Ges3
# Gracebound: The Blade Who Guards the Fallen Stars (Part 5)
## Chapter 7: The Hot Spring Revelation (continued)
It was Ishtar who broke the silence, looking down at herself with a sudden awareness of her state of undress. Her improvised battle attire—nothing more than a half-secured tunic—had slipped precariously during combat, leaving little to the imagination.
"Well," she declared with characteristic bravado, though a flush colored her cheeks, "I suppose this confirms that divine beauty is effective even without cosmic power."
The others suddenly became aware of their own similarly compromised attire. Ereshkigal attempted to adjust her loosely draped cloak, while Summer Morgan maintained her dignity through sheer aristocratic bearing despite wearing only a thin undershirt. Tomoe seemed unbothered by her state of undress, her warrior's pragmatism overriding modesty concerns.
Caelan stood frozen, the Godslayer blade still in hand, his silver eyes widening slightly before he abruptly turned his back. "Get dressed," he ordered, his voice rougher than usual. "Other predators will be drawn to the disturbance."
"My, my," Koyanskaya purred, making no effort to adjust her barely-there covering. "The fearsome Godslayer can face cosmic horrors without flinching, but the female form leaves him flustered. How... endearing."
"Enough, Koyanskaya," Castoria intervened, though her lips twitched with suppressed amusement. "He's right about other threats. We should return to camp and properly arm ourselves."
As they gathered their scattered belongings, Female ORT approached the remains of the stone wurm, her crystalline fingers tracing patterns across its fractured exoskeleton. "The core contains concentrated cosmic matter," she observed. "Similar to what we detected in the hot springs, but in solid form."
This information captured Castoria's attention immediately. "Could it be related to our binding? Or to the power beneath Morgott's throne that brought us here?"
"Probability high," Female ORT confirmed. "The elemental resonance patterns share quantum signatures with our dimensional tether."
Caelan, still keeping his back turned while the women made themselves presentable, spoke over his shoulder. "Collect fragments of the core. They may prove useful when we reach the Mountaintops."
Once properly dressed and armed, they returned to camp with heightened vigilance, the euphoria of victory tempered by awareness that the wurm's death throes might have attracted other predators. Caelan moved with the fluid grace that characterized his fighting style, the Godslayer blade ready in his hand, his Maliketh armor gleaming dully in the deepening twilight.
"That was different from our previous battles," Tomoe observed as they secured their perimeter. "We functioned as a true unit rather than disparate fighters with a common goal."
"Indeed," Castoria agreed, her tactical mind analyzing their performance. "Our complementary abilities are beginning to synchronize. Female ORT's analytical insights, Ereshkigal's structural perception, Koyanskaya and Ishtar's distraction techniques..."
"And Void Shiki's uncanny positioning," Olga Marie added, glancing at the quiet woman with newfound respect. "You always seemed to be exactly where you needed to be, often before the threat fully manifested."
Void Shiki inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment. "I see patterns others cannot," she said simply. "The death that awaits all things reveals the path of least resistance."
Caelan, who had been silently checking the integrity of his Maliketh armor after the battle, looked up at her words. "You see death's approach," he stated, more confirmation than question.
"Normally, yes," Void Shiki replied, her pale violet eyes meeting his silver ones directly. "But not yours. Your death remains... quantum. Many possibilities, none fixed. It's why grace cannot fully claim you."
A thoughtful silence followed this observation, each woman reflecting on its implications from her own perspective. The golden threads of grace now visible around all their ankles seemed to pulse in response, as if acknowledging their growing awareness of its nature.
"The hot springs," Summer Morgan said suddenly, returning to their earlier discovery. "If they contain cosmic matter similar to what brought us here, could bathing in them have... accelerated our adaptation to this world?"
Female ORT nodded, her kaleidoscopic eyes shifting patterns. "Molecular integration probability increased by 37.8% based on current readings. Our physical forms are internalizing this realm's fundamental constants at an accelerated rate."
"In plain language," Koyanskaya interpreted with a sly smile, "we're becoming more attuned to the Lands Between with each passing day. Less foreign, more... native."
"Is that concerning?" Ereshkigal asked, her crimson eyes troubled. "Could we lose our connection to our original realms entirely?"
Before anyone could offer theories, Caelan spoke, his voice carrying the weight of personal experience. "Grace changes those it touches. It reshapes them according to the Greater Will's design." His silver eyes flickered briefly with inner fire. "But change can be resisted through force of will."
"You resist it," Castoria observed thoughtfully. "That's what 'Unburned Grace' means, isn't it? You channel grace without letting it transform you."
Caelan nodded once, a rare acknowledgment of personal revelation. "Twenty-seven deaths have taught me to hold myself intact against grace's reshaping. To use its power without surrendering to its purpose."
"Could you teach us?" Ishtar asked, her cosmic nature asserting itself through practical ambition. "This resistance technique of yours?"
The question clearly caught Caelan off-guard. He studied the nine women with new consideration, as if truly seeing them as potential students rather than merely charges to be protected.
"It's not a technique," he said after a long moment. "It's... a state of being. A continuous assertion of self against external definition." His voice grew contemplative, revealing a depth of philosophical understanding that contrasted with his usual taciturn demeanor. "You must know with absolute certainty who you are, to prevent grace from telling you what you should become."
The women exchanged glances, absorbing this insight with varying degrees of comprehension. For beings who had once been divine, the concept of identity was both fundamental and surprisingly complex—particularly now, stripped of the powers that had largely defined them.
"Well," Koyanskaya declared with characteristic mischief, breaking the philosophical tension, "I certainly know who I am, regardless of what realm I inhabit. Though I must admit, mortality has its... interesting sensations." Her fox-like eyes lingered on Caelan with unmistakable appreciation.
Summer Morgan rolled her eyes at the fox-woman's transparent flirtation. "Perhaps we should return to practical matters," she suggested with aristocratic precision. "Such as how we intend to reach these Mountaintops where answers might lie."
Grateful for the return to tactical planning, Caelan outlined their route for the days ahead. "The Grand Lift of Dectus will take us to the Altus Plateau," he explained, gesturing toward the northern mountains. "From there, we cross the Forbidden Lands to reach the Mountaintops of the Giants."
"And each territory grows more dangerous than the last, I presume?" Olga Marie asked with resigned practicality.
"Yes," Caelan confirmed without sugar-coating the truth. "The Plateau is contested ground between various factions. The Forbidden Lands are patrolled by ancient constructs designed to prevent access to the Mountaintops. And the Mountaintops themselves..."
"Let me guess," Ishtar interjected dryly. "A paradise of sunshine and gentle breezes?"
"A frozen wasteland haunted by things older than the Erdtree," Caelan corrected, though a ghost of amusement flickered in his eyes at her sarcasm. "But also home to the Forge of Giants, where cosmic fire once burned. If answers about your arrival exist anywhere, they'll be there."
The gravity of their journey settled over the group once more. Despite their growing combat prowess and increasingly coordinated function as a unit, they faced challenges that would test even Caelan's formidable abilities.
As night deepened around their camp, they established watch rotations as usual. But something had changed in their dynamic—a subtle shift from reluctant cooperation toward genuine camaraderie, forged in the crucible of shared battle and unexpected vulnerability.
Caelan took the first watch as always, seated cross-legged at the perimeter with the Godslayer blade across his knees. But tonight, he found himself unusually aware of the nine women settling into their bedrolls behind him—not merely as responsibilities or tactical assets, but as individuals whose presence had begun to fill the solitary void he had cultivated for so long.
