“With someone like you? Yes,” Kayvaan replied matter-of-factly.

  A long silence followed. Finally, Elizabeth broke it, her voice hesitant. “You heard what I said earlier. I failed because of fear. I couldn’t fight. I just wao survive. Am I not deserving of pt for that?”

  Kayvaan shook his head. “Cowards die of shame,” he said, his voice steady. “You didn’t die. You charged forward. You fought alongside us. You’ve killed enemies, protected your rades, and earheir loyalty. I’ve seen you otlefield, Elizabeth. You’ve doer than most men I’ve fought beside. If you’re a coward, then what does that make everyone else?”

  “But I—” Elizabeth began, but Kayvaan cut her off.

  “No one’s perfect,” he said firmly. “Only the Emperor is without fw. The rest of us mortals stumble. We fall to our weako fear, to doubt. But what matters is what es after. Do you stand back up? Do you keep fighting? Dwelling on past failures is pointless. We don’t have the luxury for that. There’s a battle ahead.”

  Elizabeth stared at him for a long moment before didn’t know what to say.

  Kayvaan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and regarded Elizabeth calmly. “I don’t know your past, and holy, I’m not ied in it,” he said bluntly. “What matters is how you deal with it. If you think your mistakes weigh heavily on you, then atone for them. Fix what you’ve broken through a, not tears.”

  Elizabeth kept her eyes on the fire, her voice soft and distant. “I know. As speak louder than words. I’ve heard that my whole life.” Her expression darkened. “This enemy… it’s strohan anything we’ve faced, isn’t it?”

  “Judging by the Eldar rangers’ rea, I’d say it’s formidable,” Kayvaan admitted.

  Elizabeth hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. “Am I going to die?”

  “Who knows?” Kayvaan shrugged. “Otlefield, anything happen. The Emperor protects, but I’m guessing He’s pretty busy.”

  Elizabeth ignored his flippant tone. Instead, she spoke quietly, as if to herself. “If I die, I need you to do something for me.”

  Kayvaan tilted his head, studying her. “Tell me. I’ll try.”

  She took a steadying breath. “Kill someone for me. Her name is Lysandria. It has to end.”

  Kayvaan frowned, his brow furrowed in thought. “Just a hat’s a pretty vague request. I’d usually ignore something like that, but… I guess I should at least ask: who is Lysandria? An enemy?”

  Elizabeth stared into the fmes, her voice carrying the weight of memory. “She was my captain when I first joihe Sisters. Back then, I was a novice, and they treated me like family—g, protective, like true sisters. But during one mission, we faced a daemon far beyond our ability to defeat. In the chaos, three of them turo me for help. I… I shot them. Two died instantly. The third, Lysandria, was taken by the daemon before my final shot could nd.”

  “Taken by a daemon? She’s likely dead by now,” Kayvaan said ftly.

  “I wish that were true.” Elizabeth’s tone was bitter. “But I don’t believe it. If she were dead, it would be a mercy. If she’s alive, she’s likely under Chaos’s trol, suffering every sed. If that’s the case… it’s my responsibility to end it.”

  “So, you wao scour the looking for her?” Kayvaan asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “No,” Elizabeth replied firmly. “But if I die, and you ever enter her… don’t hesitate. Kill her. Free her.”

  Kayvaan sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. “Fine. I’ll promise, though the gaxy’s a big pce. The odds of me running into her are slim.”

  Elizabeth gave a faint smile, more to herself than to him. “The Emperor’s will works in strange ways. There’s always a ce.”

  Kayvaan snorted. “If the Emperor cared about this pce, we wouldn’t be stu this Emperor-forsake.”

  The group rested for five hours, lohan usual, knowing the battles ahead would push them to their limits. Wheime came, Kayvaan led Elizabeth and her squad toward their final target. Almost simultaneously, the Eldar rangers uheir own assault.

  The battle in the massive tent was brutal but effit. The Sisters of Battle, bolstered by Kayvaan's precise strikes, cut down the daemons with ease. Phosphrenades lit the darkness, and bolter fire tore through corrupted flesh. The altar crumbled beh their efforts, but once again, it was a decoy. “Another fake,” Kayvaan muttered, sing the ruins. “The real altar must be on the Eldar’s side. No time to up—move out. Full speed to the final target.”

  Elizabeth frowned, keeping pace beside him. “Worried about the Eldar?”

  “Of course. If they could handle Rosina, they wouldn’t have sought us out. The dagger’s at their throat, and they still came to iate. That tells me they’re desperate.”

  “Do you think Khaine will protect them?”

  Kayvaan shrugged. “Hope so—at least until we get there.”

  In the Eldar camp, Rosina’s voice echoed through the shadowed tent. “Wele, Sydria,” she said with a mock bow, her voice ced with mockery. “I’ve been waiting. You’re as slow as a human.”

  Sydria emerged from the darkness, her movements silent and deliberate. She stepped into the dim light, her sharp eyes sing the room. Rosina stood alo the ter of the tent, arms spread wide, her radiant smile a stark trast to the malevolence emanating from her.

  Sydria’s gaze hardehat face, once beloved and admired, now filled her with loathing. The smile that had once brought fort now felt like a sick mockery. “How you smile?” Sydria hissed, her voice shaking with anger. “How you stand there, smiling after sughtering our people? After sacrifig their souls to your foul god?”

  “Why not?” Rosina asked, her voice calm yet mog. “Do you wao cry and beg for fiveness? Isa’s tears may bee Spirit Stones, but mihey’re useless. Life is full of pain, but if you face it with a smile, there’s nothing to fear.”

  “Even after you’ve fallen?” Sydria asked through gritted teeth.

  “Even knowing I was destio fall,” Rosina replied with an unbroken smile.

  “It seems there’s nothio discuss,” Sydria said coldly. Her hands moved to the twin swords at her waist. She drew them with a precise motion, the bdes gleaming in the dim light. The ons, known as Mirror Swords, were works of unparalleled craftsmanship, elegant and deadly.

  The hilts were adorned with intricate patterns, the bdes slender and translut like polished crystal. Light refracted through them, revealing hidden, flowing lines of spiritual energy that pulsed softly. The swords mirrored one another perfectly—every curve, every engraving identical, as though one had been drawn from the refle of the other. The swords weren’t just beautiful; they were desigo pierce through evehickest armor, the spiritual energy c through them making steel and ceramite seem like paper.

  But their beauty belied their lethality. The Mirror Swords demanded mastery over the deadly Way of the Howling Banshee. Without the skill to wield them, they were as dangerous to the user as to their enemy.

  Rosina’s expression finally shifted—astonishment flickering across her face. “The Way of the Howling Banshee?” she muttered. “Impressive. I didn’t think you’d pursue such a demanding path. That swordsmanship is reserved for martial masters. How did you even learn it?”