The path to the Veil of Tears was no ordinary road. It cut through the Weeping Spires, a treacherous range of dagger-like mountains where spirits whispered on the wind and time itself felt brittle. Lira led the way on horseback, her eyes fixed on the snow-capped peaks ahead, the crystal's mark still pulsing beneath her glove.
Kael rode beside her in silence, armor creaking slightly with each step of his steed. Mira trailed behind, alert, one hand on her dagger's hilt and the other occasionally brushing the side of her mount's neck for comfort.
None of them spoke for hours.
It was Mira who finally broke the quiet. "You feel it too, don't you? The pull."
Lira nodded. "It's like something is... waiting. Watching."
Kael glanced at her. "He is. And not just with his eyes."
They reached the edge of a narrow bridge made of woven roots and ancient stone, spanning a deep ravine filled with pale mist. Beyond it, the landscape changed. The sky darkened to an eerie twilight, even though the sun had not yet set. The Veil of Tears was near.
"Let's make camp before we cross," Kael said. "We'll need strength."
---
Meanwhile — The Obsidian March Begins
Across the continent, the sky was alight with crimson and voidfire.
Arkan stood atop the obsidian walls of the Black Bastion, watching as his army assembled. Rows upon rows of warriors—both human and shadowborn—stood ready. War machines powered by corrupted mana thudded into formation. Banners bearing his sigil—a coiled serpent wrapped in flame—fluttered in the poisoned wind.
He raised his arm. The air crackled. His voice echoed across the army.
"Elthoria was built on bones! On broken oaths! Today, we march not to conquer, but to reveal the rot beneath their throne!"
A roar rose from the legions below, shaking the earth.
Zaryne stepped up beside him. "Scouts report that the Flamebearer rides toward the Veil."
He looked to the east, lips curving slightly. "She'll be there when the first gate falls. Let them tremble."
---
Back in the Mountains — The Fire Between Them
Night fell over the camp in a hush, broken only by the crackle of the fire.
Lira sat alone, sharpening her blade, but her mind was far from steel. Kael approached slowly and sat across from her.
"You've been quiet since the letter," he said.
"I have to be," she replied, not looking up. "If I start thinking about everything, I'll start doubting."
Kael stared into the flames. "He'll try to seduce you again."
Lira's breath caught slightly. "He already has."
Kael stood, pacing. "Then why are we walking into his arms?"
"Because my choice must be made after I see him, Kael. Not before."
He walked to her, dropped to one knee. "Then let me be clear about mine."
She looked up just as he leaned in, kissing her fiercely—no hesitation, no fear. She responded, but it was different this time—rougher, needier, like a storm that had been held at bay too long.
They fell into each other's arms again that night—no illusions, no memories, just raw reality. When their bodies tangled beneath the stars, it wasn't to forget Arkan. It was to claim the now.
Mira pretended to sleep by the edge of the trees, eyes shut but heart heavy. She loved them both—in different ways—but tonight, she felt like a ghost beside them.
---
The Next Morning
The Veil of Tears rose like a blade in the landscape.
A vast chasm split the earth, wreathed in violet mist that whispered like voices from the dead. A single stone bridge arched across it, leading to a black temple carved into the cliff face—a structure older than Elthoria itself.
"He's there," Lira whispered.
Kael touched her shoulder. "Then let's finish this."
Mira's tone was tense. "No. We don't finish it here. We begin it."
They crossed.
---
Meanwhile — Arkan's First Blow
At the Elthorian border, the city of Dareth stood as the first bastion against invasion.
At dawn, the sky cracked with thunder. Arkan's vanguard descended like a storm. Void-bound beasts tore through the gates, followed by cloaked mages who bled their own blood to power destructive rituals.
Within an hour, the walls had fallen.
Arkan rode through the gates, sword unsheathed, eyes burning. The civilians fled. The soldiers fell. But he gave one command:
"Leave the innocent alive. We are not monsters. We are memory made manifest."
His mercy, calculated. His wrath, just beginning.
---
Back at the Temple
Lira entered the dark stone threshold. The inner sanctum pulsed with power—half light, half shadow.
And there he stood.
Arkan.
Dressed in battle-black, eyes glinting not with anger—but sadness.
"I hoped you'd come," he said softly.
Lira stepped forward, heart pounding. "Then you know why I'm here."
"Yes." He reached out. "To remember… and to choose."
---