The revelation disturbed him more than he cared to admit. Attachment was vulnerability; connection was weakness. His single-minded quest to free the Lands Between from divine influence required absolute focus, unburdened by emotional considerations.
Yet as the night wore on and he listened to the nine women's breathing gradually settling into sleep rhythms, Caelan acknowledged an uncomfortable truth: they were becoming important to him. Not just as charges to be protected or allies in battle, but as... companions. Perhaps even friends.
The thought brought both warmth and alarm—emotions he had long since thought burned away by repeated death and unwavering purpose.
When Tomoe silently approached to take the second watch, Caelan surrendered his position with customary efficiency. But as they exchanged places, she spoke quietly, her warrior's intuition perceiving his uncharacteristic disquiet.
"The strongest blade is forged in both fire and stillness," she observed. "Too much of either leaves it brittle."
Caelan met her red oni eyes, understanding the metaphor's application to his own existence. "A weapon's purpose is to cut," he replied, though without his usual conviction.
"A blade's purpose is what its wielder decides," Tomoe countered gently. "And you wield yourself, Caelan of the Unburned Grace."
She settled into the watch position, effectively ending the conversation but leaving him with much to consider as he sought rest.
Sleep came reluctantly, populated by dreams he hadn't experienced since before his first death—fragments of a life abandoned, possibilities foreclosed, connections severed in pursuit of his singular goal.
And woven through these dreams, nine golden threads, pulsing with a light that both illuminated and bound.
## Chapter 8: The Grand Lift of Dectus
The journey to the Grand Lift took them through increasingly mountainous terrain over the next three days. Ancient roads wound between towering cliffs, occasionally passing through the ruins of settlements long abandoned. The air grew thinner and cooler as they ascended, carrying hints of snow from the distant peaks.
Their encounters with the hostile fauna and flora of the Lands Between continued, but with each battle, the nine women displayed increasing combat proficiency. What had once been desperate struggles for survival became coordinated exercises in efficient elimination.
Caelan's training sessions evolved accordingly, moving beyond basic techniques toward more specialized applications suited to each woman's natural inclinations. Tomoe and Castoria, as the most martially adept, often assisted in instructing the others, creating a training hierarchy that maximized their limited time.
On the afternoon of the third day, they crested a final ridge to find themselves facing an enormous structure carved directly into the mountain face—a massive elevator platform framed by colossal statues of ancient warriors, their features worn smooth by centuries of exposure.
"The Grand Lift of Dectus," Caelan announced, his silver eyes studying the enigmatic mechanism critically. "Our passage to the Altus Plateau."
"It appears inactive," Castoria observed, noting the absence of movement or operational indicators.
"It requires medallions to activate," Caelan confirmed. "Fortunately, I've already collected them." From a pouch at his belt, he produced two semi-circular bronze objects, intricately engraved with symbols none of the women recognized.
"You've traveled this route before," Summer Morgan noted with aristocratic perception. "Part of your twenty-seven deaths?"
Caelan nodded once, neither elaborating nor denying. The medallions gleamed dully in his palm, artifacts of power from an age when the Lands Between still functioned according to their original design.
As they approached the lift, the sheer scale of the structure became apparent. The platform itself could have accommodated hundreds of people, the bronze framework supporting it thick as ancient tree trunks. The statues flanking the entrance stood taller than castle towers, their blind stone eyes gazing outward toward distant horizons.
"This predates the Shattering," Castoria observed, her scholarly interest evident as she studied the architectural details. "Perhaps even the Erdtree itself."
"It does," Caelan confirmed, stepping onto the platform. "The giants built it, before their war with the Greater Will. Before fire became heresy."
The others followed him onto the platform, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. At the center stood a simple pedestal with two medallion-shaped indentations—clearly the activation mechanism.
Caelan placed the medallions into their respective slots, then stepped back as ancient machinery groaned to life. Gears larger than wagon wheels began to turn, chains thick as a man's arm trembling as tension built throughout the system.
"Remarkable engineering," Female ORT commented, her crystalline features shifting in analytical interest. "Mechanical principles executed without apparent internal power source."
Before anyone could speculate on the mechanism's functioning, the platform lurched and began to ascend, rising smoothly despite the clanking and groaning of its ancient components.
"How long will the ascent take?" Ereshkigal asked, peering over the edge at the rapidly diminishing ground below.
"Long enough to rest," Caelan replied, setting down his pack. "The lift is one of the few truly safe places in the Lands Between. Nothing can board it during operation."
The women took advantage of this unexpected respite, settling on the platform to rest their travel-weary legs. Castoria produced a map she'd been meticulously updating throughout their journey, marking their current position and projected route.
"Once we reach the Plateau," she asked Caelan, "how far to the Forbidden Lands?"
"Two days, perhaps three," he answered, his attention seemingly focused on maintenance of the Godslayer blade. "The Plateau is relatively level, but heavily patrolled by remnants of the capital's forces."
"More of those golden knights?" Koyanskaya inquired, recalling their encounters in Leyndell.
"And worse," Caelan confirmed. "Tree Sentinels, Erdtree Avatars, creatures corrupted by proximity to grace's source."
"Your world has such charming wildlife," Ishtar remarked sarcastically, though her hand unconsciously checked her weapon's readiness.
As the lift continued its stately ascent, the air grew noticeably cooler, carrying new scents—flowering plants unique to higher elevations, mineral-rich soil untouched by the corruption below, and occasionally, the metallic tang of blood on the wind.
Void Shiki, who had been silently observing their surroundings, suddenly spoke. "We're being watched," she said, her voice carrying no alarm but absolute certainty.
Everyone tensed, weapons halfway drawn before Caelan raised a hand for restraint. "Yes," he confirmed, his silver eyes scanning the cliffs visible through the lift's open sides. "But not necessarily with hostile intent. Not yet."
"What manner of creature?" Tomoe asked, her warrior's senses already seeking the watcher.
"Dragons," Caelan replied simply. "The Plateau is their ancient territory. They observe all who ascend."
As if in confirmation of his words, an enormous shadow passed over the platform—a fleeting glimpse of scaled wings and serpentine body, there and gone so quickly it might have been imagination.
"Actual dragons?" Olga Marie's imperial composure slipped momentarily. "Like the myth-beasts of ancient Earth?"
"Older," Caelan corrected. "Dragons in the Lands Between predate human civilization. Some served the Greater Will. Others opposed it. Most now simply... exist, remnants of a power structure largely collapsed."
"Are they intelligent?" Castoria asked, her tactical mind already assessing potential diplomatic versus combat scenarios.
"Highly," Caelan confirmed. "But alien in their thought patterns. They perceive time and space differently from humans or even demi-gods."
The lift shuddered slightly as it passed a structural support column, ancient gears grinding as they adjusted to the changed weight distribution. The sound echoed off the mountain walls, creating an eerie chorus of mechanical groans that masked any further draconic observations.
"You mentioned the Erdtree earlier," Summer Morgan said after a contemplative silence. "You've referred to it many times, but always as something to be opposed rather than revered. Yet from what I gather, most in this realm worship it."
Caelan's expression darkened momentarily, his silver eyes flickering with their internal fire. "The Erdtree is a parasite," he stated with quiet intensity. "A cosmic organism the Greater Will used to establish control over the Lands Between. It feeds on death—consuming the souls of all who die, processing them according to the Greater Will's design."
