Corin didn't speak.
Veyr stood across from him, still cloaked, still watching. The knife in Corin's hand had lowered, but he hadn't let go.
The fire crackled softly, as if trying to fill the silence.
"You're not what they said," Corin finally muttered.
"No," Veyr replied. "I never was."
Corin's thoughts spun. The stories, the warnings, the rituals. The way they'd looked at him. The way they'd sent him.
"You let them believe it," he said.
Veyr's gaze didn't waver. "They needed a monster more than they needed a god."
Corin's stomach turned. "They sacrificed to you."
"They sacrificed to fear," Veyr said. "I watched. I remembered. I waited."
Corin stepped back, the knife still trembling in his grip. "Why me?"
Veyr didn't answer.
The door creaked open.
Corin spun, knife raised again.
Maer stepped inside, arms full of herbs, her braid damp with morning mist. She froze when she saw Veyr.
Her eyes narrowed. "You weren't supposed to come yet."
Veyr turned to her, calm. "He woke early."
Maer set the herbs down slowly, her movements deliberate. "He's not ready."
"He's already chosen," Veyr said.
Corin looked between them. "Chosen for what?"
Maer didn't answer.
Veyr did. "To remember what they buried. And to decide what comes next."
Corin's grip loosened. The knife dropped to the floor with a soft thud.
He didn't feel chosen.
He felt cracked open.