By the time I left Babel, the sun was already high.
Noon light spilled across the stone like it had something to prove. I didn't look back—not at the towers, not at the walls, not at the place that had been both my cage and my shield.
But I did look at Naya.
She stood just beside the borderline, arms folded too tight across her chest, jaw set in that way she used when she was trying not to beg. Her eyes were sharp, angry, terrified—all at once. She hated that I could read her so easily.
"You're really going," she said.
Not a question.
I nodded.
"That's it?" she snapped. "No speech? No apology? You nearly get yourself torn apart by a thousand Summoned, crawl back half-dead, and then just—walk out?"
I stepped closer. Close enough that my shadow touched hers.
"You were there," I said softly. "You saw it. If I don't leave today, I never will."
She shook her head. "You think the world outside Babel is waiting for you with open arms? You think the Trueslayers will let you walk five steps without cutting you down?"
"I don't," I said. "I only hope I can make it."
That made her flinch.
"I know they'll come," I continued. "I know they'll test me. Threaten me. Try to make me disappear quietly so no one asks questions. And I know Zefar can't protect me forever."
"Then stay," she said, voice cracking. "Let us all protect you."
I reached for her hands. She didn't pull away.
"I can't," I said. "Because the longer I stay, the more Babel becomes the only truth I know. And that's not who I am."
Her fingers tightened around mine. "You don't owe your people anything."
"I owe them everything," I replied. "The women raised me. Their children were my friends.
I was locked behind these borders, training to survive a life they will know never about if I stay."
Her lips trembled. "And what about me?"
That hurt more than any blade.
"I care about you too," I said. "More than you think. That's why I'm telling you the truth instead of lying to make this easier."
She searched my face, desperate. "Then promise me you'll make it back. Stay safe out there"
I inhaled slowly.
"I will try," I said.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"Today," I continued, "is goodbye for now."
Silence stretched between us.
"Come back in one piece," she screamed.
"Can't make any promises,"
I replied.
She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, there were tears she refused to let fall.
"Then go," she said. "But don't you dare die out there."
I smiled faintly. "I'll try not to."
She shoved something into my palm—a tiny bag of herbs, perfectly preserved.
"For emergencies," she said.
I squeezed her hand once more.
Then I turned away.
I crossed the border with my head up and my weapons hidden.
I hadn't even walked a mile when I met a peculiar young man.
At first, I thought he was just another traveler.
He walked at an easy pace, cloak dusty, armor worn but maintained. He fell into step beside me naturally, like two strangers sharing the same road for a while.
"Hot day," he said.
"Gets worse the farther you go," I replied.
He chuckled. "You sound like someone who's walked this path before."
"Or someone who listens."
He glanced at me, curious. "Traveling alone is dangerous out here."
"So is trusting the wrong company."
I replied.
He smiled at that. "Fair."
We walked in silence for a few moments.
"You heading away from Babel," he said eventually. "Not many do that willingly."
"Not many get the chance."
"Or the courage."
I shrugged. "Depends on what you're running toward."
He stopped walking.
I took one more step before realizing he wasn't beside me anymore.
That's when his voice changed.
"Return to Babel," he said, voice flat with certainty, "or die here."
He stretched his hands and suddenly my two daggers came out turning on me.
They were aimed directly on my eyes.
I didn't blink.
In my current state, I was too tired for all this drama.
I felt no fear. No anger.
Just impatience.
I didn't answer him.
I quickly grabbed my daggers making them mine once more.
I then let my shadow swallow me whole.
The world folded—light collapsing inward, sound tearing loose—and I was gone before his next breath finished forming.
When I emerged, it was inside a tent.
Not just any tent.
Her tent.
It was quiet.
Too quiet for a refugee camp. Too still for the people I called my own.
Lantern light bled through thin fabric, warm and low, casting shadows that breathed with the night wind. I stood just inside the entrance, listening. Not for footsteps. For rhythm. Breath. Heartbeats. The things people forgot could betray them.
I finally gathered the courage to fully enter.
She lay on a mat near the center of the tent.
Everlyn, Aunt Geni's daughter.
Older than the girl I remembered. Sharper lines. Broader shoulders. Hair tied back in a way that said she slept ready to move, not to dream.
Her breathing was slow. Controlled.
Too controlled.
I almost smiled.
I crossed the tent without a sound and sat beside her. The mat dipped slightly under my weight. Still, she didn't move.
Good.
For a moment, I just watched her.
This was why I had crossed Babel. Why I had bled. Why I had survived a thousand blades without becoming one myself.
She was alive.
I lifted my hand before I realized I had done it.
Just a touch, I told myself. Just to confirm she was real.
My fingers hovered inches from her face—
Steel kissed my throat.
Cold.
Precise.
Unforgiving.
I froze instantly.
Her eyes were open now—wide, alert, lethal. She hadn't risen in panic. She had flowed upward, dagger already drawn, already placed exactly where it needed to be.
One breath more and she could have ended me.
"Who are you?" she said.
Her voice was steady. No tremor. No hesitation.
"Choose your next words wisely," she continued, pressing the blade just enough for me to feel the promise behind it, "or you will never speak again."
I didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't reach for my own daggers.
Pride flickered in my chest—dangerous, stupid pride.
Aunt Geni had taught her well.
"I'm not here to hurt you," I said carefully.
The dagger didn't budge.
"Everyone who comes here says that," she replied. "The honest ones say it last."
Fair.
"I came a long way to see you," I continued. " I can't really explain unless you lower your dagger."
Her grip tightened.
"Do you think I'm stupid," she asked, "You should know how dangerous I am. Didn't the kingdoms surrounding us tell you about the Lady General."
I exhaled slowly.
"No," I admitted feeling proud of her. She really achieved her dream.
Silence stretched between us.
Her eyes searched my face—not for fear, but for recognition. For the cracks that didn't belong to strangers.
I swallowed.
"When we were nine," I said softly, "you stole a dagger twice your size and told me you would become the General of Oma one day."
Her breath caught.
Just for a heartbeat.
"And when I laughed," I added, "you punched me and said, 'Laugh again and I'll have you drafted first.'"
The dagger trembled.
Barely.
"You cried afterward," I finished. "Not because you were sorry.
You were just sad Aunt Geni scolded you.
You really felt no remorse for hitting me."
Her hand froze.
The blade lowered a fraction.
"…No one knows that," she whispered.
I met her eyes.
"I promised you," I said, voice thick now, "that when we turned twenty, I'd find you. No matter where the world tried to bury me."
Her dagger slipped from my throat.
It clattered softly to the floor.
"Oma?" she said.
I nodded once. "Happy birthday, Everlyn."
She stared at me like I was a ghost that had learned how to bleed.
Then she surged forward and slammed into me, arms wrapping tight, fierce, like she was afraid the world would take me back if she let go.
I was still sore from my injuries, but I soaked in the pain of her touch.
I held her just as tightly.
"I'm here," I murmured. "I kept my word."
Outside the tent, the world waited.
Trueslayers. Borders. War.
But for that moment—
I was exactly where I was supposed to be.