X / How a Hero Becomes a Villain

Then.
Nine years ago.

"Vera?" The Man's voice comes from where he sits across from her in the black coach. "What is your name?"

Her eyes snap to him, wary. She had already told him her name, so that meant... that meant he is not asking for her name but for her family's. Vera presses her lips together, silent.

"You do not have to ever carry it again if you do not want the burden of the family name you were born with. You can choose a new one."

Vera is chewing on her lip, thinking. "I want to be called Alekson," she finally says, remembering a Ravkan trader her father used to meet with. The man had always been nice to her and her sisters and not just her two brothers. He had always given them candy when her father wasn't looking or little presents from where he'd been last. One day, he had just stopped visiting and Vera had never seen him again. His name had been Alekson, too.

"That's a lovely name." He says. Again, it sounds like he is talking to a frightened animal he wants to befriend. Like he has encountered something lethal and wants, not to oppress it, but to ally with it.

Nobody has ever talked to Vera like that. Like having harsh edges and teeth and her piercing glacier eyes is a blessing and not a curse for a girl like her.

"But Vera. Something has scared you enough to run through the Fjerda and into Permafrost without any supplies or knowledge of the landscapes. And I don't think you would be so afraid to tell me your family name if it had nothing to so with them." He pauses, his voice going to infinitely gentle. "If you don't tell me this, then I cannot protect you from it."

Vera pauses, sending him a glance.

The idea of revealing this truth about her to the stranger rebelled against everything she had told herself, everything she believed to be beneficial for her survival. But... but what if her father found her? What if the Drüskelle came marching to them and demanded her back? Could they start a war for harboring a Fjerdan Grisha?

What if... what if he told the king?

She curls and uncurls her fingers into fists. But the man had saved her. He could've just thrown her aside. And he was the Black General. The Darkling. He was the leader of the Grisha. And she had heard enough from eavesdropping on conversations to know that he protected them.

She is a Grisha, too, Fjerdan or not.

And nobody ever looked at her like that. Like that wolfblood inside her wasn't a hindrance. Like it made her more, better. Like she could be more. More than what tradition and life in Fjerda dictated her to be. More than just a daughter and a wife and a mother. More than the death sentence awaiting her if her abilities were ever to be uncovered

Like Vera, at last, could be herself. Fire-girl and wolf-girl and all other little pieces at once.

Vera glances at the Darkling and nods. She tells him everything.

━━━━━━━━━━

Now.

An unnatural sort of calm enveloped Vera the next morning when she followed the procession of the other Grisha to the skiff. It feels like the calm inside the eye of a storm. At their head was the Darkling with Alina. The sight of Alina, numb and defeated, might've broken whatever part of Vera still felt whole that morning if she had not been so busy scouring the crowd around them for the Fjerdan ambassadors that had arrived for the trip through the Fold.

The Darkling had informed her about them himself and this morning, while the camp had still been asleep, Genya had slipped into her tent and had tailored Vera's features. Not enough for it to be noticeable in one look, but still enough to be sufficient.

Yet, the fear that one of the men from her home country might recognize her still held a tight grip on Vera's attention. It eclipsed everything else, the worries and the excitement for what they were doing today. And for the first time in weeks, even the Darkling and Alina and what had happened between them during the fete and Tsibeya was not the only thing on her mind.

When they reach the large skiff, flying the Darkling's colors, only a handful of the Grisha present continue with the Darkling onboard, the entrance closing behind them.

As Vera takes care to hang back in their ground, she watches the Darkling guide Alina through the crowd gathered on the skiff. Instinctively, when the two approach the group of Fjerdan ambassadors, she scans the group for familiar faces. There are a few - in her father's house nobles and high ranking Fjerdans used to come visit for a dinner or just to discuss whatever topic they deemed important enough that day. It had happened often enough that, even after six years, Vera could still put most faces and names together, especially since she'd kept herself up to date with the developments of Fjerdan politics.

The Fjerdan group is guarded by a small group of young men, which really isn't surprising to Vera. She'd expected them to take a larger number if she was honest. Also unsurprisingly, she is fairly certain that a few of them must also be Drüskelle, or at least Drüskelle in training.

At least one of them is, and when she meets his pale blue eyes, her mouth dries. Vera's chest squeezes painfully.

Quickly, Vera looks away as the three Squallers assigned to the skiff's sails draw wind into them and the skiff moves forward with a small jolt.

This time, when the skiff is drawn closer to the looming mass of darkness, Vera is prepared for it. She knows what is coming, which is the smallest consolation she has and she lets her heart cling to it even as her mind is whirling with thoughts. With questions.

Her hands, clasped together behind her back as she stands rigid, at attention, clench together. Her nails digging into the skin of her palms in a desperate effort to ground herself as they enter the Fold and its darkness surrounds her.

This time, it is easier to be blind. To be helpless. To keep the death pressing in on her at bay. It's not easier to push down the rising chokehold of her panic, even though it is for entirely different reasons.

