The ritual surged, golden light flaring brighter, but the Veil's presence fought back.

Crimson mist leaked from the stonework, curling upward like smoke, whispering voices returning, distant and sibilant.

"Lies… all lies… the truth sleeps below."

The sacred light dimmed, the sigils flickering.

Leon stepped forward instinctively, Lysette's training guiding his limbs.

He inhaled, pushing his palm out—a sharp, glowing arc of wind surged, laced with light, cutting through the rising mist like a blade of holy fire.

The whispers stopped, the fog scattering.

Lysette's voice faltered, her hands trembling, but she resumed, her chant steadying.

The light surged again, stable now, and a vision bloomed above the dais, rippling like heat over water: a vast cavern of bone arches, pools of black water reflecting crimson light, an oppressive presence—ancient, immense, watching.

The Catacombs of Sorrow.

Leon gasped, his heart pounding.

"That's where the Dreadwraith is," Lysette confirmed through gritted teeth, her auburn hair sticking to her sweat-soaked brow, her light magic straining.

"It anchors the Veil's corruption."

Zara stood slowly, her hand tightening on her axe, her blue eyes locked on the vision, her curse marks flaring slightly in anticipation, a wince crossing her face.

"We end it there," she said, her voice rough but resolute.

Terya's gaze didn't leave Leon, her green eyes shimmering with something deeper than her usual mischief—fear, raw and unguarded.

"Leon," she said, her voice softer, her hand gripping his forearm.

"I know you're strong. I know you keep proving it. But I need you to come back. Don't get lost in this fight. Don't become another sacrifice."

Her fingers trembled slightly, her usual confidence cracked, revealing the fear of losing him.

Leon's chest tightened, her vulnerability cutting through the temple's weight. He reached for her hand, their fingers intertwining, her warmth grounding him.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, his voice steady, his wind and light magic pulsing in sync.

Lysette exhaled, collapsing to one knee, the vision fading, the sigils dimming.

Leon moved quickly, catching her before she fell fully, her body warm, her robe soaked with sweat, clinging to her lithe frame.

"The ritual worked," she murmured, her emerald eyes half-lidded but defiant. "But the Catacombs… it's worse than we thought."

Terya helped brace Lysette, her green eyes flicking to Leon, a faint smirk returning.

"You're getting good at catching damsels, hero," she teased, her voice light but warm, her hand lingering on his arm.

Zara stepped close, her calloused hand resting briefly on Leon's back, steadying him.

"Then we go together," she said, her blue eyes unwavering despite her curse's flare. "We finish this."

Leon looked from Terya to Lysette, then to Zara, their trust anchoring him.

His wind and light magic pulsed stronger, a beacon in his chest.

He nodded, his voice firm.

"We're ready."

The temple's silence held, the crimson mist outside curling faintly, the Catacombs of Sorrow waiting.

________

The air of the enclave pulsed with rhythm and color, a vibrant heartbeat cutting through Vyrneth's lingering shadow.

Crimson lanterns swayed from the carved archways of the cliffside village, casting soft, flickering light over the stone walls and winding stairways.

The siege was over, the dead honored with solemn Lysaran rites, their pyres fading into the night.

Now, the courtyard thrummed with celebration—Lysaran chants mingling with the beat of hand-drums, the swirl of dancers weaving through the crowd, their silver sashes glowing under the lanterns.

Women traced radiant sigils in the air, their movements fluid, sacred, as petals drifted from overhead balconies, catching the red moonlight.

Leon stood at the courtyard's heart, half-confused, half-dazed, his linen cloak loose over his sweat-damp shirt, his reforged dagger glinting at his belt.

His wind and light magic pulsed faintly.

The festival's energy swirled around him, electric, intoxicating, a stark contrast to the Bloodweave's menace.

He watched the dancers, their laughter and motion pulling him into the enclave's joy.

Terya found him first, grabbing his wrist with a wicked smirk, her green eyes sparkling with mischief.

"You're not getting away this time, hero. We dance," she said, her voice sultry, her leather top clinging to her curves, beads of sweat glistening on her collarbone, her blonde hair catching the lanternlight.

Before Leon could respond, she pulled him into the tide of dancers, her hips pressing flush against his, guiding him through the rhythm.

Her body moved with effortless grace, her leather armor creaking, her breath hot against his ear.

Leon stumbled, caught off-guard by her closeness, his hands finding her waist instinctively.

"Focus, hero," she teased, her lips brushing his earlobe, her voice a low purr. "This is part of the ritual."

Leon nodded, his heart racing, trying to match her steps as the courtyard spun with color and sound.

Dancers laughed, couples twirled beneath glowing sigils, the air alive with celebration.

Zara appeared from the side, her silver cloak traded for a dark halter and low-slung combat skirt, her muscular arms gleaming with fresh oil, her curse marks faintly pulsing but quiet.

Her usual stoicism had softened, a warmth in her blue eyes as she stepped closer.

"He's out of rhythm," she said bluntly, her voice dry but laced with a smile. "Let me show you."

Terya laughed, stepping back, her hands lingering on Leon's arm.

Zara took his waist, her touch firm but gentle, guiding him through a slower, more grounded rhythm.

Her hand pressed against the small of his back, her breath warm against his neck, her bronze skin brushing his, sending a spark through his core.

"Keep up, healer," she murmured, her voice low, her blue eyes locking onto his, a flicker of something new—romance, unguarded.

Lysette joined them, clad in ceremonial white and gold, her robe open down one side, revealing the curve of her thigh and the faint, silvery remnants of her curse-mark tattoos, now healed.

Her emerald eyes glinted with mischief, her auburn hair flowing freely.

"This is what passes for celebration now?" she asked, her voice sharp but playful. "Allow me to raise the standard."

In a blink, she was beside Leon, one arm draping over his shoulder, her hand trailing down his chest, fingers brushing his shirt with a teasing caress.

Terya reclaimed his other side, her hip bumping his, while Zara stayed close, their bodies weaving through the dance.

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