After the tea, Nallensen led them through the fortress with the grace of a host guiding honored guests through a noble estate. His servant followed a step behind, silent and watchful, though Roland still wasn’t sure if the man was human or something else entirely. The man's soul was strange and he didn’t know what that meant. The halls were grand, lined with intricate stonework and banners that bore sigils Roland didn’t recognise. It felt too pristine, too untouched by time, considering the horrors they had seen outside.

  Their first stop was a chamber deep within the fortress, past several reinforced doors that opened at Nallensen’s touch. The air inside was heavy, charged with something unnatural, and at the center of the room sat an artifact.

  It was a construct of obsidian and silver, shaped like an inverted pyramid, suspended in midair by chains of pulsing shadow. The moment Roland stepped closer, he felt something press against him, like an unseen gaze had settled on his soul.

  Nallensen gestured toward it, his tone casual, but there was something reverent beneath his words. “This is the foundation of my work,” he said. “An artifact of unknown origin, given to me by a benefactor who believed in my research.” He glanced at Celeste. “You asked me how I began? This was the answer.”

  Celeste folded her arms. “And you never questioned where it came from?”

  “Oh, I questioned.” Nallensen’s lips curled into a slight smile. “But answers are often less important than results. I spent twenty years studying it, deciphering its properties, refining my methods. I could never uncover any hidden functions, but my expertise does not lie in crafting or unravelling mysteries. Perhaps there is more to it, something I failed to see.”

  Roland narrowed his eyes. “And what powers it?”

  Nallensen gestured toward the shadows twisting around its chains. “It draws its energy from Nyxis, the Veiled One,” he said, voice turning thoughtful. “The Shadowborn’s god, known for binding things in secrecy.” He exhaled, stepping back. “Fitting, don’t you think?”

  Celeste frowned. “Shadowborn magic. That explains a lot.”

  But Nallensen wasn’t finished. He moved toward a nearby worktable, where a collection of small amulets lay arranged in careful rows. He picked one up between his fingers and turned it toward them.

  “This,” he said, “is what the artifact creates.”

  The amulet was simple, a thin band of metal wrapped around a polished onyx gem. But Roland felt its presence immediately.

  “What does it do?” Roland asked.

  Nallensen’s expression turned proud, almost fond. “It binds a person’s mind to their shadow, using Nyxis’ power to animate them even after death. A simple solution to a complex problem.” He turned the amulet over in his hand. “Their body moves as a puppet, controlled by what remains of their will.”

  Roland’s stomach twisted. He thought back to the knights outside, the ones still walking their patrols, the ones still trying to live.

  Celeste’s voice was sharp. “You’re forcing their souls to remain tethered and then binding their will?”

  Nallensen met her gaze, unflinching. “I am ensuring they continue.”

  Roland had thought himself prepared for what Nallensen was doing here.

  He had been wrong.

  Nallensen held the amulet between his fingers, turning it thoughtfully. "Once the process is perfected, and their bodies are restored, they will have their lives back. They will thank me." His voice carried absolute conviction, as if there was no doubt in his mind that his work was righteous.

  Celeste exhaled through her nose, clearly holding back whatever retort burned at the edge of her tongue. Instead, she said nothing, and Nallensen took their silence as an agreement to continue.

  They moved further into the fortress, following him down a long, dimly lit corridor. This time, their path ended at a door unlike the others. While most of the fortress had been decorated with quiet nobility, this door was different—intricate patterns of silver and obsidian inlaid into the black stone, runes carved with painstaking precision glowing faintly along the frame.

  It was more than a door. It was a boundary.

  The servant that had followed them so diligently stopped abruptly, refusing to take another step. Roland glanced back at him, but the man—if he was truly still a man—simply lowered his head and remained where he stood.

  Nallensen didn’t comment. He merely pushed the door open.

  The chamber inside was bathed in a soft, ethereal glow, the air far colder than the rest of the fortress. And at the center of the room, encased within a translucent crystalline box, lay a Worldborn woman.

  Roland stared. Unlike the other bodies they had seen, she was untouched by decay. Her form remained preserved, her expression peaceful, as if she had merely fallen asleep rather than passed beyond the Veil.

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  Nallensen stepped forward, and for the first time, his entire demeanor shifted. His noble poise softened, and when he looked at the woman, the sharp intelligence in his eyes dulled into something else entirely.

  “She was my last Worldborn partner,” he murmured. His voice, always so controlled, was now hollow with grief. “And the love of my life.”

  Roland remained still. He could feel it—Nallensen wasn’t ready to let go. Not yet.

  Slowly, he extended his senses, letting his Soul Gaze reveal the truth beyond the crystal casing.

  And then he realised—unlike the others, her soul was not bound.

  He had expected to see the same twisted tethers, the same force anchoring her spirit as the undead outside. But there was nothing. No unnatural force keeping her trapped.

  Which meant she could still move on naturally if the stasis was removed.

  Nallensen broke the silence before Roland could speak.

  “I spent many years and paid with many experiences to secure the services of a Crystalborn,” he explained. “Their kind has perfected the art of stopping time—freezing the body at the exact moment before death.” His fingers curled against the crystal casing. “She is not gone. She is only waiting.”

  His voice was quiet, but there was hope in it.

  Hope that should have been impossible.