This declaration drew varying reactions from the women—surprise from some, thoughtful consideration from others, knowing nods from those who had already intuited aspects of this relationship.
"A divine parasite," Koyanskaya mused, her fox-like features arranged in an expression of amused appreciation. "How delightfully subversive. No wonder you oppose it, Unburned One. You've never struck me as someone who enjoys being consumed."
"Few do, when they understand what's happening," Caelan replied. "But grace blinds most to the truth. It offers power, resurrection, purpose—all in exchange for eventual absorption."
"Yet you use grace," Ereshkigal observed gently. "We've seen its light around you, particularly at sites of grace."
"I use it against itself," Caelan corrected, his voice hardening with conviction. "Each time I die and return, I learn more about grace's nature. Its limitations. Its vulnerabilities."
"Twenty-seven deaths as research," Female ORT summarized with clinical precision. "Experiential data collection through recursive mortality events."
A ghost of a smile touched Caelan's lips at this characterization. "An accurate assessment."
The lift continued its ascent, carrying them higher into the mountain range that served as the Lands Between's geological spine. Through occasional gaps in the surrounding cliffs, they glimpsed spectacular vistas—forests and lakes spread below them like miniature landscapes, the enormous Erdtree dominating the southern horizon, its golden boughs glowing with unearthly light even at this distance.
"It's beautiful," Castoria admitted softly, gazing at the Erdtree. "Despite what it represents."
"Beauty is the most effective lure," Caelan replied, though without his usual harshness when discussing the Erdtree. "Few question what appears magnificent."
As evening approached, the quality of light changed—the sun's direct rays replaced by the diffuse golden glow of the Erdtree, casting long shadows across the platform. The lift's mechanism continued its relentless operation, the ancient technology functioning with remarkable reliability despite centuries of existence.
The women established a makeshift camp on the platform, arranging bedrolls and preparing a cold meal from their supplies. The unusual setting—a moving elevator suspended between earth and sky—lent a dreamlike quality to the otherwise routine activities.
"How much longer until we reach the top?" Ishtar asked, suppressing a yawn as fatigue from their days of hard travel caught up with her.
"We'll arrive by morning," Caelan answered, his gaze fixed on the darkening sky where stars had begun to appear—strange constellations unlike any the women recognized from their home realms.
"Then we should sleep in shifts," Tomoe suggested practically. "Though you mentioned the lift is safe, vigilance remains wisdom."
Caelan nodded in agreement, and they established their usual watch rotation. As the others settled onto their bedrolls, Caelan took the first watch, standing at the platform's edge with the Godslayer blade across his back, his silver eyes reflecting the starlight.
Koyanskaya, who had volunteered for the second watch, approached him with her characteristic predatory grace. "Enjoying the view, Unburned One?" she inquired, her fox-like eyes gleaming in the darkness.
"Assessing threats," he replied simply, though his gaze remained fixed on the distant stars rather than the surrounding terrain.
"Always so focused on danger," she observed, leaning against the platform's railing with casual elegance. "Have you considered that not every interaction is potentially hostile?"
Caelan's silver eyes shifted briefly to her face, then returned to their vigilant survey. "In the Lands Between, most are."
"Perhaps," Koyanskaya conceded with a slight smile. "But we nine are not of the Lands Between, are we? Not originally, at least." She moved slightly closer, her shoulder nearly touching his. "Tell me, Caelan—in all your single-minded questing, have you ever allowed yourself... companionship?"
The question hung in the night air between them, its implications unmistakable. Caelan remained silent long enough that she might have thought he wouldn't answer.
"Attachments are vulnerabilities," he finally said, though his usual conviction seemed slightly diminished. "Distractions from purpose."
"Or sources of strength," Koyanskaya countered softly. "Even the most lethal predators seek connection, Caelan. It's not weakness to acknowledge one's nature as a living being rather than merely a weapon."
Before he could respond, a sudden movement in the darkness caught their attention—a massive shape gliding silently past the platform, close enough that the displaced air ruffled their clothing. The dragon's scales gleamed like burnished gold in the starlight, its serpentine body longer than the lift platform itself.
"Ancient gold dragon," Caelan identified, his hand moving automatically to the Godslayer blade's hilt. "One of the eldest."
The dragon made no aggressive move, merely circling the platform once before soaring upward, disappearing into the night sky with surprising grace for a creature of such enormous size.
"It was curious," Koyanskaya observed, her predatory instincts allowing her to read the creature's intent despite its alien nature. "About us, specifically."
"Dragons perceive grace differently from humans," Caelan explained, his hand slowly relaxing from its combat-ready position. "They likely sense your unusual connection to it—nine divine beings channeling grace despite not being native to this realm."
"Do they serve your Greater Will?" she asked, genuinely curious.
"Some do. Some don't. Some simply maintain ancient watch over territories they claimed before the Erdtree existed." Caelan's silver eyes continued tracking the night sky where the dragon had vanished. "That one was... evaluating."
"Should we be concerned?"
"Not immediately," he replied. "Dragons operate on longer timescales than most beings. If it decides we're a threat, we'll likely have reached the Mountaintops before it acts."
"How comforting," Koyanskaya remarked dryly.
They stood in companionable silence for a time, watching the strange stars wheel overhead. When Koyanskaya finally spoke again, her usual playful tone had been replaced by something more contemplative.
"We're changing, aren't we? All nine of us. This world is reshaping us, just as you warned."
Caelan nodded once, acknowledging the truth of her observation. "Grace finds purchase where it can. Even in beings not born to this realm."
"Yet you resist it," she noted. "Through will alone."
"Through purpose," he corrected. "Clear, unwavering purpose is the strongest defense against grace's corruption."
Koyanskaya studied him with newfound understanding. "And our purpose? What defense do we have, bound to this world against our will?"
Caelan met her gaze directly, his silver eyes reflecting starlight and something else—perhaps compassion, an emotion he rarely displayed. "You must define that for yourselves," he said quietly. "Grace fills voids. Purpose creates boundaries it cannot easily cross."
The fox-woman's customary mischief returned to her expression. "Are you suggesting I need more defined character, Unburned One? How terribly rude."
The ghost of a smile touched Caelan's lips—a rare expression that transformed his severe features momentarily. "I've never met anyone with more defined character, Koyanskaya. For better or worse."
She laughed softly, genuinely delighted by this unexpected display of humor. "There may be hope for you yet, Godslayer."
Morning found the lift approaching its destination—an enormous archway carved into the mountain's upper reaches, flanked by more of the colossal warrior statues they had seen at the lower terminus. As the platform finally came to rest with a groaning of ancient machinery, the nine women gathered their belongings with practiced efficiency.
Caelan retrieved the medallions from the central pedestal, returning them to his belt pouch before surveying what lay beyond the lift. "The Altus Plateau," he announced, gesturing toward the landscape now visible through the archway.
They stepped off the platform into bright sunshine and clean mountain air. Before them stretched a verdant plateau—rolling grasslands punctuated by scattered copses of golden-leaved trees, ancient ruins, and in the distance, the glittering spires of what appeared to be another city.
"It's... beautiful," Ereshkigal whispered, her crimson eyes wide with appreciation. "Almost peaceful."
"Deceptively so," Caelan cautioned, already scanning their surroundings with habitual vigilance. "The Plateau is one of the most contested regions in the Lands Between. Multiple factions claim territory here."
As if to emphasize his warning, a distant roar echoed across the landscape—deep, resonant, unmistakably draconic.
