Leon crawled to his feet, gripping his dagger, useless against magic.

His thoughts spiraled—I'm useless.

Sloppy. Dead weight. If I had fire, I could help. If Saria was here…

Terya's hand grabbed his, yanking him behind a stone font, her green eyes fierce.

"Hey—listen to me," she whispered, her forehead nearly touching his, her fingers digging into his palm.

"This is not the time to panic, hero. We're not dead. Not yet. So get your shit together."

"But—" he started, his voice shaking.

"No buts," she said, her eyes softening. "You're not a fighter yet. Fine. But you've got something the rest of us don't. You adapt. You care. That matters more than power here."

She brushed her lips against his cheek, a brief, warm kiss, her breath grounding him.

"And I believe in you. So start believing in yourself."

Leon's breath caught, a surge of wind fluttering at his fingertips, Terya's bond pulsing strong. He nodded, his voice steadier.

"Right. Let's end this."

They emerged together.

Zara roared, her axe arcing wide, forcing two sorcerers to dodge, black ichor spraying as she grazed one.

Terya swept past in a blur of wind and steel, her blades cutting deep, blood splattering the desecrated altar.

Leon focused on the tallest sorcerer, his arms outstretched in a complex ritual, glyphs spinning above, threads of magic pulsing toward the shattered roof.

Leon's mind cleared, the memory of Terya's touch, her kiss, her trust anchoring him.

He felt the wind, Terya's bond pulsing in his chest.

"Crescent Gale," he said, his voice steady, raising both hands.

A sharp gust whipped through the chamber, condensed and honed by intent, striking the sorcerer full in the chest.

He stumbled back, crashing into a column, his spell rupturing, sparks flying as blood magic fizzled mid-air.

Silence fell.

The remaining sorcerers lay dead, unconscious, or vanished into blood-slick shadows.

Terya exhaled, leaning on a broken pillar, her chest heaving, her torn top barely holding.

Zara wiped blood from her cheek, her axe across her lap, her curse marks glowing faintly.

"Not bad, kid," she said, her blue eyes approving, a faint smirk breaking through.

Leon smiled, his chest heaving, the Bloodvine fruit still pulsing on the altar. "I… did something."

"You didn't just do something," Terya said, walking toward him, her arms sliding around his shoulders, her body warm against his.

"You saved us." She kissed his cheek, then his mouth, brief but firm, her green eyes sparkling.

Leon flushed, his heart pounding.

Zara rolled her eyes, her voice dry. "Ugh. Get a room."

Leon chuckled nervously, his legs giving out, collapsing into a heap.

"Okay, maybe I overdid it," he groaned, the wind magic draining him.

Terya knelt beside him, her laughter soft and warm.

"We'll rest. Then press on."

The battle was over, but the temple whispered louder, the Bloodvine's hum echoing with the Crimson Veil's hunger.

They weren't done yet.

The corridor narrowed to a bone-carved arch, crimson-stained glyphs writhing faintly in the dim light, pulsing with the Crimson Veil's magic—a low, humming tension that pressed against the skin.

Leon took the lead, his wind magic sparking faintly at his fingertips, his reforged dagger heavy at his belt.

Terya followed, her daggers drawn, her green eyes sharp, her leather top clinging to her sweat-slicked curves.

Zara covered the rear, her axe slung but ready, her silver hair damp, her blue eyes scanning the shadows beneath the weight of her curse marks.

As they stepped into the circular chamber, light exploded—a radiant staff struck the ground with a crack of thunder, holy glyphs etched in gold spiraling outward in a dome of pale light, briefly pushing back the red mist.

At its center stood a girl no taller than Leon's shoulder, her white priestess robes stained at the hem, her auburn hair wild around her flushed cheeks, her emerald eyes fierce but strained.

"None shall pass," she barked, her voice cracked with exhaustion but filled with authority.

Terya blinked, her smirk tight. "Is she serious?"

The girl—Lysette— raised her staff again, light magic arcing toward Leon.

It sputtered midair, dimming into sparks, collapsing as she staggered, gasping, her small frame trembling.

Zara stepped forward, her axe shifting, her voice grim. "She's cursed. That magic was blinder than her pride."

"Shut up! I—I don't need your help!" Lysette snapped, clutching her staff with both hands, her emerald eyes darting, unfocused.

Veilbound runes glowed faintly under her skin, spiraling up her forearms like thorny vines.

Leon raised his hands, stepping forward slowly, his voice calm.

"We're not enemies. You're cursed. I can help."

"Don't touch me!" she hissed, her staff trembling.

Then she collapsed, her small frame crumpling.

Leon caught her just in time, her body unexpectedly heavy, warm, burning with fever, her breath shallow.

Her robes tore at the shoulder, revealing more curse marks crawling up her skin, pulsing red. Terya crouched beside him, her green eyes narrowing.

"She's not just cursed. She's been here too long. The Veil's gotten into her blood."

Leon's hand brushed Lysette's arm, a pulse of golden light flickering between them, his core healing magic struggling against Vyrneth's oppression.

A vision hit—white fire, the first altar had a crystal blooming with starlight, a spirit cloaked in shadow, its eyes weeping blood.

And the last altar, Lysette knelt before the shattered altar, lips parted, breath fogging the crystal as light surged.

He gasped, pulling back, his cheeks burning.

Terya raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning. "What did you see, hero?"

Leon cleared his throat, his face flushed. "The cure. It's. Starbloom Crystal. Veilbound Wraith. Oral ritual."

Terya grinned, leaning closer. "Oh, we're definitely helping her."

Zara snorted, her blue eyes glinting.

"Of course we are. The healer gets the most awkward quests, I just hope he cures mine before hers."

Lysette stirred, her eyelids fluttering, her voice a whisper.

"You saw it?" Her emerald eyes locked onto Leon, wild but dulled with exhaustion.

He nodded, his voice steady. "We'll get it."

She looked at him then, really looked, the fire in her eyes softening, not defeated but trusting—just barely.

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