mask and blade beneath the floorboards, wipe the stormlight from my fingers, and step out just in time to see Syra approach.
She's dressed differently now—cloak tighter, boots cleaner, a faint shimmer of fire essence clinging to her pulse points. She's hiding something. Or *preparing* something.
"You were quiet last night," she says, eyes narrowing. "Got your hands dirty?"
I nod. "Smugglers won't be coming near the ridge anytime soon."
A smile tugs at her lips. "Good. That buys us time. But not enough."
She reaches into her satchel and pulls out a token. Small. Octagonal. Etched with a pattern that glows faintly when it hits sunlight.
"Ever heard of the Ashmere Gate?"
I frown. "No."
She steps closer, lowers her voice.
"It's a cultivator's school. Hidden. Old. Built inside a small world—an artificial realm shielded from normal space. Less than two days from here if you know the path."
"A pocket world?"
She nods. "They say it was forged by a sect that didn't survive the Split Era. The ones who *did* survive turned it into a training ground. Quiet, dangerous, invitation-only."
"And that's your invitation?" I ask, nodding toward the token.
"It's a key. Only works at the gate—only glows if you're near the veil."
I take it. The token's warm. It pulses once in my palm like a heartbeat.
"What's the catch?"
"Entry's limited," she says. "They don't like outsiders. Most who try to force their way in vanish. The only reason I even know about it is because someone from the school scouted me two winters ago—but I turned them down."
"Why?"
"I had people here. Threads I didn't want to cut. But you…" She studies me. "You're not tied down. And you need training that's hard to come by. The ring inside you... it's only going to get louder."
I stare at the token again.
A hidden world. A forgotten school. It sounds like a trap—and an opportunity. And if it's *that* close to Darnem Hollow…
"How come I never heard of it?"
"You never had the right eyes before," she says softly. "But you do now."
I pocket the token.
"Where's the gate?"
"There's a lake east of the Hollow. Stillwater Reach. Fog hangs over it day and night. Somewhere near the western edge, there's an arc of standing stones. Walk through them with the token in hand—and if they deem you worthy, they'll let you through."
"And if they don't?"
"Then you'll walk in one side and never come out."
A slow breath escapes my lips.
This could be the next step. Training. Shelter. Access to techniques I never touched in my first life. And a place to watch—maybe even control—who leaves and enters that small world.
"Do they know about the rival?" I ask.
"No," she replies instantly. "The Ashmere Gate has been asleep for decades. As far as I know, they haven't stepped into the world's politics since the last sect wars."
I nod.
Then they won't see the coming storm until it's too late.
Unless I step in first.
"Stillwater Reach," I repeat. "Then I'll go."
Syra nods. "Don't die."
"I already did once," I reply.
And with that, I turn east—toward fog, stone, and the gate to the hidden world.