The Last Ember of Lirha

(Confession left at the Pyres of Vethra, to Matron Laureth of the Veil)

I.

Matron, you told me the flame is loyalty and obedience.

You said the Mother’s breath must be purified through ash—that silence is mercy, and mercy burns clean.

I carried that creed by the hilt of a blade

I was your hand, your deadly shadow, your knife.

Every man who drew a breath too bold, every Anchor who mistook his strength for divinity—I laid his body before the Veil severed from his soul.

My blade was prayer.

My fire was faith.

Each throat I opened was a hymn.

And when the flames rose high, I believed I was keeping the world still enough for our Divine Mother to sleep.

II.

The first whisper came after the fourth slain.

It was faint, amidst the sound of cooling ash.

A man’s voice, speaking my name.

Not accusation—recognition.

You remember me.

I told myself it was wind through the vents.

But the next night, as I cleaned the blade, I saw the ash move—gathering toward the edge, clinging to the steel like breath to flesh.

The fire began breathing in rhythm, gasping names.

III.

Matron, do you recall the philosopher you ordered silenced?

The one who said the Veil was not wall but mirror?

He waited for me in the garden.

He did not beg.

He only asked:

If your fire is righteous, why can’t it forget?

I gave him mercy, swift and clean.

But when I lifted the blade, all I could see was my reflection in his blood.

That night, my dreams were filled with names I had burned.

Each one an airy breath against my ear until I woke up choking on smoke.

IV.

Now the pyres will not sleep.

Their flames turn red, no matter how much oil I pour.

The ash hisses with voices.

They speak through me when I sing, they move my hand when I write.

They told me what you never did—the Hollow Ones are not born from blasphemy but from the injustice of forgetting.

Each man I burned left a Hollow behind.

Each name erased made the Veil thinner.

You taught me to silence voices.

But every voice lights a fire.

V.

I have written their names on this scroll.

It is heavy as a breath, bright as an ember.

I will carry it to the pyres tonight.

I will sing them back, one by one.

Do not silence the fire again.

If the Veil must burn, let it remember why.

If flame is mercy, then let mercy choose.

‘If obedience is silence, then I choose song.

When dawn comes, there will be nothing left of me but ember.

And Matron, when you see the smoke drift through your chambers, know that it carries my voice—the one you enslaved with lies and the one I now set free.

The fire does not forget.

—Lirha, your last blade

Archivist’s Annotation (Solenne)

*Recovered fragments of this letter were found sealed in molten glass near the western pyres. The ink had fused with the parchment, forming a red shimmer when held to flame.

When read aloud, the page whispers. Some say the sound is her breath—others say it is the names she refused to burn.*

Read: The Veiled Dominion: Episode ll The Red Shade's Song