Roland exhaled slowly, forcing himself to his feet despite the lingering ache in his body. The battle was over, but their task wasn’t finished. The Veil Gate still loomed, its violet glow pulsing like a wound in the very fabric of reality.

  The air around it was thick, almost wrong, as if the world itself rejected its presence.

  “We shut it first, I don’t want any unexpected visitors to arrive,” Roland said, flexing his fingers as he tried to shake off the last of his injuries. “Then I’ll deal with the Dragle’s soul.”

  Celeste gave him a wary look, but nodded. “Right. Let’s get this over with.”

  They both approached the gate, the unnatural energy making the hairs on the backs of their necks stand on end. It was just like the others—unstable, bleeding corruption into the world. But something felt different this time.

  Roland ignored the unease and knelt, placing a hand on the ground near the swirling rift. Celeste mirrored him on the opposite side.

  Together, they recited the prayer.

  "Mother of roots, keeper of grace,

  Seal this wound in time and space.

  By pact of life, by ancient creed,

  We close this gate—fulfill the need."

  Roland joined her, their voices blending:

  "Guardian of bark, eternal guide,

  Let this passage now subside.

  By mortal will and sacred plea,

  Seal the path; so let it be."

  The Veil Gate shuddered.

  The energy pulsed violently, fighting against their will, but then—the resistance broke.

  Like a flame being snuffed out, the gate collapsed, the swirling void shrinking inward until nothing remained but stillness. The corruption that had seeped into the earth began to fade, as if reality itself was breathing a sigh of relief.

  Roland’s mark burned against his skin, and then—

  A flood of warmth rushed through both of them.

  Celeste gasped, gripping her chest as divine energy surged into her. Roland clenched his fists, barely suppressing a shudder as the same power coursed through him. It was far stronger than any divine payment they had received before.

  Celeste let out a sharp breath, shaking her hands as if trying to get rid of the strange tingling in her fingers. “That was… a lot.”

  Roland rolled his shoulders, trying to settle the energy still lingering in his bones. “More than last time.”

  Celeste scoffed. “Yeah, no kidding. That felt like the trees slapping us across the face and yelling ‘hurry up and fix the mess already’.”

  Roland huffed out a tired laugh. “Wouldn’t be the first time the gods were impatient.”

  She smirked, but the amusement faded as her gaze flickered toward the fallen Dragle. “Now… what about that?”

  Roland followed her gaze, his expression hardening.

  His Soul Gaze had been active since the battle ended. He had expected the Dragle’s soul to start moving on once the corruption was purged. That was how it worked. Souls wanted to return to the Circle.

  But this one?

  It hadn’t moved at all.

  Something was keeping it here.

  And Roland intended to find out why.

  Roland knelt beside the Dragle’s lifeless form, resting his hand gently against its cooling scales. The corrupted energy had long since faded, leaving behind only the remnants of what this creature had once been. He closed his eyes, steadying himself, and began the final prayer.

  "Mortana, Guide of the Lost, let this soul be cleansed."

  "Let the corruption be purged, let the path be clear."

  "Return to the Circle, find rest beyond the Veil."

  The air around him stirred. A faint shimmer of light pulsed from the Dragle’s form, its soul beginning to take shape—a lingering presence, waiting for release.

  Roland reached deep, summoning the ritual’s power, pushing the soul toward its rightful place. But instead of drifting toward the Circle, the Dragle’s spirit resisted.

  Roland frowned. This wasn’t normal.

  Again, he guided the soul forward, whispering the rites that had never failed him before. But still, the soul stayed. It wasn’t struggling. It wasn’t trapped.

  It was waiting.

  A sudden burning flared against his mark, sharp and insistent. Roland sucked in a breath, gritting his teeth as he pressed a hand to his chest. His mark had always responded to cleansing souls, but this was different. It was reacting.

  The sensation intensified, searing through his veins like something was trying to pull at him. And then—

  The Dragle’s soul moved.

  Not toward the Circle.

  Not into the Veil.

  Into him.

  Roland barely had time to process what was happening before the burning sensation spiked. His vision blurred, and for a brief moment, he saw it—

  A spiraling shape, curling inward like a vortex, contained within a perfect circle. A second mark, separate from his own, etched itself into his skin.

  And then the pain faded.

  Roland gasped, his breath ragged as he pressed a shaking hand to his forearm. The Dragle’s soul was gone but it hadn’t disappeared. It had bound itself to him.

  Celeste had watched the entire thing, and for the first time in a long while, she looked completely baffled.

  “Okay,” she said slowly. “That’s new.”

  Roland blinked, still trying to steady himself. “What… was that?”

  Celeste stepped closer, tilting her head as she examined his chest. The spiral mark was clearly visible, its lines faintly glowing before settling into his skin like it had always been there.

  “I have no idea,” she admitted, her voice unusually quiet. She reached out, brushing her fingers near the mark, as if expecting some reaction. “But whatever just happened… you have a new gift.”

  Roland flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulder, testing for something—but he felt no immediate change. No shift in power, no sudden surge of knowledge. Only the lingering weight of something unknown.

  Celeste exhaled. “This is beyond us.” She looked up at him, her expression serious. “We need answers.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Roland nodded slowly. “Agreed.”