"Our observer from last night?" Castoria asked, her hand moving instinctively to her weapon.
"Likely," Caelan confirmed. "But dragons rarely attack without provocation. We should be more concerned with what we can't see yet."
"Always the optimist," Ishtar muttered, adjusting her pack for better weight distribution. "So what's our exact route across this lovely death trap?"
Caelan pointed toward the northeast, where the plateau began to rise toward another, higher mountain range. "We follow the old pilgrim's road until it forks, then take the eastern path toward the Forbidden Lands. If we maintain good pace, two days should see us to the Grand Lift of Rold."
"Another lift?" Olga Marie asked with mild exasperation. "This realm seems excessively vertical in its organization."
"The Lands Between were designed as a series of trials," Caelan explained as they began walking, following what appeared to be an ancient paved road winding across the plateau. "Each elevation representing a step toward greater communion with the Greater Will. The highest point—the Erdtree itself—being the ultimate destination for the worthy."
"A cosmic loyalty program," Koyanskaya observed sardonically. "Accumulate enough grace points and win a free deification, is that it?"
"Essentially," Caelan agreed, surprising them with his acceptance of her irreverent analogy. "Though the 'deification' is more accurately described as absorption into the Greater Will's consciousness."
"Charming," Summer Morgan remarked, her aristocratic features arranged in an expression of distaste. "And those who refuse this generous offer?"
"Death. Resurrection. Repeat until compliance is achieved." Caelan's voice carried the weight of personal experience, reminder of his twenty-seven deaths in resistance to this cosmic program.
They continued across the plateau, the ancient road providing relatively easy traveling compared to the difficult terrain they had traversed in previous days. The nine women maintained their practiced formation around Caelan, weapons ready but not drawn, vigilance balanced with appreciation for their surroundings.
The verdant landscape would have seemed almost paradisiacal if not for occasional reminders of the realm's fractured state—a burnt-out village here, a battlefield of petrified corpses there, evidence of conflicts beyond human understanding etched into the very land itself.
By midday, they had covered considerable distance, the lift terminus now a distant speck behind them. Ahead, the road descended slightly into a broad valley where a small lake gleamed in the sunshine, its surface mirror-smooth and inviting.
"Water," Ishtar noted with undisguised enthusiasm. "Actual, non-magical, presumably non-lethal water. Can we stop briefly?"
Caelan surveyed the valley with characteristic caution before nodding. "Briefly," he agreed. "The lake should be safe if we remain alert."
They descended toward the water, maintaining their formation until they reached the lakeshore. The water proved crystal clear, fed by underground springs rather than surface streams, its temperature cool but not unpleasant.
While most of the women refreshed themselves and refilled water containers, Tomoe and Caelan maintained vigilant watch from slightly elevated positions, scanning the surrounding terrain for potential threats.
"The dragons are still watching," Tomoe observed quietly, her red oni eyes tracking subtle movements among distant clouds. "Three, by my count."
Caelan nodded, impressed by her perception. "They're curious about our purpose."
"And if they decide they disapprove?"
"Then we face a challenge beyond any we've encountered thus far," he replied honestly.
Tomoe accepted this assessment with a warrior's practicality. "Every opponent has vulnerability. Even dragons."
"True," Caelan acknowledged. "But let's hope diplomacy prevails. We have enough enemies without adding ancient dragons to the list."
Below them at the lakeshore, a minor commotion had erupted. Ishtar, who had ventured slightly further into the water than the others, suddenly gave a startled yelp and backpedaled toward shore.
"Something touched me!" she exclaimed, her cosmic nature asserting itself through theatrical outrage. "Something alive!"
Caelan was beside her instantly, the Godslayer blade drawn in a movement too fluid to follow. His silver eyes scanned the water's surface, identifying the disturbance almost immediately—concentric ripples emanating from a spot several meters offshore.
"Stay back," he commanded, placing himself between the nine women and whatever lurked beneath the seemingly peaceful surface.
The water bulged upward, then parted as a form emerged—not the monster they had braced for, but a humanoid figure covered in iridescent scales. Female in appearance, with webbed hands and feet, and a crown-like crest of fins where hair might have been on a human.
"A lake maiden," Caelan identified, though he didn't lower his blade. "Servants of the underwater dynasty that once ruled these lands."
The maiden made no aggressive move, merely regarding them with large, liquid eyes that reflected the sunlight like polished obsidian. When she spoke, her voice carried a musical quality that seemed to resonate directly in their minds rather than through the air.
"Tarnished who defies grace," she addressed Caelan with formal precision. "And nine stars fallen to earth, bound in flesh they were never meant to wear." Her gaze shifted to encompass the divine women. "The depths have whispered of your coming."
Castoria stepped forward, her diplomatic instincts activating. "We mean no harm to your waters," she assured the maiden. "We merely pass through on our journey."
The scaled being tilted her head in acknowledgment. "Intention matters little in the patterns of fate. Your mere existence disturbs ancient equilibrium." She turned her obsidian gaze back to Caelan. "The dragons debate your purpose, Unburned One. Some remember the age before the Erdtree and wonder if you might restore it. Others fear what freedom from grace truly means."
"I seek neither restoration nor destruction," Caelan replied with careful precision. "Only release from divine manipulation."
"A distinction without difference to some," the maiden observed cryptically. "But the waters acknowledge your honesty, if not your wisdom." She began to sink back beneath the lake's surface, her form gradually disappearing. "Travel swiftly, star-bound ones. The Plateau grows restless with your presence."
With those parting words, she vanished completely, leaving only expanding ripples to mark where she had been.
A stunned silence fell over the group, broken finally by Ishtar's indignant protest: "She could have announced herself before grabbing my ankle! Honestly, the hospitality in this realm is atrocious."
Koyanskaya stifled a laugh, while Olga Marie rolled her eyes with imperial disdain. But Castoria and Female ORT exchanged concerned glances, recognizing the deeper implications of the maiden's warning.
"We should move on," Caelan stated, resheathing the Godslayer blade. "If the lake maidens know of our presence, others will soon as well."
They resumed their journey with renewed urgency, leaving the lake behind as they followed the ancient road. But a subtle tension had entered their dynamic—a growing awareness that their presence in the Lands Between represented more than a simple dimensional accident.
They were, as the lake maiden had suggested, disturbing an ancient equilibrium. And the consequences of that disturbance remained to be seen.
The afternoon brought new challenges as the placid landscape of the Plateau's central region gave way to more militarized territory. They began encountering patrols—knights in golden armor similar to those they had faced in Leyndell, though these appeared more disciplined and moved with greater purpose.
"Garrison forces," Caelan explained as they concealed themselves to allow one such patrol to pass. "They maintain the Greater Will's influence on the Plateau, preventing pilgrims from turning back once they've ascended."
"Spiritual enforcement through military means," Olga Marie observed with the calculating assessment of one who had commanded her own imperial forces. "Effective, if somewhat lacking in subtlety."
"The Greater Will abandoned subtlety after the Shattering," Caelan replied. "Now it rules through pure dominance where grace fails to persuade."
They continued eastward, increasingly forced to move off-road to avoid patrols and watchtowers. The terrain grew more difficult—gently rolling grasslands replaced by rocky outcroppings and steep gullies that required careful navigation.
