Isaac leaned against the massive stone obelisk, arms crossed, head slightly tilted.

  “Alright.” he said, voice casual. “So you were locked up because you were remembered.”

  Veyra didn’t respond.

  Isaac exhaled, tapping a gloved finger against his arm.

  “See, I’ve been thinking about that.”

  He gestured vaguely to their surroundings. The dark, whispering ruins, the sealed chamber, the feeling of being inside something that wasn’t quite real.

  “You don’t lock someone away just because they were remembered.”

  His mask tilted slightly.

  “You lock them away because they did something.”

  Silence.

  Then, Veyra smiled.

  “You assume I am here because of an action.” she said, stepping closer. “And not because of what I am.”

  Isaac raised an eyebrow beneath his mask.

  “So you’re saying you didn’t do something bad?”

  Veyra chuckled softly.

  “I am saying that whether something is bad depends on who is left to tell the story.”

  That was… an interesting way to phrase it.

  Isaac let out a slow hmm.

  Then, in one smooth motion..

  He reached into his inventory, pulled out a wooden folding chair, and sat down.

  Isaac adjusted his posture, stretching one leg out, getting comfortable.

  Veyra stared.

  “…What are you doing?”

  Isaac gestured lazily. “Sitting.”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Veyra blinked once.

  Isaac leaned back slightly. “What? You want one too?”

  She studied him for a long moment.

  Then, for the first time, her expression faltered slightly.

  Not in confusion.

  Not in anger.

  But in something that looked almost like disbelief.

  As if no one had ever asked her that before.

  Isaac watched her reaction, tapping his fingers against the chair’s armrest.

  “You can say no.” he said casually.

  Veyra glanced at the empty space beside him.

  Then, just as casually.

  She lifted a hand, and from the air itself, a chair took form.

  Not wooden. Not mundane.

  Something woven from the void. Made of shifting strands of dark mist and silent memories.

  She then sat.

  And for the first time, the two of them were on even ground.

  Isaac watched her, hands clasped lazily in his lap.

  “So..” he said, “..what did you do?”

  Veyra exhaled through her nose, amused.

  “You are persistent.”

  “I’m curious.”

  Veyra’s dark, endless eyes studied him.

  “Curiosity is dangerous.”

  “So is running an entire courier business with half the world trying to kill you,” Isaac shot back. “Yet, here I am.”

  Veyra smirked slightly.

  “Very well.”

  She leaned back slightly in her void-made chair.

  “I was not locked away for a crime.” she said.

  Isaac listened carefully.

  “I was not sealed here for betrayal. For murder. For power.”

  Her fingers traced the armrest of her chair, as if she were touching something long forgotten.

  “I was locked away because I refused to be erased.”

  Isaac’s fingers stilled.

  “…Erased?”

  Veyra nodded. “You have seen it already, have you not? How history is shaped by those who survive to tell it?”

  Isaac’s mind flickered to the Iron Hounds.

  To how they had tried to control trade by controlling him.

  To how they had rewritten the rules of his business until he rewrote them back.

  Yeah.

  He understood that concept very well.

  Veyra’s voice was quieter now.

  “There were those who wished to rewrite the world without me in it.”

  Her black eyes flickered slightly.

  “They almost succeeded.”

  Isaac leaned forward slightly.

  “But someone remembered.”

  “Yes.”

  “And that was enough to bring you back?”

  She smiled, though there was something bitter in it.

  “Not entirely.”

  Isaac tapped his knee. “Then what’s missing?”

  Veyra tilted her head.

  “Perhaps..” she mused, “..that is the real question.”

  Isaac let the conversation settle in his mind.

  Then, he glanced back at the massive stone door that had sealed behind him.

  “Think that thing can be opened?”

  Veyra followed his gaze.

  “That depends..” she said, “..on who tries.”

  Isaac stretched.

  “Well.. I’m not interested in dying down here, so…”

  His masked face turned toward her.

  “…Want to leave?”

  Veyra’s dark eyes met his.

  And then...

  She laughed.

  A soft, quiet sound, as if she hadn’t expected that question at all.

  Isaac just waited.

  Finally, Veyra stood.

  Her void-woven chair dissolved into mist.

  “Let us see.” she said, stepping toward the door.

  Isaac smirked beneath his mask, standing as well.

  “Well then.”

  He dusted off his coat.

  “Let’s go rewrite history.”