Your heels kick up dust where you stand, leaning against the trunk of a tree that seems to crop out the sun with its branches. You think you remember this particular sapling from your time here at the beginning, but you could be making it all up. To be honest, staying here is messing with your memories. Sometimes, it's hard to remember what happened yesterday and what happened centuries before. You wonder if the Darkling ever had this problem, if he ever had troubles keeping track of all the lies he'd told and lives he'd led.

Some things stand out in your memory as being from long ago. The trees were shorter, the buildings still in a state of haphazard construction. The Grisha, which are so numerous now, barely existed here at all. They were still being hunted then, by the drüskelle and the Shu Han and even the Ravkans themselves. Now, they litter the grounds, shaping the making at the heart of the world wherever they walk. You can't help but feel some twinge of pride in your chest when you see it- you caused this, you helped build it. Look at it now.

Much is different, even with the Grisha. You'd seen the school built, the first instructors hired. You'd actually taught a few of the classes alongside the Darkling to the most advanced pupils, the students with enough raw talent to shake a mountain or cleave the earth in two. Now those Corporalki and Etherealki and Materialki have long since died, their bones reduced to dust in their tombs. Their children and grandchildren have died as well, long strings of families erased to nothing or straggling on. Like it or not, history always moves on past you.

A flock of Grisha pass before you, boots stepping in tandem down the paths worn through the grass and dust of the Little Palace. You study their brightly colored kefta, the intricate embroidery. These are new- you and the Darkling had plans for using the Materialki to craft the kefta at first, but you'd never seen them through, as you'd fled before them. The colors, those are new. You'd seen the first few plans for color-coding, although the official shades had yet to be decided when you'd left.

Red and blue make sense, but the purple of the Materialki was something he had decided after you'd gone. Purple hadn't always been a sure color; the two of you had actually been wondering about placing green in either the core color or the embroidering, but evidently he had decided against it. Green had always been your color, for the shade of your magic, just as black has been his color. You can't help but wonder whether he'd forgone using green again because he mourned for you, or because he never wanted another reminder of you haunting the halls of his Little Palace. Or maybe you're overthinking this, and he'd just preferred purple.

The sound of footsteps sounds out of the wooded path behind you, and you turn with a smile to see Alina Starkov picking her way through the branches to meet up with you again. You walk over to join her, noting with a barely concealed laugh that her knuckles are sporadically dotted with freshly risen welts. "Has Baghra not been kind to you?" Alina gives you a look. "She's charming as always. Honestly, I think she should train me in staff warfare instead of how to use my powers. Her aim with that stick is impeccable."

You can't help but laugh at that. You know Baghra from long ago, and even though you already had control over your powers you were certainly victim to her rather brutal tendencies as she wanted to learn the full extent of your spells. No Sun Saint or demigoddess is safe from the crack of her cane. You haven't walked far before Alina clicks her tongue as if remembering something. "Actually, I forgot to mention something. Baghra wants to meet you."

You stop walking, surprised. "What?" Alina turns to face you. "Yeah, she said something about wanting you to stop by her cabin. I can walk back by myself." You start walking again with an indignant glare tossed her way. "As if. I've been hired as your bodyguard, right? The Darkling will have my head if I leave your side for even a second. Imagine what would happen if he found you aimlessly wandering the grounds."

Alina unsuccessfully holds back a snort of laughter. "He would never so much as frown at you. He talks about you all the time, you know that? You're like his star pupil." You raise an eyebrow. "The general of the Second Army spends his time fawning over an oprichnik? I'm not even a Grisha." Alina shrugs. "You'd think so, but apparently not. Maybe he sees something of himself in you. You know, the way you're both totally open to knocking people unconscious in an unusually short period of time."

You grin at that, letting the wind rustling through the branches tousle your hair as well. "Well, I can't say I have a problem with it. I like being important. We can't all be Saints, you know." Alina rolls her eyes. "I'm not sure I'm much cut out for being a Saint. I'm just coming to terms with being a Grisha. I think saintdom is a little too far." You lift a shoulder. "I believe in you. I think you can do it." You're not sure that she has a choice- if the Darkling wants a saint from her, he will have it. He made a goddess of you, he could do this for her.

You drop Alina off at her room at the Little Palace, exchanging the role of bodyguard with another oprichnik before you begin the journey back to Baghra's hut. You're not sure what you'll find there, or what she knows of you, but all you know is that it can't be good. There's no reason the Darkling's mother, the woman who has trained generations of Grisha, would ever want something to do with a supposed otkazat'sya soldier who's managed to claw her way through the ranks of the oprichniki with little more than luck and the flash of her knives and fists.

Your shoes crunch on dried leaves as you make your way to the hut. This place is eerily familiar, unchanged by time even as the centuries wore on. Even the blast of hot air from a roaring fire the second you open the door reminds you of older times, instances long ago that could have happened yesterday for all you know. You step inside, letting the door close behind you.

