The fortress faded behind them, swallowed by the dimming horizon. Roland kept his eyes forward, forcing himself not to glance back. Tarrus would consolidate the barrier soon, sealing the fortress and its horrors away. By then, they needed to be far beyond its reach.

  They moved with steady, measured steps, the ground crunching beneath their boots. The land stretched vast and quiet before them, open plains giving way to scattered thickets, the occasional boulder standing like an ancient sentinel. Night crept closer, the first stars blinking into view, distant and cold.

  Todd limped slightly, favoring his right leg. Nallensen walked beside him, upright despite the exhaustion that clung to his every movement. He carried himself with the kind of dignity that refused to yield, even when battered.

  When the fortress was little more than a shadow in the distance, Celeste finally spoke.

  “You two should go to Fraella,” she said, her voice even but gentle. “It would be a good place for you both.”

  Nallensen’s head turned slightly, his expression unreadable. “Fraella,” he murmured, as if weighing the name in his mind. “I know of it.” His gaze flicked toward Todd. “A city of refuge. A place where the lost may find shelter even a crossbreed like Todd.”

  Celeste nodded. “It’s where you’ll have the best chance to recover.”

  Nallensen exhaled, his breath steady. “I do know some within its walls. Men and women of honor. It could serve as a sanctuary for Todd, at least.” His eyes darkened slightly. “But I am not certain I would be welcome.”

  Celeste’s expression softened. “They won’t turn you away.”

  Nallensen remained silent for a moment before inclining his head. “Perhaps.”

  Roland watched the exchange, unsure if Nallensen was convinced or simply too tired to argue. The man carried himself with the bearing of someone who had once known true authority, but now walked with the gait of a man who had lost too much.

  After a few paces, Nallensen turned his gaze toward Celeste. “And what of you?”

  She met his eyes without hesitation. “I made a promise to the people of Fraella,” she said simply. “I intend to guide those who are lost back to their homeworlds.”

  A flicker of something passed through Nallensen’s expression. Amusement, perhaps. Or something older.

  “That is a noble sentiment,” he said. “But you are not strong enough to see it through.”

  Roland’s hands clenched, but Celeste merely smiled, unshaken by his bluntness. “I know,” she admitted. “But I will be.”

  Nallensen studied her, and for a moment, there was something almost like approval in his gaze.

  “It will take more than resolve,” he warned.

  Celeste inclined her head. “I understand that.” She took a breath, choosing her next words carefully. “When the time comes… will you aid us?”

  Nallensen’s gaze turned thoughtful, distant. “A debt repaid with service,” he mused. “Such a promise could grant me passage into Fraella.”

  Celeste gave a small nod. “It could.”

  Silence stretched between them as Nallensen considered her request. Then, finally, he nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I will aid you when the time comes.”

  Relief flickered in Celeste’s eyes, but before she could speak, Nallensen raised a hand. “On one condition.”

  She lifted a brow. “Name it.”

  His expression turned solemn, his voice quieter but no less firm. “When I call upon you, when the time is right. I want you to aid me in rescuing my wife.”

  Celeste and Roland exchanged a glance. There was no hesitation in either of their eyes.

  “We will,” Celeste promised.

  Roland exhaled slowly. “We don’t know how long it’ll take,” he admitted. “To be strong enough.”

  Nallensen gave a faint, knowing smile. “Then you would do well to train swiftly.”

  The wind stirred around them, rustling the dry grass at their feet. The agreement hung in the air like an unspoken oath, binding them all to something larger than themselves.

  Without another word, Todd and Nallensen continued to walk on, leaving Roland and Celeste behind.

  The fire crackled softly, sending flickers of warm light dancing against the trees. The night stretched vast and quiet around them, broken only by the distant calls of night creatures and the occasional rustle of wind through the underbrush. Celeste leaned back against a fallen log, stretching out her legs, while Roland sat cross-legged beside the fire, absently running his fingers over the worn edge of his sword.

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  Celeste exhaled slowly. “We have too much to do.”

  Roland gave a small nod, his gaze fixed on the fire. “Close the gates. Stop more of the corrupted from getting through. Help the Lost Ones of Fraella return to their homeworlds.” His grip on his sword tightened slightly. “And now, help Nallensen take down a Chaosborn Marshal.”

  Celeste let out a quiet, dry laugh. “It sounds impossible when you say it all at once.”

  Roland gave her a look. “It is impossible. At least, as we are now.”

  Celeste nodded in agreement. The truth of it was undeniable. They were not strong enough—not yet. No matter how much they fought, how much they trained, the challenges ahead would demand more. More power. More skill. More knowledge.

  Roland unhooked his sword and leaned back, tilting his head toward the sky. “It all comes down to one thing,” he murmured. “We need to get stronger.”

  Celeste stared into the fire for a long moment before nodding. “And the fastest way to do that,” she said, voice firm, “is to close more gates.”

  Roland met her gaze, his silver-flecked eyes reflecting the firelight. “Then that’s what we focus on.”

  He still had so much to improve. His mark, his connection to Mortana, his divine payments—if he wanted enchanted equipment worthy of a Veil Keeper, he needed to earn it. And that meant more gates closed, more service rendered, more proof that he was worthy of the power he sought.

