The winds of Garmrdis howled like wolves in mourning.

Snow clung to the eaves of the old city, where the black iron of spires twisted into the sky like the claws of buried giants. Even in summer, Garmrdis never thawed. Tonight, it was colder than usual. As if the ice remembered something.

Hush stood outside the towering office of Lord Vladimir Irontooth, his long coat trailing behind him like a shadow too reluctant to flee. Frost crunched beneath his boots. Above, gas lamps flickered and buzzed, casting elongated silhouettes that bent around corners and whispered back at him.

He lowered his gaze to the parchment in his gloved hand.

Four names, neatly written.

Raewyn 

Nivali 

Valemont

Irontooth

He traced the last name with a finger, then knocked.

Lord Vladimir Irontooth looked up from his desk. Snow coiled past the high, arched windows like ghosts chasing one another in the wind. He hadn’t expected visitors. Not at this hour. Not with everything falling apart.

He set the quill down with care.

The office was cold. It was always cold. But this was the kind of chill that came from something deeper than winter.

His mind spun with diplomats’ questions, citizen complaints, missing persons reports. Everyone wanted answers.

The door opened slowly. No guards, no servants. Just Vlad.

Lord Vladimir Irontooth was not what legends promised. He was tall, yes. Regal, sure. But his silver hair had dulled, and his once-proud shoulders sagged beneath the velvet weight of his title. He looked more like a sleepless father than a ruling lord.

The man standing there looked carved from shadow. Not just cloaked... composed of something darker than fabric. Vlad's breath caught.

The stranger didn’t speak, but Vlad knew what he was. The garment. The bearing. The stillness.

His voice was low and raw. "A Zeolite..."

“You’re far from the Void, priest,” Vlad said. His voice sounded older than it should’ve. “Why have you come here?”

The figure gave a small, deferential bow. “I have come to offer you peace, Lord Irontooth.”

“Peace?” Vlad’s eyebrow raised. “I’ve seen your kind deliver nothing but war and lies.”

The stranger tilted his head, as if amused. “Your assumptions are decades outdated. I am Deacon Hush.”

Vlad didn’t move. His instincts screamed. He should call the guard. He should slam the door. But…

There was something else. Something ancient in the way the man looked at him. Like a peer.

“…What do you want?”

“To rewrite your story,” Hush said. “To sever the weight from your neck and offer you a different ending.”

 “What are you talking about?”

“You are not meant for this cage,” Hush said gently. “I know what you were. What you wanted. Before the burden. Before the title. A man who dreamed of warmth. Of children. Of rest.”

Something burned in Vlad’s chest. He stepped back. His mind went to Graham and Mitsuha, now dead... and to Jekyll, not exactly living, nor loving.

Vlad looked past him, out into the snow. No guards. No one watching. Only the wind, and this man who should not be here.

“…And what would it cost?” he asked.

“A name. A memory. And the part of you that still believes this world can be mended.”

Vlad shut his eyes. His mind wandered through his history, the Nivali manor and Lady Dame Sylair. His friendship with Drogo when Glacikaldr still stood. And to Lord Revan, and how he regretted not staying in better contact with his friend.

When he opened them again, Hush was already inside.

Hush walked to the center of the room and began unpacking items from a velvet-lined satchel. The air grew still, as if waiting.

From the folds of his robe, he produced a ring of obsidian teeth and placed them gently on the floor in a perfect circle, their biting edges turned inward. Within that circle, he scattered black sand, powdered jawbone, and four iron nails- two bent, one broken, one untouched.

Then came the leeches. Small, translucent creatures swimming in a jar of thick, ink-dark fluid. Chronovores. Time-drinkers.

Vlad flinched at the sight.

“This is the Unholy Retcon,” Hush murmured. “Old magic. Forgotten by most. But not all.”

“I… don’t know if I want this,” Vlad muttered. His breath fogged in the cold.

“You do,” Hush said, without turning. “But the part of you that was bent into royalty resists healing. Let it go.”

“I still have duties,” Vlad whispered.

“You have ghosts.”

“…And Garmrdis?” Vlad asked, barely more than a whisper.

“Will forget you. As you will have forgotten it.”

A silence stretched between them.

Then Hush took out a mirror, fogged and cracked. He held it up to Vlad. “Look.”

Vlad’s reflection stared back. Gaunt. Heavy-eyed. Hollow.

“This is the mask the world put on you,” Hush said. “Let me take it off.”

Vlad stepped into the circle, slowly. “Do it.”

Hush nodded. He drew a spiral in the sand with a carved bone stylus, then placed the mirror in the center. He reached into the jar and lifted one leech, its body pulsing. It writhed in his palm.

“This will drink your past,” Hush said. “Only what burdens. Not what you love.”

He pressed the leech against Vlad’s wrist.

It latched.

Vlad gasped. A dizzying rush flooded his senses... images unwinding like smoke: Council chambers. Emeraldite Prison. War. Papers. Names. Steel. Ice. Pain. Endless winters of duty.

The mirror fogged further. His reflection blurred, softened.

Hush began the chant, low and rhythmic:

"Time undone and tale unspoke,

Chains unlinked- the burden broke,

Face forgotten, all made still,

Rewrite the name, unleash the will."

The leech twitched violently, bloated with time, then split with a wet pop. Smoke hissed from the wound, curling upward.

The iron nails blackened. The mirror cracked in a perfect circle.

Vlad dropped to his knees, breathing hard. But lighter. His chest no longer felt like a tomb.

Vlad looked at the broken mirror one last time.

"Farewell... Vlad."

Hush looked into his eyes, and Vlad awoke somewhere else. In a bed. Beside him was a woman, he recognized her... his wife. Outside the window dawn was cracking through the curtain. The snow had stopped falling, for the first time in years.