As dusk approached, they found themselves in a particularly challenging section—a narrow ravine bordered by high cliffs, with no # Gracebound: The Blade Who Guards the Fallen Stars (Part 6)
## Chapter 8: The Grand Lift of Dectus (continued)
As dusk approached, they found themselves in a particularly challenging section—a narrow ravine bordered by high cliffs, with no visible alternate route. The ancient road had deteriorated here, forcing them to pick their way carefully across loose stones and crumbling masonry.
"I don't like this," Tomoe murmured, her warrior's instincts alert to the tactical vulnerability of their position. "Perfect location for an ambush."
"Agreed," Caelan replied, his silver eyes scanning the cliff edges above them. "But we have no choice. The eastern fork lies just beyond this passage."
They proceeded with heightened caution, weapons ready, formation tightened to allow quicker response to threats from any direction. The ravine twisted like a serpent, each bend potentially concealing danger.
"Wait," Void Shiki suddenly whispered, her pale violet eyes fixed on something the others couldn't perceive. "Something approaches. Many somethings."
Caelan signaled for immediate defensive positions, the nine women responding with practiced precision. They had barely secured themselves behind what cover the ravine offered when the attack came—from above and both ends of the passage simultaneously.
Creatures descended from the cliff edges like nightmarish spiders—humanoid bodies with too many limbs, each ending in a wickedly curved blade. Their faces were concealed behind white masks painted with eerily serene expressions that contrasted with their predatory movements.
"Albinaurics," Caelan identified, the Godslayer blade already singing through the air as he intercepted the first attacker. "Artificial beings created by the Academy. These serve as assassins."
There was no time for further explanation as the ravine erupted into chaotic combat. The albinaurics moved with unnatural speed and coordination, their multiple bladed limbs creating deadly zones of constant motion. Only Caelan's exceptional reflexes and the women's growing combat experience prevented immediate casualties.
"They're herding us!" Castoria shouted, her tactical mind instantly analyzing the attack pattern. "Forcing us toward the eastern end!"
"Because something worse waits there," Caelan confirmed grimly, the Godslayer blade cleaving through an albinauric's mask and the head behind it. "Form a wedge! We break through the western group!"
The nine women responded immediately, arranging themselves in the formation they had practiced for precisely such situations. Tomoe and Koyanskaya took flanking positions beside Caelan at the point, with Castoria coordinating from the center, the others arranged according to their combat abilities.
They moved as a single unit, driving forward with coordinated precision that would have impressed veteran military commanders. The albinaurics, for all their unnatural agility and lethal armaments, found themselves unable to prevent the group's organized withdrawal.
But as they fought to escape the ravine, the true threat revealed itself—a thunderous roar that seemed to shake the very stones beneath their feet, followed by the heavy impact of enormous weight landing behind them.
Glancing back, Ishtar's cosmic eyes widened in alarm. "That is... significantly larger than the dragons from earlier," she managed, her usual bravado momentarily deserting her.
The creature blocking their escape route had indeed once been a dragon, but corruption had twisted it into something far more nightmarish. Its scales had turned a sickly green, pulsing with internal rot that leaked from cracks in its armored hide. Multiple heads sprouted from a misshapen neck, each sporting different combinations of horns, teeth, and glowing eyes.
"Spawn of Godwyn," Caelan identified, already shifting direction to intercept this new threat while the women continued engaging the albinaurics. "Death-blight corruption."
The mutated dragon drew breath, its multiple chests expanding ominously. Caelan recognized the telltale signs of an incoming breath attack—not fire, but something far worse: the golden-black mist of death-blight that corrupted whatever it touched.
"Shields up!" he commanded sharply, moving with blinding speed to place himself between the dragon and the nine women.
As the corrupted beast exhaled its deadly breath, Caelan dropped to one knee, slammed the Godslayer blade into the ground before him, and channeled pure black flame along its length. The flames erupted upward, forming a barrier of Destined Death—the primordial force that could counteract even the dragon's corruption.
Death-blight mist met black flame in a cataclysmic reaction that sent shock waves through the ravine, dislodging stones from the cliffs and momentarily blinding everyone with its intensity. When vision returned, the dragon's breath attack had been neutralized, but Caelan remained in his kneeling position, clearly drained by the massive expenditure of power.
"He can't maintain that again," Castoria assessed immediately. "And the albinaurics are still coming!"
Indeed, the artificial assassins continued their relentless assault, seemingly unconcerned by the dragon that now threatened them as well. The group found themselves caught between two lethal forces with diminishing room to maneuver.
It was Summer Morgan who acted with unexpected initiative. The aristocratic beauty, who had often seemed the most reluctant warrior among them, stepped forward with newfound determination. "Ereshkigal, Olga Marie—with me. We'll handle the remaining albinaurics." Her imperious tone brooked no argument. "The rest of you, support Caelan against that abomination."
The group split according to her command, functioning with the coordinated efficiency their training had developed. Summer Morgan led her impromptu squad with surprising tactical acumen, positioning Ereshkigal and Olga Marie to create choke points that forced the albinaurics into predictable attack patterns.
Meanwhile, Tomoe, Koyanskaya, Ishtar, Female ORT, Void Shiki, and Castoria formed a protective formation around Caelan, who was struggling back to his feet, the Godslayer blade momentarily dimmed from its expenditure of power.
"The eyes," he instructed tersely, his breathing labored but controlled. "Target the eyes—they're the least corrupted part."
The mutated dragon advanced, its multiple heads weaving hypnotic patterns as it evaluated this unexpected resistance. One head lashed out with serpentine speed, targeting Ishtar, who had momentarily exposed her flank.
Koyanskaya reacted instantly, shoving the cosmic princess aside and narrowly avoiding the venomous fangs herself. "Pay attention, star-child!" she snapped, though without real malice. "Your pretty face won't charm that thing!"
"I was creating an opening!" Ishtar protested, though her grateful expression belied her defensive tone.
Indeed, the dragon's attack had left one head briefly overextended. Tomoe capitalized immediately, leaping with oni-born agility to drive her sword directly into a glowing eye. The blade sank deep, eliciting a shriek of pain from all the dragon's heads simultaneously.
"Its nervous system is unified despite multiple heads," Female ORT observed with clinical precision. "Damage to one affects all."
This tactical insight instantly reshaped their approach. Instead of dividing their attacks across multiple targets, they coordinated to focus overwhelming force on a single head at a time. Castoria directed their movements with battlefield clarity, positioning each combatant to maximize their collective effectiveness.
Caelan, having recovered enough to fight, though not yet able to channel his full power, moved with deadly purpose. The Godslayer blade, designed specifically to slay divine beings, proved especially effective against the corrupted dragon—its black flame burning away the death-blight wherever it struck.
The battle shifted in their favor as they systematically blinded then incapacitated three of the dragon's seven heads. Behind them, Summer Morgan's squad had dispatched the last of the albinaurics, leaving a circle of white-masked corpses in their wake. The aristocrat herself seemed transformed by combat—her regal bearing now complemented by a predatory grace she had previously kept concealed.
"Converge on the central head!" Caelan commanded, identifying the largest of the remaining structures as the primary consciousness.
They executed the maneuver with practiced coordination—Koyanskaya and Ishtar darting in to create distractions, Tomoe and Void Shiki striking at supporting structures, Female ORT analyzing and calling out structural vulnerabilities, Castoria orchestrating the overall flow of combat while delivering precision strikes of her own.
The corrupted dragon, for all its monstrous power, found itself systematically dismantled by this unified assault. When Caelan finally drove the Godslayer blade through the roof of the central head's mouth and into what passed for its brain, the creature collapsed with a shuddering finality that sent tremors through the ravine floor.
