My friend,
I saw a girl today while visiting the DeVeth household.
Just a servant—small, brown-haired, nothing that would draw a second glance. The sort of thing you’d forget the moment you left the room. But when our eyes met, a familiar sensation sparked along my spine. Faint, but unmistakable.
There is magic in her. Buried deep. Untouched. Hidden so well even she may not know.
Her name is Isobel Rarkett. Lord DeVeth claims ignorance, but he’s agreed to hold her until I return. There is potential there—one we may shape, if she survives what lies ahead.
The time for whispers is nearly over. The Queen clutches the throne with bloodied hands, but the world beneath her crumbles. The faithful stir. The bound begin to remember.
We must act before they awaken without guidance.
Send the Holding Stones to Roseola. No delays. I will arrive within the fortnight. The final pieces are moving into place. When the veil lifts, we will be ready.
Let them call it rebellion. Let them name us traitors.
History will remember us as the ones who broke the chains.
Keep faith.
Doran