The remnants of the facility were fading into the mist of the northern range, a tomb of secrets that Kaelen no longer felt compelled to haunt. He walked with a stride that was fundamentally changed—heavy with purpose, yet light with the shedding of the false skin he had worn for half a decade. Every step toward the valley was a deliberate act of reclamation; he was no longer a vessel being poured into by others, but a vessel that had finally recognized the wine it held.
"You were afraid to let me out, weren't you?" Kaelen whispered to the empty, howling wind of the pass. He was speaking to the phantom of Vaelin, or perhaps to the order that had cast him into the abyss. "You feared that once I understood the resonance, I would realize the chains were made of nothing more than ink and fear.