Silence fell, broken only by the heavy breathing of the companions and the occasional plink of loose stones dislodged by the battle's violence.
"Everyone whole?" Caelan asked, withdrawing his blade from the dragon's skull with a wet, sucking sound.
A quick assessment confirmed that while several had sustained minor injuries, none were seriously wounded. The dragon's corruption, thankfully, had been contained by Caelan's black flame barrier before it could touch any of them.
"That," Ishtar declared, wiping sweat and dragon ichor from her face, "was entirely too exciting. Is this what passes for a casual stroll in your realm, Unburned One?"
"Actually," Caelan replied with rare dry humor, "this was an attempted ambush by organized forces, not random wilderness hazards. Someone knew we were coming."
This sobering observation caused the momentary post-battle elation to fade. They had been specifically targeted, which meant their presence on the Plateau was not only known but considered threatening enough to warrant a coordinated elimination attempt.
"The lake maiden did say the Plateau was restless with our presence," Castoria recalled, her tactical mind already analyzing implications. "But this suggests active opposition rather than mere unease."
"The Greater Will has many servants," Caelan confirmed, cleaning his blade before resheathing it. "Some operate independently, pursuing what they believe is their master's desire without direct command."
"Lovely," Koyanskaya drawled. "Religious fanatics with assassination skills. My favorite combination."
They gathered their equipment and checked supplies, preparing to continue despite the encounter's drain on their energy. The eastern fork of the ancient road lay just beyond the ravine's exit, now visible in the fading light of dusk.
"We should find a defensible position before full dark," Caelan advised, studying the landscape ahead. "That attack likely won't be the last."
As they emerged from the ravine onto more open ground, the true vastness of the Altus Plateau revealed itself—rolling highlands stretching toward distant mountains, illuminated by the golden light of the Erdtree and the first emerging stars. Despite the beauty of the vista, they maintained vigilant formation, too experienced now to be lulled by aesthetic appearances.
"There," Tomoe identified, pointing toward a ruined watchtower standing atop a small hill about a kilometer distant. "Elevated position, single approach path, stone walls for cover."
Caelan nodded in agreement. "Good eye. That will serve for the night."
They reached the ruined tower without further incident, climbing the gentle slope as the last light faded from the sky. The structure proved to be ancient but sturdy—clearly pre-dating the Shattering, its masonry designed to withstand both time and siege.
"The architectural style resembles pre-Erdtree construction," Castoria observed, running her fingers along symbols carved into the cornerstone. "Perhaps from the age of the dragons."
"Correct," Caelan confirmed, assessing the tower's defensive capabilities with experienced precision. "This was a draconic observation post, built when dragons were the dominant power in the Lands Between."
The tower's interior space was limited but sufficient for their needs—a circular chamber perhaps fifteen meters in diameter, with crumbling stairs leading to a partially collapsed upper level that still offered good visibility in all directions. Signs of previous occupancy were evident—old fire pits, discarded equipment, bones of uncertain origin—but nothing recent.
"Home sweet home," Ishtar declared sarcastically, pushing aside what appeared to be a desiccated corpse to clear space for her bedroll. "Absolutely charming decor. Very authentic dungeon chic."
Despite her complaints, she participated efficiently in the now-familiar routine of camp establishment. Roles had evolved naturally over their days of travel—Tomoe and Caelan handling security, Castoria organizing logistics, Female ORT assessing structural integrity, Koyanskaya and Ishtar hunting for useful salvage, Summer Morgan and Olga Marie arranging living space with aristocratic efficiency, Ereshkigal tending to minor injuries, and Void Shiki keeping silent watch for dangers the others might miss.
Once basic security and comfort were established, they gathered around a small, carefully shielded fire built in the ancient hearth. The flames cast dancing shadows across the tower's circular walls, creating an almost intimate atmosphere despite the circumstances.
"You fought well today," Caelan acknowledged, addressing the group collectively. It was rare praise from the typically taciturn warrior, and carried more weight for its rarity.
"We're beginning to function as a true unit," Castoria observed, her tactician's mind assessing their performance. "Each understanding their role within the whole."
"Some more surprisingly than others," Koyanskaya added with a sly glance toward Summer Morgan. "Our royal beauty revealed quite the talent for battlefield command. One might almost think you've led troops before, Your Highness."
Summer Morgan accepted the observation with aristocratic poise. "Avalonian royalty are trained in warfare from childhood," she explained simply. "Though I preferred diplomatic solutions when available, combat leadership was part of my education."
"Well, it certainly came in handy," Ishtar acknowledged generously. "Though I maintain I was creating a tactical opening with that dragon, not just being careless."
"Of course you were," Koyanskaya agreed with a fox-like smile that suggested precisely the opposite.
Their banter continued as they shared a simple meal from their supplies, the camaraderie of shared battle creating a temporary respite from the constant tension of their journey. Even Caelan seemed marginally more relaxed, though his silver eyes never ceased their vigilant assessment of potential threats.
As the meal concluded and they prepared for the night ahead, establishing watch rotations as usual, Ereshkigal approached Caelan with evident concern.
"Your arm," she said quietly, gesturing to where his modified Maliketh armor exposed flesh for lightning channeling. "The death-blight mist touched you there, however briefly."
Caelan glanced at the indicated area, where indeed a small patch of skin showed faint golden-black discoloration—the early stage of death-blight corruption.
"It's manageable," he stated flatly, clearly intending to dismiss the matter.
"It's spreading," Ereshkigal countered with gentle firmness. "Slowly, but definitely spreading. Let me tend to it."
When he appeared ready to refuse, she added, "Please. You risked that corruption to shield all of us. Allow me to help in return."
Something in her sincere concern seemed to reach him. After a moment's hesitation, Caelan nodded once in acquiescence.
Ereshkigal guided him to sit near the fire where she could better see the affected area. From her small collection of herbs and minerals gathered during their journey, she produced several items that glowed faintly with innate power.
"These contain trace elements of what Female ORT identified as cosmic matter," she explained as she worked. "Similar to what we encountered in the hot springs. They seem to counteract corruption when properly applied."
Her touch was gentle but confident as she prepared a poultice, her crimson eyes focused intently on her work. The other women observed with varying degrees of interest—some overtly watching, others pretending not to while stealing occasional glances.
"This may burn," Ereshkigal warned before applying the mixture directly to the corrupted patch.
Caelan didn't flinch, though the muscle in his arm tensed visibly as the poultice made contact. The reaction was immediate and visible—the golden-black discoloration seemed to retreat from the edges, contracting toward the center where it gradually faded altogether.
"Fascinating," Female ORT commented, her kaleidoscopic eyes shifting patterns as she observed the process. "The cosmic elements appear to neutralize the death-blight at a fundamental level, resetting affected cells to baseline parameters."
"It feels... cool," Caelan observed with mild surprise, flexing his arm experimentally. "Like water on a burn."
"The underworld has its own healing traditions," Ereshkigal explained softly, her fingers lingering perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary on his arm. "Death and restoration are closely linked concepts."
"Thank you," Caelan said simply, the words clearly not coming easily to him.
Ereshkigal smiled, a gentle expression that transformed her features from merely beautiful to radiant. "You've protected us since our arrival," she replied. "It seems only fair we protect you in return."
A subtle but significant shift had occurred—from Caelan protecting nine unwilling charges to a reciprocal relationship where protection and care flowed in multiple directions. The golden threads of grace now visibly twining around all their ankles pulsed in harmony, as if acknowledging this evolution.