  Celeste crossed her arms. “Fraella is the best place to start. If anyone knows what’s happening to you, it’s Nallensen.”

  Roland let out a breath, casting one last look at the place where the Dragle had fallen.

  Whatever had just happened, it wasn’t normal.

  And if Nallensen had the answers, then Fraella was their next destination.

  The journey back took three weeks. Three weeks of travel, battle, and relentless purpose.

  They had closed more gates along the way mostly small ones, but enough to make a difference. And they felt it.

  The change wasn’t immediate, but by the second week, it became undeniable.

  The normal corrupted were nothing to them now.

  Where once they had been wary, now they cut through them with ease. Their movements had sharpened, their reactions quicker, their attacks more precise. Celeste’s poisons worked faster, her healing more potent. Roland’s Soul Gaze had deepened, showing him not just intent, but patterns, the very flow of battle itself.

  And yet, despite all of this, he still hadn’t uncovered the truth of his new mark.

  The spiral within the circle remained an enigma. It gave him no visions, no instincts, no sense of new power. It simply existed—a quiet presence on his skin, waiting.

  By the time they reached Fraella, Roland had pushed the mystery to the back of his mind. They would find answers soon enough.

  The city rose before them Fraella a place of refuge, a home for those Motherborn who had nowhere else to go.

  As they passed through the gates, the locals recognized them.

  Celeste had always been known here, but Roland was surprised to see a few faces nod in respect as they passed.

  More surprising, however, was Nallensen’s presence.

  They found him easily, standing near the marketplace, speaking with a group of townsfolk. The moment he spotted them, his sharp eyes flickered with recognition. He excused himself from the conversation and strode toward them, his movements still carrying the grace of a noble but with an ease he hadn’t had when they last saw him.

  Celeste smirked. “Looks like you made yourself at home.”

  Nallensen’s expression remained measured, but there was a faint hint of amusement in his voice. “It seems I had you to thank for that.”

  Roland raised a brow. “They let you stay?”

  Nallensen inclined his head. “Word of my promise to aid you in returning the lost home reached the right ears.” His gaze settled on them, sharper now. “It was enough.”

  Celeste exchanged a glance with Roland before turning back to him. “Then I hope you don’t regret it.”

  Nallensen’s lips quirked in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Not yet.”

  Roland exhaled. “Good. Because we need your help.”

  For the first time, something in Nallensen’s expression shifted—curiosity, maybe even intrigue. He studied Roland closely, his gaze flickering toward his chest, where the new mark lay.

  Nallensen led them through the winding streets of Fraella, taking a path that avoided the busier roads. Roland and Celeste followed in silence, sensing his decision to speak somewhere hidden.

  Eventually, he stopped at an old stone building, a place that looked long abandoned. He pushed open the heavy wooden door, gesturing for them to enter before closing it behind them. Dust hung in the air, catching the faint light streaming through the cracked shutters.

  “This will do,” Nallensen muttered. He turned to Roland, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “Show me.”

  Roland pulled down his shirt, revealing the spiral mark within the circle. It still had that faint shimmer to it, as if it wasn't quite part of him.

  Nallensen stared for a long moment, then let out a quiet breath. “I didn’t expect this.”

  Celeste tilted her head. “You know what it is, then?”

  Nallensen nodded. “It’s called Soul Collection. A rare gift. One that most only ever hear stories about.”

  Roland frowned. “Soul Collection?”

  “It allows the user to collect the souls of willing wild souls,” Nallensen explained. “Animals, some monsters… creatures whose souls are strong enough to persist beyond death. Instead of moving on, they bind to you.”

  Celeste crossed her arms. “And why would they do that?”

  “Because they want to,” Nallensen said simply. “Some souls aren’t ready to leave. Some have unfinished purpose. They linger, waiting for something—or someone—to give them a chance at more or they feel indebted to them.”

  Roland stared down at the mark. “So the Dragle… chose this?”

  Nallensen nodded. “It wouldn’t have bound to you otherwise.”

  Roland exhaled, shaking his head. “Fine. But I haven’t been able to do anything with it. The soul is there, but it’s just… dormant.”

  Nallensen studied him for a moment, then nodded. “That makes sense. Either you’re not strong enough to tap into it yet, or it hasn’t fully accepted you.”

  Celeste raised a brow. “Accepted him?”

  “The bond goes both ways,” Nallensen explained. “You don’t just own the soul, Roland. You have to understand it, connect with it.” He turned back to Roland. “Once you do, you’ll gain access to its natural abilities.”

  Roland’s fingers flexed. “Abilities?”

  Nallensen gave a small smirk. “Every soul is different. But with a Dragle? I’d bet on hardened skin. Those things are built for endurance.”

  Celeste’s eyes gleamed. “That would explain why that javelin bounced off.”

  Roland exhaled slowly. The idea of borrowing a Dragle’s natural strength was… intriguing. But it still felt distant—like something just out of reach.

  “How do I unlock it?” he asked.

  Nallensen shrugged. “That’s something only you can figure out. The bond isn’t just about strength. It’s about understanding the soul you’ve taken in.”

  Current State