Had the Drüskelle seen her? He'd looked directly at her. Their eyes had met. But... had he recognized her for who she was? A Fjerdan girl believed dead by her own family? Or just another Grisha who'd arrived at the Little Palace.

They shouldn't care. They don't care where the Grisha in the Second Army are from, only that they are Grisha. And while they were actively hunting Grisha all over the world and bringing them to the Ice Court, Fjerda never laid claim on those Grisha who'd fled from their land to Ravka, even not to put them on trial. They had never demanded that the Ravka's king, or the Darkling should hand over the Fjerdan Grisha in their ranks.

Still, Vera cannot stop her mind from going round and round in this direction. What if Fjerda's king had given them some sort of special order?

"Burn."

The Darkling's command comes from the front of the skiff and Vera's eyes snap to him. In the light of the Inferni fire erupting around her she can see that he has turned back to the crowd, surveying all present.

It's those cold, granite eyes that send Vera's mind hurtling back into the present. And push her to realize his command. A command to all Inferni. Including her.

Taking a step back to create some space for her fire, Vera pulls out a flint from her pocket that she always carries around if she needs to use it in front of others and strikes the flint. Within a few moments, the sparks from the object bloom into a plume of fire that Vera directs into the sky, following the others. Creating a beacon for the volcra.

As their fire illuminates the sky, Vera can hear the mass of wingbeats drawing nearer and nearer. Around her, the crowd starts to shift. It's all those who aren't Grisha, who have never seen Alina in action, Vera realizes. If they had, they'd know that it wasn't the volcra or the Fold they should fear. Not with Alina's light to protect them. Because Alina would never recant her light and let them all just die for no reason.

What they should fear was the fact that it isn't Alina's light anymore.

Out of their own volition, Vera's eyes wander back to the group of Fjerdans. Illuminated in orange and red from the fire above and around the skiff, Vera can see their lips moving. She can almost hear the familiar prayers being carried all the way to her ears, even though there's too much noise between them for the words to ever reach her physically. They don't need to. They're etched so deep into her memory, only death would take them away. And even then, Vera sometimes thinks that that might not be enough.

That she will forever be a paradox of Fjerdan and Grisha, their god and her Summoner powers. Their culture and a girl with claws and teeth.

Her stomach nearly bottoms out, twisting in a way that made cold sweat break out across her body when she sees that the Drüskelle disguised as a bodyguard is still looking at her.

This time, she cannot look away. His eyes are unreadable, but he doesn't break the contact even as, at last, Alina's light blooms around them and Vera lets go of her fire, letting it blow out.

In the sunlight his blue eyes and light-golden hair are so pale, they nearly seem colorless from the distance. Even the screeches of terror coming from the volcra, even as a miracle was performed in front of them and Alina creates a channel of sunlight through the Fold, Vera does not break it. Even when whispers rise around her and she knows that, at last, they are approaching. It's like a tether binding her to that Drüskelle.

Below her, the skiff slows and somewhere, in the back of her mind Vera thinks that it is too soon. That they have not quite reached the docks in West Ravka yet. That they should still be going, even if just for a few moments.

She never even sees the Darkling raise his hands. The clap of thunder as he brings his hands together is nothing more than background noise in her whirling mind. In that reality looking back on her.

Only when the screams start, does reality come crashing into her. Telling her that something is very, very wrong.

Vera snaps her eyes away from him to see what happened.

And when she does, her world break clean in two.

No. No. No... Horror and disbelief crash through her and above all one thought. This can't be happening. She has to be seeing things. Because the Darkling, the man who'd saved her so and brought her to a place where she was not hunted and gave her a home would never do this.

Vera staggers a step back and now she can, at last, hear Alina's voice. But she cannot move. She can't even speak. She's choking on her pain and terror and she cannot breathe around it.

All she can do is to keep standing, to force her trembling legs to keep strong as the darkness grows, devouring everything in it's path.

A sound of utter agony escapes Vera's throat as the Darkling, the Darkling, the man who had saved her, turns back to the crowd gathered on the ship. At last, he separates his hands and the growing darkness halts.

A tear slips down Vera's cheeks, then another. She barely notices it. All she can hear is the dying of Novokribirsk.

The Fold. He had expended the Fold.

Oh god. Oh god. Is this your punishment for what we are? Vera thinks miserably, old superstition and her own beliefs, her own beliefs in this man and his vision, a vision she had fought for, bled for, warring inside her.

Around the skiff, Alina's light pulls back until it is barely a dome around the outer edges of it, holding nothing but the transport inside itself.

"What have you done?" The Ravkan envoy at last speaks into the horrified silence of the skiff.

"Do you need to see more?"

"You were meant to undo this abomination. Not enlarge it. You've slaughtered Ravkans! The king will never stand-"

"The king will do as he is told. Or I will march the Shadowfold to the walls of Os Alta itself."

Vera is trembling violently as the words reach her. The indifference and cruelty in them and, at last, the mask comes off.

