The sky over Dereth Hollow had not cleared. Even after the souls were freed and the well shattered, the clouds hung heavy like a wound in the air, reluctant to close.
They left before dawn.
The barkeep said nothing as they passed. Only offered Liora a slight nod—the kind you give someone who's been touched by something older than gods. She nodded back. No words were needed.
By midday, they followed the old merchant road that cut through the Ridge of Thorns, a twisted stretch of broken hills and sun-starved trees. They were headed to Galewatch—an abandoned fortress at the border of the Crescent Basin. Rumors said the White Circle had turned it into one of their strongholds, using its stone walls to house prisoners and test their rites in secret.
It wasn't a rescue mission.
It was recon.
Liora felt it in her blood—something awaited her there. Not a trap, not quite, but… a revelation.
As they walked, Sahria kicked stones along the path, unusually chatty after the silence of Dereth Hollow.
"Do you think it hurt? When they died? The people trapped in that village?"
Elias glanced back. "All death hurts. Some just leave scars longer than others."
Liora stayed quiet.
In truth, she was still carrying those spirits—pieces of them. Not in her body, but in her memory. Their final thoughts, fragments of pain. The tether between her and the dead had shifted again. It wasn't just summoning. She was absorbing—feeling.
And it was growing.
Every time she touched the Veil, it responded more quickly. Sometimes, before she even asked.
That night, as the others slept near a small fire nestled between boulders, Liora walked into the woods alone.
She sat beneath a crooked tree, its bark scorched from lightning. The air smelled of damp moss and metal. She placed both palms against the earth.
She closed her eyes.
"Show me," she whispered.
The world around her faded.
The soil beneath her hands pulsed once—then again—and then she *fell*.
Not physically. Not entirely. But her spirit tilted forward and dipped through something thin and slippery. The Veil.
She stood now in a version of the forest soaked in blue light. Shapes shimmered through the trees—souls. Some only wisps. Others fully formed. None hostile.
But one… one came forward.
A tall man in a dark robe. His face was hidden by a veil of mist, but his voice was clear when he spoke.
"You're not ready."
Liora stiffened. "Who are you?"
"You carry the blood of someone bound to me," the figure replied. "But you are not him."
"Him?" she whispered. "Who?"
"You'll know soon."
Before she could press further, the vision collapsed, and she gasped back into the physical world—kneeling, covered in dirt, blood trickling from her nose.
Elias was standing a few feet away, arms folded.
"You were gone for nearly an hour," he said.
"I was in the Veil."
"I figured."
Liora wiped her face. "There's someone there. He knew me—or someone tied to me."
Elias squatted beside her, his voice low. "What if your father was more than a mercenary? What if the stories your mother told you weren't entirely fiction?"
Liora swallowed hard. "I used to think the man who left us was a coward. But what if he left to keep us safe?"
Elias didn't reply.
They returned to camp. The fire had burned low. Sahria was asleep, her small hands curled beneath her chin.
But Liora didn't sleep that night.
She stared into the dying flames, thoughts churning.
The man in the Veil… the whisper of *you carry the blood of someone bound to me*—it didn't feel like a threat.
It felt like a key.
And somewhere beyond Galewatch, she was sure the lock waited.
---
The next afternoon, they reached the ruins.
Galewatch was not as broken as they expected. While some of the outer towers had collapsed, the central keep stood firm—reinforced with new stone and sigils freshly carved into the arches.
"Definitely White Circle," Elias muttered.
Symbols glowed faintly on the walls—binding glyphs and power suppressors. Defensive wards designed to trap summoned beings and break them apart slowly.
Liora frowned. "They're experimenting with soulbinding magic."
Sahria crouched near a crack in the stone, peering through. "They have prisoners inside. Children."
Liora's hand clenched. "We get in. We break them out."
"Three of us?" Elias asked.
Liora didn't hesitate. "Three is enough."
Because she wasn't alone anymore.
She reached behind her back and drew out a carved bone charm—a piece she had taken from the wraith in Dereth Hollow. With a whisper, she invoked it.
The ground trembled.
A single hand burst from the soil—then another.
And rising from beneath came a figure cloaked in black flame. It had no eyes. Its chest was made of ribbed stone, and its mouth stitched shut.
"What the hell is that?" Sahria gasped.
"My first soul fusion," Liora said, a faint grin on her lips. "A new kind of summon."
This wasn't just reanimation anymore.
It was *creation*.
The fused spirit stood, awaiting command.
"Break the gate," Liora ordered.
It nodded once—and with a howl that turned blood cold, it launched toward the keep.
The gates shattered on impact.
Screams echoed from inside.
Elias and Sahria rushed in behind her as Liora walked forward, calmly, the wind curling around her cloak, the chill of the Veil clinging to her every step.
Inside, the White Circle acolytes scrambled, too late to mount a defense. Her summon tore through their front line like mist. Sahria freed the children with swift, careful precision, while Elias engaged the guards in close combat.
Liora, however, kept walking—until she found a chamber carved in salt and obsidian.
At its center was a mirror.
No reflection stared back.
Only a flickering image of the man she'd seen in the Veil.
"You've come far," he said. "But not far enough."
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"Someone who once tried to protect the world from what you're becoming."
Then he was gone.
And Liora, alone in the echo of power, whispered to herself, "I don't want protection."
She looked down at her hands, glowing faintly now with an inner light.
"I want the truth."
And for the first time, the Veil whispered back—not in pain, but in *recognition*.