Chapter 91: A Queen Among Mortals

The Riftborn didn't follow Rose through the veil. Not exactly. But their presence clung to her like the scent of ozone after lightning. The air around her shimmered subtly, warping shadows and bending reflections. Emberfen noticed.

People stared longer. Mothers pulled children closer. Wardstones flared as she passed.

"I'm still me," she said aloud once, half to Mortain, half to herself.

"You are," Mortain replied, his voice firm but his eyes watchful. "But they don't see you anymore. They see the thing that commands nightmares."

Rose stood atop the east wall, watching the charred horizon. Fields that once bloomed with ghost lilies were now silent, scorched. The Riftborn had left no bodies, only memory scars—odd thoughts, shared dreams, the feeling that one's reflection might blink at the wrong time.

Basil arrived with tea, despite the sky spitting ash. "Made the strong stuff today. Thought you might need it."

She accepted the cup gratefully. "You think they'll ever stop looking at me like I'm a ticking curse bomb?"

"Probably not," Basil said, too cheerfully. "But hey, you've always been explosive."

Mortain joined them, armor stripped down to travel leathers. "Council's called an emergency assembly. They want to 'assess the Rift threat.' Which I'm pretty sure means you."

Rose snorted. "Let me guess. They want to put me in a nice, reinforced, magical hole."

"More or less," Mortain replied. "I told them you'd come. Better to confront the council than let rumors fester."

She sighed. "I hate politics."

Gregory popped his wolfish head through a nearby hole in the wall. "Good news: I stole muffins from the council's breakfast table. Bad news: they know."

A few villagers scattered as Rose walked through town. She kept her hood up. Nimbus floated beside her, cloaked in glamour.

"They fear you because you did what they couldn't," Nimbus said. "You didn't just fight monsters. You bargained with them. That unsettles mortals."

"I didn't want to," Rose muttered.

"But you did. And it worked."

The council chamber was smaller than she remembered. Older. Too many curtains. Too many eyes.

Councilor Mirelda, wrapped in feathers and judgment, leaned forward. "We thank you for your aid in repelling the Riftborn, Lady Rose. But we must discuss containment. Prevention. Your... influence."

"You mean you want to cage me," Rose replied flatly.

"We want to protect Emberfen," Mirelda said. "And that might mean limiting your contact with the Rift."

Mortain stood. "And who decides what's too much contact? The woman who saved your skins, or the people who ran?"

Tension crackled like a live wire.

Rose raised the key in her hand. It pulsed faintly.

"I didn't ask for this," she said softly. "But I'm not your enemy. I command them because I have to. But if you force my hand, I will show you what that means."

The silence that followed was long. Heavy.

And behind her eyes, the Riftborn watched.