Something deeply rooted inside her heart cleaves into tiny, sharp splinters. The crack is so loud, she can hear it ringing in her ears. And inside her chest, those splinters draw out a clawing, open wound. Bleeding relentlessly. Choking all that she thought was true.

Or I will march the Shadowfold to the walls of Os Alta itself.

She thinks she might be sick, her stomach roiling as the Darkling turns from the Ravkan envoy to the ambassadors.

"I think you understand me now. There are no Ravkans, no Fjerdans, no Kerch, no Shu Han. There are no more borders and there will be no more wars. From now on, there is only the land inside the Fold and the outside of it. And there will be peace. "

Peace, Vera thinks bitterly. This is no peace. This is an iron-barred prison.

"Peace on your terms?" One of the Shu Han ambassadors spits, and for the first time in many years, Vera agrees with their countrymen.

"It will not stand!" A Fjerdan added.

"Peace on my terms," The Darkling says, not even phased. "Or your precious mountains, or your saints forsaken tundra will simply cease to exist."

The noose around Ravka's neck closes. And Vera realizes that it is not just around Ravka, but all. Fjerda and Shu Han. Around every single person on this continent. Every single corner of the world, even beyond the true sea.

Letting his eyes wander over the soldiers, First and Second Army alike, the Darkling continues. "Tell the story of what you have seen today. Tell everyone that the days of fear and uncertainty are over. The days of endless fighting are over. Tell them that you saw a new age begin."

Around Vera, a cheer goes up and Vera feels the nausea rising. She had followed this man. Believed in him blindly, without ever thinking twice. Even after Tsibeya, when all the warning signs had been there, she had not been able to imagine it. The sheer impossibility of the atrocious acts he was willing to coming.

Acts she had helped him commit.

Through the crowd, Vera's pale glacier eyes, wide and filled with terror, find their mirror images. In them, too, she can see the same emotions warring. She is a member of the Second Army. He is a Drüskelle. They both know what it means to be a soldier.

The Darkling signals Ivan and he shoves Mal over the edge of the railing. Vera makes a desperate step towards them and he shakes his head at her. A silent plea and command at once.

Don't move. Don't move and don't make a sound. Get off the skiff safely and then get out the moment you see a chance.

In the front of the skiff, Alina runs to the railing, fighting against Ivan, desperation on her face. Vera's eyes flick from her to the Drüskelle and back, again and again. That horrible, yawning chasm in her chest opens and stretches, devouring everything in its path until her heart is a desolate wasteland.

"Hold." The Darkling says and Ivan sends Alina a dark look, holding her in place.

Alina, Vera thinks agonized as the light pulls tighter around the ship and away from Mal on the sand. Alina.

Her eyes go back to the Drüskelle with pale-golden hair and piercing glacier eyes. Still looking at her, ready to fight. Not for his ambassadors, but for her. As he always had, even when they were little.

She couldn't.

She hated herself for it, but she couldn't. His life was the one thing, Vera could bear to not lose.

Vaugn first, she tells herself, a hopeless kind of determination settling her. She would get Vaugn away first, and then she would find Alina and get her out. No matter what.

Vera nods at him, the smallest jerk of her chin and something like relief flashes through his eyes. A silent agreement. They might get out or they might go down. But they would do it together. She knows with utter certainty, that no matter where she goes, Vaugn will follow her. It doesn't matter if she's Grisha or if he'd believed her dead all those years. It didn't even matter that he would be a deserter.

If she asked him to save Alina with her, to fight a lost cause he would without a second thought. She had seen it when he handed her that blade and taught her the basics of hos to defend herself, ignoring the customs and tradition in their country. And she had seen it in his eyes when they first saw each other on the skiff. Those eyes that they had both inherited from their mother.

Around them, light blooms with new ferocity, growing and expanding and Vera turns her gaze back to the front of the skiff. To where Alina is standing, staring over the railing of the skiff. Understanding strikes Vera. She wasn't sure how, but, at last Alina's light was Alina's again.

Through the force of her raging emotions, pride trickles through Vera. Replaced by panic as the Darkling screams at the guards to get Alina.

She can see Alina slashing her arm, the movement tugging on a cord of memory just as a crack comes from above them.

One of the mast breaks under the force of Alina's cut and crashes into the skiff.

Before she can think twice, Vera moves. Gritting her teeth, she shoves her way through the crowd, desperately trying to get through to them as Alina runs for the railing and her light vanishes. Around her, she can hear people screaming. Vera doesn't care. She doesn't go for any of them. Not for the other Grisha, not for the ambassadors screaming in terror. Not even for the Darkling.

Vera goes for her brother.

As the volcra descend on them and Inferni fire plumes from the other Grisha, a scream escapes her. A single name. In the flickering light, she can see he is already moving through the crowd, pushing the others away, Fjerdans and foreigners alike, abandoning his post without a second thought. Through the clamor she barely hear the words from his mouth, but she can see his lips move and she knows.

One name, over an over.

Vera.