Violet packed quietly, careful not to let the leather straps snap or scrape.
The cottage was small enough that a single careless sound could bring Maria rushing in with a thousand questions, and she didn't have the strength to lie tonight.
She folded what little she owned—worn shirt, spare socks, a scrap of cloth she pretended was useful—and tucked them into the bag. The messenger arrows Garrett bought rested on the table.
Sleek fletching. Clean wood. Sharp heads. They looked too large for her hands. Too adult. But everything in this life felt too large for her anyway.
Garrett walked in from outside, rubbing his palms together to warm them. He didn't ask what she was doing. His eyes flicked to the pack, then to her face, and then he simply nodded once.
Maria was stirring stew at the hearth, humming softly, gaze distant the way it got whenever Calla's visits grew too frequent.
She looked up when Violet approached.
"I'm going to bed," Violet said.
Maria tilted her head. "Already?"
"It's been a long day."
Maria wiped her hands on her apron and pulled Violet into her arms. She smelled like warm bread and soap and the kind of safety Violet had spent lifetimes losing.
"Sleep well, Littlebird," she whispered.
Garrett pretended not to watch, but he did.
Violet stepped toward him, hesitated, then just pressed her face into his chest and wrapped her arms around him.
He went rigid for a heartbeat before letting out a long breath and resting one calloused hand on the back of her head.
"You'll come back safe," he said quietly. Not a question. A vow he wanted from her.
"And you'll keep me safe," Violet whispered. "From… her."
Maria's fingers tightened against her shoulder. Garrett's jaw tensed.
"We will," Maria said, voice firm. "You let us worry about that."
Violet pulled back, eyes level with Garrett's chest, then looked up.
Her hair—dyed dark—fell across her face. She slipped into her room and locked the door.
The feather pulsed in her palm.
"Kanum."
Light swallowed her. A rush of cold. Feathers whipping around her like living snow. Then the ground kicked her feet out from under her.
A creek roared nearby.
Garrett stood ten paces away, bow half-drawn, shock spreading across his face as the last feather faded off Violet's skin and vanished.
He didn't shout. Didn't move. Just stared at her.
"…Violet."
Her vision flickered. The world swayed.
A dirt road. The familiar scent of the village where she once saved Jaden and his sister with Vael. Where she met Kerran the otter-apothecary. Where things had begun shifting toward chaos.
But now? Empty. Quiet. Early in the timeline. Too early for the siblings to be here. Too early for Kerran. Too early for everything she remembered.
Good.
Less interference.
Violet adjusted her cloak, keeping her dyed-black hair tucked behind her ear. Her violet eyes stood out too much, but people here wouldn't recognize her. Children wandered villages all the time.
The Valley of Winds was three days from here.
Three days alone. Three days where the timeline could bend or break if she wasn't careful.
First step: gear.
She walked straight to the forge.
Heat slammed her face first.
Eiran stood at the anvil, younger and with fairer skin than previous life, hammer ringing steadily, sparks flying in sharp bursts.
Strong arms, soot-streaked skin, the same woman Violet remembered.
Eiran didn't trust strangers. Especially not ones who looked like they were hiding something.
"What do you need?" Eiran asked, wiping her brow.
Violet stepped closer. "I'm an old customer."
Eiran snorted. "You? Don't recall kids buying steel."
"My uncle did," Violet said, voice level. "David."
The hammer froze.
Eiran's eyes sharpened into something colder. She reached behind her, pulled out a short sword, and leveled it at Violet's throat without hesitation.
"You're bold," she said, stepping closer. "Walking in here. Saying that name."
Violet didn't blink.
Eiran's lip curled. "Little witch."
The sword stopped inches from Violet's skin.
Violet raised her chin a fraction.
"I'm here to buy equipment," she said. "Not cause trouble."
The blade didn't lower.
"You mention David again," Eiran said, "and I'll carve the truth out of you myself."
Violet stared at her, unflinching. She had died with a blade at her throat once already. This was nothing.
"I need boots," she said. "And a small knife. And rope. And a flint."
Eiran's jaw worked. "Why?"
"Travel."
"You're a child."
"I won't always be."
The blacksmith moved slowly, as if waiting for Violet to slip and reveal something. "Who sent you?"
"No one."
"Liar."
Violet didn't deny it.
Eiran lowered the sword—but only slightly. Enough to move, not enough to trust.
"You have money?"
Violet reached into her bag and pulled out the coin pouch Garrett gave her. Eiran's eyes narrowed at the weight of it, recognition flickering.
"You're from the mountains," she muttered. "Those people don't roam this far."
Violet didn't respond.
Eiran gathered the gear with quick, efficient movements. Boots. Rope. Knife. Flint. A small bundle of dried herbs to keep animals away. She tossed the items onto the counter without ceremony.
"You walk alone and you die alone," Eiran said. "Even adults don't risk the valley without a group. And you—"
"I know where I'm going."
Eiran stared at her long enough that Violet wondered if the woman could see through her dyed hair into the pieces of her old self.
"You remind me of someone," Eiran murmured.
Violet tensed.
Eiran didn't elaborate.
Violet paid, but gathered her things, and before leaving Eiran stopped her.
"It's late tonight, stay at my place for tonight." Eiran spoke.
The air outside felt colder. Clearer. The mountains rose in the distance like teeth. The Valley of Winds was somewhere beyond them.
Three days.
Three days to reach Vael's tribe.
Three days to change fate.
She stayed at Eiran, a small cottage at corner of town.
She departed from Greyhollow at night and reached at night.
At their home, Eiran was alone... Until a knock...
A young boy entered the home,
"Mother food!" The boy yelled—
Eiran looked at boy and then Violet, "say girl, do you need a partner?"