As night deepened and most of the group settled into rest, Caelan took the first watch as usual, positioning himself at the tower's upper level where he could survey the surrounding terrain. The Godslayer blade lay across his knees, its dark metal occasionally reflecting starlight through gaps in the partially collapsed roof.
He was mildly surprised when Castoria joined him, climbing the crumbling stairs with quiet determination. She carried what appeared to be a small book—one she had acquired at Broken Faith Market and had been making entries in throughout their journey.
"I thought you might want company," she said simply, settling beside him at a respectful distance. "And I wanted to update our route based on today's developments."
Caelan nodded in acknowledgment, watching as she opened the book to reveal remarkably detailed maps she had been creating, documenting their journey with scholarly precision.
"You've been recording our path," he observed.
"Knowledge preserved is never wasted," Castoria replied, adding new notations to represent the ravine ambush. "And should anything happen to you—which it won't," she hastily added, "but hypothetically—we would need to know the way forward."
Caelan studied her with quiet intensity. "You're planning for contingencies where I'm not present."
"I'm a tactician by nature," she explained without defensiveness. "Anticipating possibilities is what I do."
"It's wise," he acknowledged, surprising her with his approval. "Too many in the Lands Between rely entirely on resurrection through grace. They fail to plan for true endings."
"Is that possible?" Castoria asked, her scholarly curiosity evident. "True ending, in a realm where death leads only to rebirth?"
"It is," Caelan confirmed, his silver eyes momentarily distant with private memory. "Destined Death—the power of my blade—can grant final rest. Before the Greater Will sealed it away, all things in the Lands Between followed a natural cycle. Life, death, true ending."
"And that's what you seek to restore," Castoria realized, understanding dawning in her intelligent eyes. "Not just freedom from the Greater Will's control, but the natural order of existence."
Caelan nodded once, neither elaborating nor denying.
They sat in companionable silence for a time, Castoria continuing her cartographic work while Caelan maintained his vigilant watch. The night deepened around them, stars wheeling overhead in unfamiliar constellations that neither of them recognized as home.
"May I ask you something personal?" Castoria finally ventured, setting aside her completed map.
Caelan's silver eyes shifted to her face, neither encouraging nor discouraging the question.
"Why twenty-seven deaths?" she asked directly. "You've mentioned the number several times. Is there significance to it?"
For a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer. Then, in a voice so quiet she had to lean closer to hear, he replied: "Twenty-seven was my age when I first died. Before I became Tarnished. Before grace claimed me."
The simple revelation carried enormous weight—a rare glimpse into the man behind the warrior, the life that had existed before his eternal struggle against the Greater Will.
"Thank you for telling me," Castoria said softly, understanding the trust implied by his answer.
Caelan met her gaze briefly, then returned to his surveillance of the darkened landscape. But something had changed in the quality of their silence—a barrier lowered, however slightly, between them.
Below in the main chamber, the other women slept or rested according to their assigned watch schedule. The golden threads of grace continued their subtle weaving, binding them not only to Caelan but increasingly to one another and to this strange, beautiful, terrible world they had been thrust into.
A world that, despite its horrors and corruptions, was gradually becoming something none of them had expected:
A home.
## Chapter 9: The Unexpected Encounter
Dawn broke over the Altus Plateau with deceptive serenity—golden light spilling across the highlands, burnishing dew-laden grass to diamond brilliance. From their elevated position in the ancient dragon watchtower, the landscape appeared almost peaceful, belying the dangers they had encountered the previous day.
The group awoke and prepared for travel with practiced efficiency, their routine now smooth from days of shared experience. Breakfast was a simple affair of dried provisions, consumed while discussing the day's planned route.
"The eastern fork should take us directly toward the Forbidden Lands," Caelan explained, indicating their path on Castoria's meticulously drawn map. "Approximately a day and a half's journey if we maintain good pace and avoid significant encounters."
"And the likelihood of avoiding such encounters?" Summer Morgan inquired, her aristocratic features arranged in an expression of pragmatic skepticism.
"Low," Caelan admitted candidly. "Yesterday's ambush suggests organized opposition to our passage. We should expect further attempts."
"Marvelous," Ishtar muttered, though without her earlier petulance. "Another day of murderous assassins and corrupted wildlife. I'm beginning to miss cosmic annihilation as a career path."
Her complaint drew chuckles from several of the others—tension-breaking humor had become an important aspect of their group dynamic, with Ishtar and Koyanskaya usually taking the lead in this regard.
They departed the tower as the sun cleared the eastern mountains, descending the gentle slope to rejoin the ancient road. Their formation had evolved over days of travel—no longer a loose grouping around Caelan, but a tactical arrangement that maximized their collective awareness and defensive capabilities.
Caelan led as always, the Godslayer blade a constant presence across his back, his silver eyes continuously scanning for threats. Tomoe and Koyanskaya flanked him slightly behind, forming the front triangle of their formation. Castoria occupied the center position, where her tactical oversight could best direct their movements. The others arranged themselves according to their developing combat specialties, with Void Shiki taking the rearguard position where her unique perceptual abilities provided early warning of pursuit.
The eastern fork proved to be better maintained than much of the road they had previously traveled—evidence of more recent and regular use, which Caelan noted with slight concern.
"Traffic patterns suggest increased Greater Will activity in this direction," he observed as they passed a recently repaired section of road. "Likely connected to the Forbidden Lands boundary."
"Reinforcing the barriers?" Castoria suggested, her tactical mind immediately assessing implications.
"Or preparing for something to emerge from beyond them," Caelan replied grimly.
This sobering possibility dampened conversation as they continued eastward. The landscape gradually changed character—verdant highlands giving way to more rugged terrain as they approached the mountain range that separated the Plateau from the Forbidden Lands.
By midday, they had made excellent progress, encountering no opposition more threatening than distant wildlife. The road now wound upward through increasingly rocky terrain, occasional switchbacks offering panoramic views of the Plateau they were leaving behind.
"It's strange," Ereshkigal observed during a brief rest at one such vantage point, "how beautiful this realm is despite its corruption. Like a jewel with a flaw at its heart."
"Beauty is often grace's most effective lure," Caelan responded, though without his usual harshness when discussing such matters. "Few question what appears magnificent."
"Yet you did," Void Shiki noted quietly. "You saw beyond the beauty to the underlying structure."
Caelan's silver eyes met her violet ones briefly. "Death tends to clarify perception," he said simply.
They resumed their journey after the short respite, the road now climbing more steeply as it approached a high pass between twin peaks. According to Caelan, this pass marked the formal boundary between the Altus Plateau and the approach to the Forbidden Lands—a significant milestone in their journey toward the Mountaintops.
As they neared the pass, however, Female ORT suddenly tilted her head in her characteristic gesture of heightened perception. "Anomalous energy patterns detected ahead," she announced, her harmonically complex voice carrying undertones of concern. "Similar to established grace signatures but... distorted."
Caelan signaled an immediate halt, his posture shifting subtly to combat readiness. "How many?" he asked tersely.
"Individual signal only," Female ORT replied after a moment's analysis. "Stationary at the pass summit. Waiting."
This was concerning news—not a random encounter or natural hazard, but a deliberate interception. The group arranged themselves in defensive formation as Caelan considered their options.
"We could attempt to bypass the pass," Castoria suggested, studying her map for alternatives. "Though any other route would add significant time to our journey."