  Roland looked deeper, letting his Soul Gaze fully open. The soul within the crystal wasn’t static like he had expected—it wasn’t locked in the same way the undead outside were. It was still active, still moving, still aware.

  A chill ran through him.

  How much did she know? How much had she felt over the years?

  He turned to Nallensen, his throat tight. “She’s not frozen,” he said carefully. “Her body might be, but her soul isn’t. It’s still… awake.”

  Nallensen exhaled slowly, resting a hand against the crystal casing. His expression remained calm, but there was something strained beneath it. “I don’t know how aware she is,” he admitted. “Souls exist outside the laws of time. Perhaps she is simply waiting, or perhaps she drifts in a dreamless state, untouched by the passing years.” He looked down at her, his fingers tightening slightly against the glass. “But in the end, it won’t matter. Because once I find a way to restore her, to make her live forever, she will forgive me.”

  Celeste’s jaw tightened, her entire posture stiff with unease. Roland could see it—her patience was wearing thin.

  She had been willing to entertain the idea of helping Nallensen, to see if his research could be used to heal rather than defy death. But this? This was something else entirely.

  “Nallensen,” Celeste said, and this time there was no attempt to soften her tone. “You have to let them go. All of them. This is not the way.”

  He let out a quiet sigh, rubbing his temple as if she were missing the obvious. “And let them be taken by time? By the whims of some distant god who would see them wither and vanish while we endure?”

  “Yes,” Celeste said simply. “That is the way of things.”

  His lips pressed into a thin line, the first real sign of frustration cracking through his noble exterior. “Then perhaps the way of things is wrong.”

  The divide between them was too vast to bridge. Nallensen and Celeste stood on opposite sides of a chasm neither was willing to cross. There was no point in arguing further, so they moved on.

  Nallensen led them deeper into the fortress, the air growing cooler, the stone walls giving way to something more clinical. This section was not a noble estate—it was a laboratory, lined with pristine tables, neatly arranged tools, and books filled with intricate diagrams of the human body. At the far end of the room stood a row of crystal stasis chambers, each containing a lifeless figure, perfectly preserved.

  “This,” Nallensen said, gesturing toward the room, “is where I’ve been working on restoring the body.” He let the statement linger for a moment before adding, “Well, not me personally.”

  From the shadows, his servant stepped forward a worldborn, likely in his late forties, dressed in plain robes. His posture was rigid, his expression calm but worn, as though he had long since resigned himself to his work.

  “This is Todd,” Nallensen introduced. “A healer, marked by Viridius.”

  Todd inclined his head. “It is an honor,” he said, his voice even. “I have spent years trying to undo what death takes. While I have had success in healing normal injuries—both for Worldborn and Motherborn—nothing I do works on those who have already passed.” His gaze shifted to Celeste. “I was hoping you might have an idea.”

  Celeste frowned but stepped forward, examining the stasis-bound bodies. They were intact, their forms held in perfect suspension, but unlike Nallensen’s wife, their souls were locked down.

  “They’ve already lost the seed of life,” she murmured.

  Todd nodded. “That has been the greatest obstacle. The flesh remains, but the essence of life does not return.”

  Roland’s gaze flicked toward Nallensen. He wasn’t sure what unsettled him more—the fact that the Deathborn was trying this or the fact that he had failed. If he had succeeded, if he had found a way to bring them back… what would that even mean?

  Celeste sighed, looking toward Todd with quiet resolve. “I will help,” she said, “but only on one condition.” She turned to Nallensen, meeting his gaze. “If I fail, you will allow Roland to send this one's soul on.”

  A long silence followed.

  Then, Nallensen nodded. “Agreed.”

  They carefully unsealed one of the stasis chambers, the frost-like mist curling away as the body within was freed. Celeste moved quickly, calling upon every prayer, every blessing, every method of healing she had ever known. Divine light surged through her hands, flowing over the still form before her.

  Nothing happened.

  She tried again.

  Still, nothing.

  Viridius did not answer.

  Celeste lowered her hands, exhaling slowly. She had known the truth before she even began, but she had to try. She turned back to Nallensen, her voice heavy with finality.

  “It will never work.”

  Nallensen watched in silence as Celeste stepped back from the body, the divine glow fading from her hands. His expression remained unreadable, but Roland could see it—he wasn’t ready to let go.

  Finally, the Deathborn exhaled and shook his shoulder as if adjusting his thoughts. “If the problem is the seed of life,” he said slowly, “then why not transfer it from another source? Take it from one life… and give it to another.”

  Celeste’s entire body stiffened. Her expression darkened, eyes narrowing as she turned to face him. “No.”

  Nallensen raised a brow, unfazed. “Even if it worked?”

  “Especially if it worked,” Celeste snapped. “That isn’t healing—it’s exchanging one life for another. You wouldn’t be saving anyone. You’d just be stealing.”

  Nallensen let out a soft hum, as if considering her words. “And what if the life taken was… undeserving?” He met her gaze, his crimson eyes gleaming with something colder now. “There are plenty of people in this world who squander the breath they are given. Murderers, thieves, war criminals—the ones who bring only suffering. Would it truly be so wrong to take what they waste… and give it to someone worthy?”

  Roland felt something twist in his stomach.

  Celeste’s lips parted slightly, not in shock, but in disgust. “You want to use criminals as test subjects?”

  Nallensen smiled. “It would be the practical thing to do.”