The world learned Neris's name before the sun reached its peak.
Not because Aurelia spoke it.
Because others did.
By midday, stories were already moving faster than bodies—fractured versions, sharpened into tools. In some, Neris was a martyr to refusal. In others, a casualty of Aurelia's arrogance. In most, they were reduced to proof that restraint failed when tested by blood.
Aurelia did not correct any of them.
She walked.
Every step felt heavier now, not from injury, but from accumulation. Grief did not dull her awareness—it clarified it, stripping away anything that did not matter.
"They're spreading it," Lio said quietly as they moved through a narrow pass. "Every version except the one that tells the truth."
Aurelia nodded. "Truth doesn't travel alone."
Seris glanced back at the basin they were leaving behind. Smoke still lingered faintly above the stones, a mark that would fade long before memory did.