"And likely be watched as well," Caelan replied, his tactical assessment immediate and practical. "If they're organized enough to have watchers at the main pass, secondary routes will be monitored too."
"So we confront this waiting entity directly," Tomoe concluded, her red oni eyes gleaming with warrior's resolve. "But cautiously, prepared for treachery."
Caelan nodded in agreement. "Stay alert. If combat begins, focus on creating an opening to break through rather than prolonged engagement. Our goal remains the Mountaintops, not victory in every battle."
With this strategy established, they continued their ascent toward the pass. As they approached the summit, a figure gradually came into view—a lone sentinel standing directly in the center of the narrow passage, blocking their path with silent purpose.
The figure proved to be a knight, but unlike any they had encountered before. Armored in what appeared to be solidified blue frost rather than metal, the knight stood easily seven feet tall, emanating an aura of cold so intense it was visible as a pale mist surrounding their form. A massive greatsword of the same frost material rested point-down before them, both hands resting on its pommel in a position that managed to appear simultaneously restful and combat-ready.
"Frayed Blade," Caelan identified, his voice carrying notes of both recognition and wariness. "Knight of the Frozen Watch. I didn't expect to encounter one this far south."
"You know this entity?" Castoria asked quietly, studying the frost knight with tactical assessment.
"By reputation," Caelan confirmed. "They serve neither the Greater Will nor the outer gods. Independent guardians of the Mountaintops' approaches, predating even the Erdtree."
This information rippled through the group, adjusting their threat assessment. Not an agent of the Greater Will then, but an independent power with unknown motivations and capabilities.
The frost knight made no move as they approached, remaining statue-still until they halted a respectful distance away. Only when Caelan stepped slightly forward did the knight finally speak—a voice like ice cracking in deep winter, neither male nor female but carrying ancient authority.
"Caelan of the Unburned Grace," the frost knight addressed him directly. "Twenty-seven times claimed by death, twenty-seven times refusing its embrace. And now..." The helmet tilted slightly, frost crystals chiming with the movement as the knight's gaze shifted to encompass the nine women. "Nine stars bound in flesh, tethered to the one who defies destiny. Curious patterns form in the tapestry of fate."
"We seek passage to the Mountaintops," Caelan stated directly, neither confirming nor denying the knight's observations. "Our business there concerns none but ourselves."
"All who approach the ancient forge concern the Frozen Watch," the knight countered impassively. "Particularly when they trail golden threads of grace yet remain unowned by the Greater Will."
The direct reference to the visible tethers binding them caused several of the women to glance down at their ankles, where indeed the golden threads had grown more pronounced since their arrival in the Lands Between.
"If you serve neither the Erdtree nor the outer gods," Caelan responded carefully, "then our quest should not oppose your interests."
"Perhaps," the frost knight acknowledged, frost crystals chiming softly with each subtle movement. "Or perhaps the very nature of your bound company represents a greater disruption than you comprehend." The massive frost greatsword shifted slightly, ice creaking as the knight adjusted their stance. "I must determine your worthiness to proceed."
Tension immediately spiked among the group, weapons half-drawn in anticipation of battle. But the frost knight made no aggressive move, instead extending an empty gauntlet palm-upward in what appeared to be a formal gesture.
"Not through combat," the knight clarified, noting their reaction. "The old ways demand a trial of spirit, not merely blade."
Caelan's silver eyes narrowed slightly, recognizing an ancient protocol from stories older than the Shattering. "The Three Questions," he stated rather than asked.
The frost knight inclined their helmet in acknowledgment. "Answer truly, and passage is granted regardless of purpose. Falsehood or refusal means turning back—or conflict, should you attempt to force your way."
The nine women exchanged uncertain glances, this development falling outside their battle preparations. Castoria stepped slightly forward, her diplomatic instincts activating.
"May we confer briefly?" she requested formally.
"You may," the frost knight permitted, returning to their statue-like stillness.
The group withdrew a short distance, maintaining visual contact with the sentinel while establishing conversational privacy.
"What are these 'Three Questions'?" Summer Morgan asked immediately, her aristocratic demeanor masking strategic calculation.
"An ancient rite of passage," Caelan explained tersely. "Predating the Golden Order. The questions probe intention, understanding, and resolve. They're metaphysically binding—lies are impossible when properly asked."
"Metaphysically binding?" Olga Marie's imperial skepticism was evident. "In what sense?"
"Truth-compelling," Void Shiki clarified before Caelan could respond, her connection to fundamental reality allowing immediate comprehension. "The questions connect to what your realm might call 'root actualization'—the underlying reality of being rather than its surface presentation."
"So we must answer truthfully because we literally cannot lie?" Ishtar summarized, her cosmic nature allowing her to grasp the concept despite her occasional flippancy. "Fascinating and slightly terrifying."
"The constraint applies only to the answerer," Caelan added. "Traditionally, only the leader of a company would respond."
"That would be you," Tomoe stated without question.
Caelan nodded once, acknowledging both the responsibility and the implied trust. "The questions are never the same twice," he warned. "They're formed from the questioner's perception of what truth most needs revealing."
"Which means we cannot prepare specific answers," Castoria concluded thoughtfully. "Are there risks beyond being compelled to turn back?"
"The truth-compelling effect can be... intense," Caelan admitted. "Particularly for those who habitually conceal aspects of themselves."
This warning clearly registered with all present—each of the nine women, like Caelan himself, carried private depths and carefully guarded aspects of identity. The prospect of forced revelation, even in limited form, represented a vulnerability none took lightly.
"Do we have a meaningful alternative?" Koyanskaya asked pragmatically. "Could we defeat this frost knight if necessary?"
Caelan's brief hesitation provided answer enough before he spoke. "Possibly. But not without significant cost. And the Frozen Watch rarely operates alone—defeating one would likely bring others."
"Then it seems our path is clear," Castoria concluded. "We proceed with the questioning, accepting whatever truths must emerge."
The others nodded in agreement, though with varying degrees of enthusiasm. They returned to face the frost knight, who remained exactly as they had left it, frost mist swirling gently around its imposing form.
"We accept the Three Questions," Caelan stated formally.
The frost knight inclined their helmet in acknowledgment. "Approach alone, Unburned One."
Caelan stepped forward, halting an arm's length from the knight. His silver eyes reflected the crystalline structure of the knight's armor, tiny flames seemingly dancing within his irises as he stood ready.
"First Question," the frost knight intoned, voice resonating with ancient power. "What do you seek in the Forbidden Lands and beyond?"
A seemingly straightforward inquiry, yet all present could feel the metaphysical weight behind it—this was no casual question but a binding invocation of truth.
"Answers," Caelan replied, his voice steady despite the compulsion. "About the summoning that brought these nine beings to the Lands Between and bound them to me. And if such answers exist, a means to return them to their rightful realms."
The frost knight remained motionless for several heartbeats, assessing the truth-value of his response. Finally, a subtle nod. "The answer is accepted as true."
"Second Question," the knight continued without pause. "What meaning do these nine bound souls hold for you, Caelan of the Unburned Grace?"
This question struck closer to personal truth, and those watching saw Caelan's posture stiffen slightly as the metaphysical compulsion took stronger hold. The answer, when it came, emerged with evident reluctance yet undeniable sincerity.
"They began as unwanted responsibility," he stated, the words seeming to draw themselves from somewhere deeper than conscious thought. "Complications in an already near-impossible quest. But they have become... important. Not merely as tactical assets or temporary allies." His silver eyes