  Celeste stretched her arms over her head, letting out a quiet sigh as the morning sun cast a golden glow over the clearing. The scent of crisp air and damp earth mixed with the faint aroma of their simple breakfast—dried meat, travel bread, and a handful of berries Celeste had gathered before dawn. She sat cross-legged on a smooth rock, lazily chewing on a piece of fruit, while Roland sat across from her, sharpening his sword with slow, deliberate strokes.

  They had been travelling together for a while now, but he had let too many questions go unanswered. Out here, alone in the quiet of morning, it was time.

  He let the silence linger a moment longer, then spoke.

  “They called you Treekiller back at the fortress, I also heard it in Fraella.” His voice was even, but his eyes were sharp. “I didn’t ask then. But I want to know now. What is that about?”

  Celeste stilled. She had known this would come up sooner or later, but still, she wasn’t ready. She let out a slow breath, tilting her head back to look at the stars.

  “It’s an ugly name,” she admitted. “But it’s not unearned.”

  Roland said nothing, waiting.

  She ran a hand over her arm, lost in thought for a moment before speaking again. “You know that worlds come in pairs, don’t you? Two sides of the same coin?”

  Roland nodded. He had heard the stories, the myths.

  “Viridara and Mortalis were one such pair,” Celeste continued. “Bound together in ways deeper than even the gods fully understood. Life and Death. Growth and Rest.” She sighed, her fingers tracing absent patterns against the dirt. “When the War of the Veil Keepers began, the Deathborn chose to side with the Chaosborn faction against the gods. And with that choice, the world began to unravel.”

  Roland frowned. “I thought the Deathborn followed Mortana.”

  “They did,” Celeste said softly. “But Mortana did not join them.”

  Roland’s brows furrowed. “They turned against their own god?”

  Celeste met his gaze. “They believed she had abandoned them.”

  A chill settled over Roland’s skin.

  “The war that followed was unlike anything the worlds had ever seen,” Celeste went on. “Many horrors were unleashed. Beasts beyond reason. Magic twisted into things it was never meant to be. But the worst of them—the most insidious—was the corruption.”

  She paused, as if listening to the wind, then shook her head. “I don’t know where it came from. I don’t think anyone does. But it spread like wildfire, and it did not just kill, it changed things. Twisted them into something... wrong.”

  Roland listened in silence, his mind painting grim images of what she described.

  “Mortalis was the first to fall,” Celeste continued. “Its World Tree—the great heart of the Deathborn—became infected. It sickened, and the Deathborn grew desperate. They came to us, to the Lifeborn, seeking our help to cure it.”

  She swallowed, her voice quieter now. “We agreed. We tried.”

  Roland noticed the shift in her tone. “But it didn’t work.”

  Celeste’s jaw tightened. “No.”

  She took a slow breath before continuing. “The tree could not be saved. It was too far gone. The corruption had taken root too deeply, twisting through its veins, poisoning the land and veil alike. We had only one choice.”

  Roland already knew what she was going to say.

  “We cut it down,” Celeste said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  The fire crackled between them, filling the heavy silence.

  Roland exhaled slowly. “And that started the war.”

  Celeste nodded. “The Deathborn saw it as betrayal. As murder.” Her eyes darkened. “And perhaps they weren’t wrong.”

  Roland studied her face, the way the firelight flickered across her blue skin, the weight she carried in her voice. “You were there?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I was already dead. I’ve only just learned of this history recently”

  Roland blinked.

  Celeste’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know how the war ended. I wasn’t there to see it.” She hesitated. “But I do know what happened next.”

  Roland leaned forward slightly. “What?”

  “Viridara tree also fell.”

  Celeste’s expression was unreadable. “The Lifeborn’s own World Tree was cut down.”

  Roland narrowed his eyes. “By the Deathborn? At least that is what we were taught”

  “That’s what most believe.” She looked into the flames, her voice quiet. “But it isn’t true.”

  Roland stiffened.

  Celeste glanced up at him. “I have spent years gathering what fragments of truth I could. And the truth is…” She exhaled slowly. “We did it.”

  Roland stared at her. “The Lifeborn… cut down our tree?”

  Celeste nodded. “It had been infected. Just like Mortalis.”

  Roland’s stomach twisted. “Why was that hidden?”

  Celeste gave a bitter smile. “Because it broke us. I’m guessing it’s a shame we didn’t want everyone to know”

  She ran a hand over her face, the exhaustion evident in her voice. “The shame of what we had done, of what we had to do—it was too much. The Lifeborn could not live with it. So they disappeared.”

  “Into the Veil,” Roland murmured.

  Celeste nodded. “Some took their own lives. Others walked into the Veil and never returned. They vanished, leaving only ruins and whispers behind.”

  Roland exhaled sharply, trying to take it all in. He had never heard this part of the story. No one had.

  He looked at her again, really looked at her. The last of her kind. The only one left to bear the weight of what had happened.

  “Treekiller,” he murmured.

  Celeste smiled faintly. “Now you understand.”

  Roland wasn’t sure if he did. Not fully.

  But he understood this much:

  The past was a wound that had never healed.

  And Celeste carried its scar.