There was a knock at the door.
The general raised a brow. "At this hour?" he muttered. He swung his legs off the stool and made his way through the dim hallway.
When he opened the door, the figure standing there was unmistakable—draped in black, hair as white as snow, staff in hand. It had been years, but the presence was as familiar as ever.
"Why, hello there, Vellichor," the general said. "But how did you manage to get past all the guards?"
He gave a smirk. "Do try to remember who I am. Around here, I'm not feared—I'm honored. And your men know the mage in black is a friend to their general."
The general chuckled but then noticed the smaller figure at Vell's side.
She bowed politely. "Hello."
Her accent was unusual—foreign, maybe—but her manners were impeccable.
Ever the gentleman, the general returned the bow. "Greetings."
He looked back to the white-haired mage. "And who is this?"
"This?" he said, almost musing to himself. "This is my daughter. Sonder. The Dread Mage's Blackbird."
The general glanced between them, one thick brow rising. "Your daughter? Well, I'll be damned." Then, realizing the strength of his language, he cleared his throat. "Pardon me."
He stepped aside without further question. "Come in. Both of you."
The house sat behind fortified walls, guarded by soldiers who nodded with a mix of caution and respect as Vellichor passed. They immediately knew who he was. No one questioned his presence.
Inside, the general led them through a stone corridor hung with faded war banners and into a wide parlor warmed by a fire and scented faintly of old smoke and leather. He gestured toward the leather-bound chairs. "Sit."
Sonder did, folding her hands neatly in her lap.
She didn't look much like Vellichor, the general noted. But she carried herself well. Quiet and composed.
Vell lingered near the shelves, tapping the floor lightly with his staff as he paced. The rhythm echoed faintly through the chamber before he finally took his seat beside her.
The general leaned forward. "I haven't seen you in—what? Three decades? And now you have a child. Tell me, did you and Lady Limerence finally do away with all that scholarly distance and conjure up a little magic of a different kind?"
He kept his tone careful—forward, yes, but not crude. He was still a soldier, but not a boor. Not with a girl in the room.
"Nothing of the sort. Limerence remains what she always was—too elegant, too clever, and, regrettably, too enamored with theory to make time for anything resembling romance."
The general snorted. "But still beautiful."
"She is," Vell allowed, "but she's the kind of wife one only ever marries in name and idea. If she ever found out I said more than that, I'd be cursed out of existence."
The general eyed him for a moment longer, as if trying to pry a deeper truth loose with nothing but suspicion and silence. When that yielded nothing, he leaned back in his chair. "So then. Where did the girl come from?"
Vell gave Sonder a sideways glance.
"She's mine," he said, after a pause. "That's all that matters. And she's a mage. A strong one."
"A Blackbird, you called her."
"Any mage worth their salt deserves a title."
The general looked to her again, this time with more weight behind his gaze.
Then something caught his eye. As the edge of her coat shifted, he noticed a faint metallic gleam beneath the fabric—right at her chest.
The general's tone shifted—careful, as matter-of-fact as he could manage. "Not to sound the alarm too quickly, old chap, but… is there something in your daughter's chest?"
Vell looked as if just remembering. "Ah. That." He waved a hand dismissively. "Call it a magical experiment. She's perfectly healthy, I assure you. Nothing to worry about. Unless she accidentally tears a hole in your furniture, of course."