The fog hung low that morning, coiling around Ravine and Arana's steps as they followed the familiar path to the First Immortal's dwelling. The mist didn't feel as heavy as it once did, but it carried a quietness that asked not to be disturbed.
Ravine walked slower than usual, the cold stone beneath her boots echoing each thought that pressed against her ribs. Since their last visit, the weight of the Vale had not lifted from her chest. If anything, it had deepened—not with fear, but with the hollow ache of something understood but not fully grasped.
The house looked unchanged. Still nestled into the curve of the land, swallowed by bramble and moss. A place where time refused to pass. The First Immortal sat where they last saw her, facing away, her silver-white hair unmoved by the breeze.
Ravine hesitated at the threshold. Arana gave her a nod and stepped forward first, her voice soft. "We'd like to speak with you again, if that's alright."
The woman didn't turn. Her voice came like the edge of a sigh. "You came back. What are you looking for?"
Ravine stepped inside, careful not to disturb the dust. She stood beside the open window where light spilled like milk across the floor.
"I wanted to know," Ravine said quietly, "if you ever stopped feeling like a mistake."
The words hung there. The First Immortal didn't move for a long while.
When she spoke, it was without anger, but it trembled with exhaustion. "There are days I forget I exist. Days where I sit here and I wonder if the world moved on, or if I did. I was brought back because someone loved me. But in doing so, he gave up every memory of me. I knew him, but he looked through me."
Ravine closed her eyes. Her voice cracked. "That's why you built this place?"
"No," the First Immortal whispered. "I built this because the world feared what I became. Because when you live long enough, you become something to be hidden. Forgotten. A wound people don't want to explain."
Arana knelt near the faded hearth, her voice low. "Did anything ever make it better?"
The woman gave a brittle smile. "Some days, I remember the way he laughed. That's all I have. But I held on to that."
Ravine looked at her, truly looked at her—a silhouette formed of loss and survival. A reflection not of what Ravine was, but what she feared she might become.
"I see myself in you," she said. "And that terrifies me."
"It should," the First Immortal replied.
The silence that followed was not empty. It was dense. Full of the truths they hadn't spoken.
Ravine stepped forward. Her hands shook, but her voice steadied. "Maybe I wasn't given a choice either. But I'm here. And I will make something out of this. Even if it hurts."
At that, the First Immortal finally turned. Her eyes, like storm light through frost, met Ravine's.
"Then remember this," she said. "Live in a way that doesn't require others to carry your name like a wound."
Ravine swallowed the lump in her throat and gave a quiet nod. Arana rose, brushing her fingers against the edge of the old doorway as they left.
Outside, the mist had shifted. No thinner, no lighter, but different.
The world still felt broken.
But Ravine didn't.
Not entirely.