There is nothing left to do except to complete the journey. You're on the outskirts of Os Alta, barely a day's ride until you reach the capital. As you draw closer to the city, you can't help but feel yourself slip beneath a wave of nostalgia. This is the road you walked with the Darkling many centuries ago. That dense forest of trees was once a waiflike stand of stems, barely tall enough to be considered saplings. This is where you stood, where you smiled, where you walked with him. It is strange to look over at him now, to know that you're returning with him.

You can't help but wonder if he ever thinks of you. The old you, that is, the Hecari of the stories and the Hellenid from his heart and hands. What did he think when you left? Does he look at that crumbling house and think of the newly built scaffolding that had sprung up when you were there, the ruins that had been brand new when he was all you trusted? Does he even remember you at all?

At last, you're forced to turn away from thoughts of the past and recenter yourself on the present- you've arrived at the wall surrounding the city, and the gate opens with a rumble. The canter of horseshoes on cobblestones echoes around you, and you watch with a faint smile as Alina's eyes go wide at the sight of the approaching twin palaces. She's an orphan of Keramzin, you remind yourself, she's never seen Os Alta in the way that you have.

Still, you can't deny the effect that the city has on you. You were here for its birth, its rise from rubble to gleaming spires, but it's still impressive. You let your eyes trace over the distant silhouette of the Grand Palace on the horizon. There's the spire the Lantsovs of long ago used to admire, that's the wide balcony passing merchants would meet on for business deals so important they had to be witnessed from a distance. Some things are new- more gold trim on the windows, more marble carvings and columns that hadn't been quite so intricate when you had last seen them.

The path diverges from the Grand Palace, plunging deeper into arches of trees to progress to the Little Palace. With each step you take, you feel like you're coming home. It's funny- the Grand Palace may have changed, but the Darkling has obviously tried his utmost to make everything seem the exact same as it was when it was first built. The trees still block out the sun in the same places, the grounds look identical to the centuries past. It feels like you barely left at all.

You're almost reluctant to dismount from your horse, to stop your wide-eyed view of the grounds and face the truth- you're no Grisha, you don't quite belong here. Not to them. Not to him. But Alina hurries over to you, walking side by side and looping her arms around her. "This place is amazing." You can't help but let out a quiet laugh at her astonishment. "It is, isn't it?" You round a bend and feel your breath catch in your throat as you see the Little Palace, suddenly only yards away.

The Grand Palace may have been impressive, but the Little Palace was so much more to you than that. The dark wood paneling looks the same, the carvings just as intricate. As you step closer, you can't help but feel your heart squeeze in your chest, as if a particularly vicious Heartrender was practicing their art from behind you. Some of the carvings in the doors and walls are of the Saints, of Ravka's history. Others look more familiar- they're not of Grisha or Ravka, they're from Hellas. They're from you, from what you told the Darkling of your people.

Your steps slow as your gaze tracks every detail. There, in that corner, is the Hydra, long-ago beast slain by the famous hero Heracles. Twin gods Artemis and Apollo stand on opposite sides of the doors, arrows pointed towards the heavens, their spheres of the moon and sun carefully portrayed in the dark wood. You see triremes and warships with painted eyes, the ground cracking to pieces underneath a youthful spring goddess to reveal the god waiting for her below at the Underworld. These are your stories, your history. All depicted here for any to see, although there's only one man who would know them for what they are.

These carvings weren't here when you fled the Little Palace that day. This means that they were added later, that the Darkling had ordered the stories of the Hellenids to be carved into his walls, forever remembered in the minds and eyes of all the Grisha. Maybe he had mourned you after all, enough to dedicate part of his home to you. A sudden wave of something crashes over you, almost enough to knock you off your feet.

Alina looks at you curiously, and you realize she's waiting for you by the door. The Darkling, too, furrows his brow, wondering why you're looking at the carvings like they're a ghost you haven't seen for centuries. You force a smile, hurrying up the steps after them. "Sorry, I got distracted. These carvings, they're exquisite." Something almost like pride appears in the Darkling's eyes. "They took many experienced artists."