The hut is dark, although you can sense Baghra sitting in her chair by the fire, wrapped in woolen scarves as if she could never truly get warm. You don't even have time to introduce yourself before she taps her cane on the ground, gesturing towards the empty chair in front of her. When she speaks, her voice is worn by time, although she still looks piercingly similar to the woman you'd known in the days long gone.

"So you're the oprichnik that our Sun Summoner has befriended." You nod. "Y/N Stassov, yes." Baghra looks up at you, and you have the uncomfortable feeling that she can see right through you and the lies you've cast up about yourself. "Listen to me, Y/N Stassov, and listen well. I want you to tell me the truth about yourself. I can sense something about you, and I have rarely been wrong like this. Who are you? Or should I ask what?"

You suppose you should be worried that she can see through your disguise like this, but at the moment, you just feel like splitting into a giddy smile. It's been so long since you've seen her. You don't do anything yet, just answer her questions with more of your own. "Can he see us here? Can he sense any power used here?" You don't have to specify the man you're talking about for Baghra to know you refer to the Darkling. She shakes her head once, although the suspicion deepens in her gaze.

You allow a heartbeat's pause, then stand up casually. "Honestly, Baghra, I'm a little upset that you didn't recognize an old friend." You gather your magic back to you, speaking a word of power silently in your head. Your eyes flash emerald, and an inky viridian pools in your hands, seeping out of every pore of the walls and hut. The fire trembles, threatening to go out. The green light drowns out almost everything, but is gone an instant later. To anyone else, this display would be frightening. Instead, Baghra's eyes widen for a second, and then a satisfied smile settles itself onto her lined face.

"The Hellenid. Y/N L/N. So you're not dead after all, Hecari." You shake your head, drawing every last remnant of your power back into yourself so you can take a seat once more. "I'm afraid not. I heard your son plotting to kill me so he could take my power and I faked my death. If it can work for him, I figure it can work for me." Baghra sighs harshly. "I assumed as much. I doubted any drüskelle could kill one like you. So my son wanted you dead?"

You tilt your head to the side, considering this. "I don't know that he wanted it, but he was willing to go through with it. He has always been mad for power, hasn't he?" The words are quiet, and you can't keep a tinge of longing from them. No matter what he did, even after you learned that he created the Shadow Fold and was the Black Heretic, after you realized he wanted you dead, you still loved him. That's the worst part of this, isn't it? You still love him.

Baghra clicks her tongue. "If you were smart, you would run far from here and never come back." You laugh bitterly. "I tried that once. It seems that I have a knack for getting myself stuck here." Baghra shrugs, the motion seeming more like a shiver that spreads across her old bones. "Well, if you're here you might as well make yourself useful. My son plans on finding Morozova's stag and using it as an amplifier for Alina Starkov."

You stare at her, all thoughts of your past love forgotten. "What? I thought he could never find it. He isn't a good enough tracker for that, none of his men are." Baghra shakes her head. The shadows from the fire cast themselves upon her face, seeming to age her centuries more. "There's a rumor that they may have found it. I've done my best to dispel any hope, but if there's a chance-" You nod. "I'll look out for Alina. I can get her out of here, if need be."

Baghra inclines her head. "In the meantime, I intend to test your abilities. I assume that you haven't been using them to avoid suspicion, which was a realistic if sorry excuse. Go to the woods tonight, meet me there. I'll make sure he can't sense you." You glance up at her. "Won't he be suspicious if I'm caught wandering the grounds late at night? My lie as an oprichnik is the only thing protecting me."

Baghra raises a spindly eyebrow. "You are the child of the witch goddess, Hecari. I have a feeling that you could make sure nobody sees you if you so wished it. Besides, I've seen my son speak with you. I doubt he would kill you on so short an impulse." This is it, the worry you've held in your heart for some time now. "Do you think he suspects me? Is there any way he would know?"

Baghra ponders this for a moment, then shakes her head. "He would have stopped you had he thought for a second you were the woman he knew. He thinks you dead, there is no reason to suspect you, especially so long as you wear a different face. Why is that, by the way? Vanity? A want to be hidden?" You shake your head, unable to hide a smile. "None, but I appreciate your confidence in me. The Hellenids all changed after a time, to reflect the growth of civilization. The gods changed their faces many times as time went on. The same goes for me."

Baghra dismisses this with a sniff. "It sounds a bit pretentious, but I suppose it's beyond your control. You should go now, before he wonders why I've trapped you up here for so long. Be careful, girl, but be smart. I'll see you at midnight." With that, your meeting with Baghra is concluded. You make your way out of the hut, although you barely make it a few paces down the path before another figure joins you. He is dressed in black, as always, and you do your best to contain the panic sprouting up in you at the sight of him. How much of your conversation could he have heard?

