The world slammed back into her.
Not gently. Not like waking from sleep. It was a violent, vertigo-soaked return—spinning white, twisting air, pressure crushing her ribs, sound ripping out of her ears—
Then the ground punched her knees.
The creek's scent hit her nose first. Cold water. Pine. The faint, metallic tang of winter stone. Violet gasped, her hands sinking into snow-crusted dirt as her vision flickered between white and color.
The feather burned out around her in a shower of soft light.
Garrett was already halfway across the bank by the time she lifted her head.
"Violet—!"
His boots skidded. His arms wrapped around her before she could fall forward again. She felt the heat of his skin through his gloves, the rough press of his palm against the back of her skull.
She hadn't realized how faint she'd become until her forehead hit his chest.
The world refused to stop swaying.
Two days. Only two. But her body felt like it had been stretched across eternity and snapped back into a child-sized shell.
Garrett held her steady, breathing shallow but controlled—his version of panic.
"What happened?" he demanded quietly, though his voice stayed even. "You weren't supposed to be gone this long."
Her mouth opened. Closed. She couldn't speak yet. The teleportation had shaken something loose inside her lungs, fluttering like trapped birds.
He exhaled through his nose, short and sharp. "Never mind. We're going home first."
Violet nodded stiffly. Her fingers curled into his coat instinctively, knuckles white.
Garrett didn't waste another word. He lifted her—braced her weight on one arm—and started back toward the cottage.
Every footstep seemed louder than it should've been. Every breath scraped against her throat.
But the cold felt real again. The crunch of snow under boots. The smell of smoke in the distance.
The Valley of Winds was safe.
Vael's tribe was alive.
Muninn had given her thirteen more chances.
And for the first time since her regression, the future didn't feel like a blade hanging above her head.
It felt... open.
But the price of that openness pressed hard against her skull. Teleportation left echoes—fragments of the Realm of Night flashing behind her eyelids whenever she blinked.
Garrett's hand stayed firm on her shoulder the entire walk.
When the cottage came into view, she saw the light first—warm gold spilling from the kitchen window, flickering across snow.
Then she saw Maria's silhouette.
She was standing at the counter, knife in hand, chopping roots with restless, anxious rhythm.
The door opened.
Maria's head snapped toward them—eyes widening, breath catching—then she dropped the knife and ran.
"Violet!"
Her arms wrapped around the girl with a force that nearly knocked her backward. Garrett steadied them both.
Maria's hands slid up Violet's arms, her face pale with relief and fear. "You're freezing—why are you freezing—what happened? Garrett?"
"We'll talk later," he said calmly. "She needs rest first."
Maria didn't argue. She simply gathered Violet close again, as if afraid she would vanish the moment she loosened her grip.
Violet felt a familiar ache bloom in her chest.
A soft, gentle ache.
The kind she used to ignore.
She burrowed into Maria's coat.
She didn't deserve this warmth.
Not in the last life.
Not now.
That thought struck sharper than she expected, and she clung tighter.
Maria only stroked her hair. "Let's get you inside, Littlebird."
The warmth of the cottage swallowed her immediately.
Garrett helped her out of her coat. Maria pressed a warm cloth to her face, checking her temperature with trembling fingers.
But she didn't ask where Violet had gone.
Not once.
She just kept glancing at Garrett, something unspoken passing between them.
They were waiting for her to speak—not forcing her, not pushing her, just… trusting her in a way that made her ribs ache.
Maria made her sit by the fire, wrapped her in two blankets, brewed a cup of something herbal that smelled like mint and cedar.
Violet forced her hands to stop shaking long enough to hold it.
Garrett sat across the room, sharpening a knife with rhythmic, patient motions. The sound was steady. Comforting.
Grounding.
Maria kept stirring the pot on the stove as if keeping her body busy would keep her heart steady.
And Violet watched them both through half-lidded eyes.
I will tell you. One day.
Just not yet. If you knew everything now… it would kill you faster than Calla ever could.
When night settled, Garrett went to bed early.
Maria paused by Violet's room, peeking in. "Littlebird? You're still awake?"
Violet jolted upright, hiding the remaining feathers under her pillow in one quick motion. "Mama— I wasn't— I was just—"
Maria sat on the bed beside her, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"You don't have to explain anything tonight," she whispered. Her thumb traced gentle circles across Violet's palm. "But I want you to know something."
Violet stopped breathing.
Maria continued softly, "I trust you."
The words landed like a blow.
Warm. Crushing. Shattering.
Maria's fingers tightened around hers. "You're changing. I see it. I don't understand it… but I see you trying. I see you fighting to be strong. And whatever path you choose… I'm on your side."
Violet's throat burned.
"I love you," Maria said. "That won't change."
She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Violet's brow—light, warm, achingly gentle.
Then she stood, smoothing the blanket over her.
"Sleep. Tomorrow will be easier."
Violet waited until the door closed before letting out the breath she'd been strangling.
Her hands shook uncontrollably.
She pressed both palms to her face, heart pounding too hard, too loud, like it was trying to tear free from her ribs.
She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, took several shaky breaths, and reached under her pillow to check the feathers.
Still there. Still warm.
She didn't sleep that night.
Her mind was already building the next step. The first objective. The path ahead.
She needed time. She needed distance. She needed Maria far away from Calla's shadow—far enough that even the threads of fate would have trouble reaching her.
When morning came, Violet found Maria in the kitchen again. She stood at the doorway silently until Maria noticed her.
"Littlebird? You're up early."
Violet swallowed. "Mama… I want you to go somewhere."
Maria blinked. "Go… somewhere?"
"For a while." Violet's fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt. "Not forever. Just… time away. Visit Aunt Rella. Or the mountain temple. Somewhere safe."
Maria's brows pulled together. "Violet, what's—"
"Please." Her voice cracked. "Just… please."
Maria's expression softened with fear she tried to hide. "Is someone after us?"
"No," Violet lied smoothly. "Nothing like that. I just… need you to be safe. While I do something. Something important."
Maria's lips trembled.
But she nodded.
"Alright."
The relief nearly buckled Violet's legs.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Maria smiled—small, worried, but real—and touched her cheek.
"I trust you."
The words hit just as hard the second time.
***
Three days later, Garrett came home carrying a wooden box tucked under his arm.
Violet felt her pulse quicken.
The box was small, dark-stained, wrapped in a leather strap. Garrett set it on the table and unlatched the lid.
Inside lay a row of slender metal shafts—twelve in total—each fitted with a small carved mechanism near the base.
"Messenger arrows," Garrett said simply. "Faster than birds. Fly straight. Designed to carry small messages."
Violet lifted one with trembling fingers.
Perfect for warning, coordination, for plans too dangerous to speak aloud or to warn about uninvited guests.
She looked at Garrett.
He looked back with steady, unyielding patience.
"You'll need them," he said.
Violet's chest tightened painfully.
You'll need them.
She tucked the arrow back into its slot and closed the box gently.
The First Princess's conquest was less than two years away... May be sooner.