You want more than this vague statement, some proof that he might have done it for you. "I haven't seen many of those stories. Are they all from Ravka?" Something shutters in his eyes. "Not all of them." He sweeps past you into the Little Palace, gesturing for Alina to follow him. You hesitate by the door, not sure if this is where your journey ends. Alina, however, refuses to let her only friend go so easily, and pulls you in after her. "You're not escaping so quickly."

You laugh at that, letting the sound spill into the empty hall. You walk with Alina down the halls, feet still remembering the paths to each of the rooms. The Darkling stops by a door, and you realize that it's Alina's. It is night by now, the stars lighting through the windows. You smile at your friend, doing your best to dispel the sudden look of panic in her eyes. "You're going to do fine, Alina. Promise."

Alina does not seem sure of this. "You could stay, you know. Continue being my double." You give her a look, a smile still tugging at your lips. "You've got all of the Little Palace for that. Otkazat'sya aren't allowed with the Grisha, remember? This is your home. You're going to do better than you think." Alina sighs. "Maybe." You bid her your last farewell, then let her disappear into her room and close the door behind you.

When you turn around, you realize you're alone in the hall with none other than the Darkling, who's regarding you with a suspicious expression. "You referred to yourself as otkazat'sya. I didn't realize you knew the teachings of the Grisha." Panic rises in your chest once more, and you fish around for an explanation. "I, uh, heard some of the Second Army soldiers talking about it back in Kribirsk." No other reason. Don't look too closely. Or maybe look as hard as you can.

The Darkling considers you for a moment longer, then continues down the hall. After a moment, you follow him. The two of you walk in silence, you unwilling to start a conversation lest you make another mistake and damn yourself entirely. The Darkling leads you to the back of the Little Palace, the place where the oprichniki train out of the view of the Grisha. He gestures towards a Heartrender, who starts towards you. "You'll stay here for the night. Training begins tomorrow."

You nod once. "Thank you again. I won't forget this." The Darkling's lips quirk in a half smile. "I'd hope not. I expect to be impressed." If you didn't know better, you'd say that he was making a joke. He inclines his head once, then turns and disappears into the night. He barely walks for a few feet before he is gone, swallowed up by the shadows he holds so dear.

The Heartrender guides you through the halls to the oprichniki quarters. You're assigned a bunk and a uniform, weapons and bandages for when you're inevitably injured due to the training. You're directed to go to sleep, with instructions as to how to find your instructors the next morning. You lay on your bunk for a minute, sure you won't be able to sleep at all, but your eyes close before you even realize it.

The next morning starts early, the sun barely tasting the horizon before you're forced to drag yourself out of bed and get on with the day. You did your stint in the First Army, you know exactly what happens to transfers and newbies, so you have no doubt that things aren't exactly going to be pleasant for your first day as an oprichnik. The only thing you can do is give them no reason to criticize you, no reason to prove that you're anything less than what the Darkling seems to believe of you.

This, as it turns out, is easier than you'd thought. The oprichniki are good, yes, but they're human. They're mortal. You are the child of Hecate, and you have the blood of a witch goddess running through your veins. They couldn't hold a candle to you even if they tried. You try to hide it, sure, try not to stand out too much, but it's so good to fight and run as far as your legs can carry you that you entertain the urge to give in to all you could do, to fight like a Hellenid and make your own legacy. Hellas was full of soldiers well-known for their fighting ability, why shouldn't you prove yourself as one to honor their ranks?

You run the laps around the Little Palace, you spar when asked, shoot with a pistol, fight with a staff. You notice the impressed looks of the instructors even when they try to hide it, and it just builds to the fire burning in your heart. First Army soldiers only did so much, but this? This is far more up your alley.

The Darkling visits at the end of the week. The other oprichniki in training straighten up, squaring their shoulders and pretending like they're each the best in the class. When it comes time for the daily sparring practice, you can't help but smile when the tallest man in the group chooses you for his partner. If he thinks you're an easy target because you're new, well, he's about to learn otherwise.

It only takes a couple of minutes for your partner to end up face down in the dirt, joints smarting and bruises forming from where you'd hit him. He was good, that much was true, but you were better. It's not like it's his fault, though- you've had the upper hand in training for at least a couple of centuries longer than he's even been alive. When you look up from the match, a ragged smile starting to form on your face in spite of yourself, you realize that the Darkling has been watching you. If you didn't know, you'd say that he looks proud, like he's taken a gamble and come out on top.