The Darkling raises an eyebrow, glancing between you and the hut behind you. "You were visiting Baghra?" You nod, doing your best to seem as confused as he is. "She asked to see me. I think she wanted someone else's opinion on Alina, to make sure she's not intentionally holding back her powers." The Darkling seems to accept this. "And is she holding back?" You shake your head. "I don't think so. Alina believes this to be the best way to save her friends and Ravka, she wouldn't hide from it if she didn't have to." How unlike you she is.

The Darkling looks at you, something almost like peaceful curiosity in his eyes. "What about you? What do you believe?" You stare at the towers of the Little Palace before you. "I don't know. I believe in Alina, and I believe that she can save Ravka if she needs to, I just don't know if she'll ever get the chance." His brow furrows. "Why is that?" You gesture helplessly at the grounds around you. "The Shadow Fold is massive, and there are people trying to kill her on a daily basis. There's only so many close saves you can have before one falls short."

He nods. "I suppose that's why we have you." You glance up at him, a question waiting behind your eyes. "I'm just one person. I can't do that much." The Darkling lifts a shoulder. "You're the best of the oprichniki even though you've just been here a month or two. You've managed to garner the attention of Baghra, who only teaches the most dedicated of Grisha. I'd say you're going far."

You chuckle softly. "I'm having the general of the Second Army question me on what I believe. That's a sign if nothing else." Surprisingly, he returns your smile. "You remind me of somebody. I'm not quite sure who or why. Are you certain that we have never met before?" Your smile falters. "No, I don't think so." If he doesn't believe you, he does not say anything of it.

When darkness has crept fully over the Little Palace, you make your way back to the forest surrounding the grounds. You know instinctively where Baghra is, and you materialize out of the woods by her side. She glances around one last time, then nods at you. "Well? Show me how much you've regressed." You can't help but laugh at that. "I've missed your words of support." You spread your arms wide, letting magic pool in your hands. You speak every word of power that you remember, letting inky emerald rush from you in wave after wave.

Trees bend as if they've been caught in a storm. The sky is lanced by bolts of green lightning, strong enough to cleave the world in two. Baghra sends her shadows skittering towards you, but you repel them time and time again. It's good to use your power like this, to let it run wild like a stallion. When Baghra's had enough and signals for you to stop, you let your power come creeping back to you. Your neck is damp with sweat and your lungs burn in your chest, but you can't help a wild, manic grin from crossing your face. This is your birthright, your people, who you are. You were destined to tear the world apart. Why not do it now?

Baghra nods once, a brief gesture. "Not bad for so much time away. We will meet in a few days." This is her goodbye, and she fades away into the woods. You follow suit, disappearing back into the glens to return back to the oprichniki camp. Maybe it's the wild rush of using your power after so much time spent hiding it, but there's a spring to your step that wasn't there before. This may be the reason you feel so light and carefree, and why you forgot to mask your presence with a spell until you've been spotted.

You've just turned a corner, ready to head to bed, when the Darkling materializes out of the inky blackness of night. There's a wild look in his eyes, a gnawing confusion that haunts him. He looks startled to see you. When he speaks, his voice is unsteady. "Have you seen anyone else out tonight? I felt this rush of power, unlike anything I've felt in a long time. It felt like-" He cuts himself off, then forces the rest of the words out. "It felt like her. Hecari. The woman we spoke of earlier."

When his eyes find you, you feel like you're trapped there, a bird held tight by its wings. There is no flight of escape for you here. You manage to shake your head, even as you feel pinned tight. "I didn't see anyone, sorry. Just me." He looks at you again, searching for some sign of the woman you were. You can see the question burning behind his eyes, but he seems too afraid to damn himself to the answer if he asks you who you truly are, if there's a chance you are the woman he once loved.

He shakes his head harshly, a hand flying to his brow as if to stave off an oncoming headache. "I'm sorry about that. I don't think I've been sleeping well. My apologies, Y/N." You force a neutral smile onto your face. "It's nothing. I think it's time we both head back inside, right?" When he doesn't respond at first, still staring out into the forest behind you, you lay a hand softly on his arm. His eyes jump back to you even at the slight touch, and for a second you swear he's not seeing your face but the one you'd worn in the centuries past.

Then he sighs, nodding slowly. "I think that would be for the best." You go to remove your hand from his arm as he turns around, but he moves his own hand to keep it there, holding it in place. This is how the two of you walk back across the grounds, as if you're a wealthy noblewoman he's escorting across the grounds. If it was anyone else, it might seem strange, an altogether too formal action, but it seems right with him. You've spent enough time walking beside him that any touch is not foreign but right and real. When the moon is hidden behind the clouds, you can almost pretend that no time has passed at all, that you're still the pair of lovers who built this palace and dreamed to see it full. When you stop walking at last, and the dream fades, you miss it more than you have in a long time.