Chapter Text
Snow fell soft over Keramzin, blanketing the orchard in pale silence.
Inside, warmth held.
Children’s laughter echoed through the halls as Alina Starkov knelt beside a crooked table, helping a boy patch together a torn book. Ink smudged his fingers. He was frowning like the fate of Ravka depended on this one repair.
“Gently,” Alina murmured. “You don’t fix things by forcing them.”
She paused after saying it.
There had been a time when she’d tried to do exactly that.
A shadow crossed the window.
Alina stilled.
They arrived without warning.
No banners. No soldiers in formation. Just three figures at the gate, their presence alone enough to turn the air sharp.
Misha ran in first. “Visitors,” he announced, breathless. “They’re not Ravkan.”
Alina stood slowly.
Of course they weren’t.
The courtyard had gone quiet by the time she stepped outside.
Genya Safin stood near the gate, posture relaxed but eyes alert. Beside her, Zoya Nazyalensky watched like a storm waiting to break.
And across from them—
Shu Han.
Not soldiers, exactly. Not ambassadors, either.
Something in between.
Their leader stepped forward, dressed in deep red and gold, her gaze sweeping the orphanage with careful precision.
“You are the Sun Saint,” she said.
Not a question.
Alina resisted the urge to flinch. “Not anymore.”
The woman smiled faintly. “Power does not vanish. It changes shape.”
Zoya made a quiet, unimpressed sound. “State your business.”
The Shu woman reached into her sleeve.
Every Grisha present tensed.
She pulled out—
A small, sealed case.
No larger than a hand.
“I’ve come with a message,” she said. “And a gift.”
“No gifts,” Zoya snapped immediately.
“Zoya,” Genya said softly.
But Alina stepped forward.
“Let her speak.”
The case opened with a soft click.
Inside lay a shard of something that looked like glass—but darker. Not black. Not quite.
Wrong.
Alina felt it before she understood it.
A faint pull.
Not like before. Not like when the light had lived inside her.
This was quieter.
But it was there.
“The Fold is gone,” the Shu woman said carefully. “But its… remnants are not.”
Zoya’s expression hardened. “Impossible.”
“We thought so too.”
The woman met Alina’s eyes.
“Until this began appearing along our northern border.”
The shard trembled.
Just slightly.
But enough.
Alina’s breath caught.
For a moment—just a flicker—she thought she saw something moving inside it.
Not reflection.
Memory.
“No,” she said under her breath.
Genya stepped closer. “Alina?”
“It shouldn’t exist,” Alina said, louder now. “The Fold is gone. The power that made it—” She cut herself off.
Gone.
Burned out.
Finished.
She had made sure of it.
Hadn’t she?
“You destroyed the source,” the Shu woman said. “But what if the world remembers?”
Silence settled heavy in the courtyard.
Even the children had gone still, watching from the doorway.
“The lands where the Fold once stood are changing,” she continued. “Animals won’t go near it. The air feels… thin.”
Zoya crossed her arms. “So you came all this way to tell us the obvious? That war leaves scars?”
“No,” the woman said.
She closed the case.
“We came because the scars are spreading.”
That landed.
Hard.
Alina felt it in her chest—an old, familiar weight she thought she’d buried.
Responsibility.
Guilt.
Power.
“You want something,” Genya said quietly.
The Shu woman nodded.
“Yes.”
Her gaze didn’t leave Alina.
“We want the one who ended it… to make sure it doesn’t begin again.”
Zoya scoffed. “She has no power.”
“Then that is even more interesting,” the woman replied.
Alina looked past them, toward the distant line of trees.
Beyond that lay Ravka.
Beyond that—
Where the Fold had once split the world in two.
She had chosen a life here. Quiet. Small. Real.
Children. Books. Warm meals.
No thrones.
No monsters.
No darkness.
The case pulsed.
Just once.
Barely noticeable.
But Alina felt it.
Like an echo.
Like something calling across a distance too vast to measure.
She closed her eyes.
For so long, she had been the answer.
Then she had been the cost.
Now—
She didn’t know what she was.
When she opened her eyes again, the courtyard felt different.
Colder.
“Alright,” Alina said.
Zoya turned sharply. “Absolutely not—”
“We’re going to look into it,” Alina finished.
Zoya stared at her. “You don’t get to just decide that.”
“No,” Alina said softly.
“But I can choose not to ignore it.”
Genya watched her carefully.
“You’re sure?” she asked.
Alina hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then:
“No,” she admitted.
A small, tired smile.
“But that’s never stopped me before.”
The Shu woman inclined her head.
“Then we leave at dawn.”
That night, Keramzin didn’t feel as safe.
The shadows stretched a little longer.
The silence lingered a little deeper.
And in her room, long after everyone had gone to sleep—
Alina thought she saw a flicker of darkness move where no darkness should be.