When training ends for the day, you walk out of the oprichniki quarters, hair still damp from washing up and uniform newly pressed. The wind blows cold against your face, but you don't mind it at all. The adrenaline is still rushing through your veins, the tricky feeling of bruised knuckles and winning again and again. You've barely gone around the corner of the building when you sense that you're not alone.

When you look over your shoulder, you see a familiar figure striding in you, dressed all in black. The Darkling catches up to you easily, kefta brushing against his heels. He waits to speak, letting you wonder what he's come to say, and then his voice echoes out in the fading sun. "You did well in the sparring ring. I'm not certain that you learned all that in the First Army."

You raise an eyebrow. "Why is that?" The Darkling glances over at you. "You beat Filip Slavik in a few minutes. He was the top man there, barely a week away from finishing his time here. I had him handpicked for a captain's position, and you practically killed him." You allow yourself to smile slightly, still unwilling to share any information on where you learned to fight. "I didn't realize you gave out compliments to every new trainee."

The Darkling shrugs, gesturing for you to follow him into the Little Palace. "I'd like you to take your first assignment tonight. Alina needs a guard at all hours, to protect her from enemies. I'm sure you understand. I think she would appreciate a familiar face." You smile at that. "I'd like to see her." Your heels click on stone tiles, then soften on rugs spread throughout the halls. Your eyes trace the paintings and portraits that line the walls, and then your stomach drops into your feet.

There's a portrait of a woman on the wall, a woman with an almost unnatural emerald glint in her eyes that looks uncannily like you. Well, not you right now. This was the face that you had worn several centuries ago, as the Hecari that had sworn to rebuild the Grisha alongside the Darkling. You realize you're already stalled in your steps, and the Darkling is watching you like a wolf eyes its prey. You feign nonchalance, gesturing towards the painting. "Who is she? I recognize the others as the Lantsovs and Saints, but I don't know her." Belatedly, you realize his expression has shifted into a darker, more quiet look. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

The Darkling stops walking, turning to face your portrait. "Don't apologize, it's fine. Her name was Hecari. She was a powerful witch. I knew her a long time ago." You pull confusion over your features like it's a mask to don at ease. "A witch? Was she not a Grisha?" The Darkling lifts his shoulders, sending the edges of his kefta weaving down his body as if they've been caught by a breeze. "Something like that. She came from Hellas, a place long gone. She was more powerful than anyone I've ever known, but she died many years ago."

You feel yourself stiffen at the mention of your power. Of course that would be the defining characteristic to him, the one thing necessary to mention. Then you notice the look in his eyes, something almost like pain. Perhaps you were wrong- perhaps he truly did mourn you. Perhaps you were wrong after all. There might be hope here for you. There might be hope, had he not plotted to kill you and had you not faked your death to flee his blade.

The Darkling seems to come back to himself, dragging his eyes away from your portrait's face and back towards the hall. "Regardless, the past rarely comes back to us. There is no way to look except forward." If only he knew. You move with him, continuing down the hallway. You do not speak until you turn around a corner, until your ghost's eyes cease to haunt your backs.

You pause outside the library, where you can just see Alina's silhouette through the open door. She hasn't seen you yet, so the Darkling waits here to say a few last words to you. "I do not do this for everyone, Miss Stassov. There is a future for you beyond the walls of the Little Palace. All I ask from you is honesty and a dedication to the Grisha. That is all I ask of anyone." For some reason, this request cuts at you. How can you promise him honesty if your entire being right now is a lie?

However, you can hardly tell him this now, so you smile and nod like your head is tugged by an invisible string. If he believes you, he says nothing of it. He holds you in his gaze for one last second, as if trying to pry into your mind to see if you will truly give him your lies, then nods his head once and lets you go. You disappear through the doors, greeting a thrilled Alina, but can't help one last glance over your shoulder.

He lingers at the door, still looking for you. His eyes hold questions, the need to find the answers. A sudden chill erupts over you. You may have less time as Y/N Stassov than you had first thought. He may find you out sooner than you believed possible. What will you do then, when your lies come crumbling down? Will you run again, or finally confront everything you fled all those years ago?