The fire had long gone out.
Only the embers remained, and even they seemed reluctant to glow beneath the cold wind howling through the ruins.
Liora sat with her back to the temple, staring into what was left of Ryn's blade—warped from the Shade's final surge. His laughter, his wit, his cursed optimism... all gone. A space in the world where he used to be, and now wasn't.
Thalia hadn't spoken in hours. Not since she'd whispered his name like a prayer and received no answer.
Iskar paced. Vex leaned against the wall, carving a rune into his arm with calm detachment, blood trickling in swirls of light.
The silence wasn't just grief.
It was dread.
They all knew it now.
There wasn't going to be a clean victory.
There were no clean endings anymore.
Liora turned the blade hilt in her hand and finally stood. "We're leaving."
Vex arched a brow. "Where to? We've got about three allies left, and one of them's hallucinating butterflies."
Thalia didn't flinch at the jab. She just stared at the floor, hollow-eyed.
"To the Mouth of Dovar," Liora said. "There's a Veil Rift opening there in five days. The White Circle will be there."
"And Mavrek?" Iskar asked quietly.
She nodded. "Him too."
The journey across the Blasted Vale took three days on foot.
Storms of dead ash swept the plains. Creatures moved beneath the ground—long, chitinous things drawn to blood. Twice, they fought. Twice, they bled. But they survived.
And with every hour, the Veil grew thinner.
Liora could feel it in her teeth, like a hum. Like pressure against her soul.
The soul fusion within her twisted. Alric's memories bled into hers more easily now. Dreams of past rituals, of tortures she couldn't morally justify, but which now made sense.
The Veil wasn't just a barrier.
It was a filter—one that blocked the truths mortals couldn't handle.
And the closer they came to Dovar's Mouth, the more she realized something else:
This wasn't just a war.
It was judgment.
The Mouth of Dovar wasn't a place.
It was a wound—thirty stories deep and wide enough to swallow castles. The sky above it was always dark, even at midday. And at its rim, the White Circle had gathered.
Dozens of figures in bone-white armor, faces hidden. Some hovered above the stone in quiet meditation. Others traced blood symbols across the rocks.
But at the center, he stood.
Mavrek.
Cloaked in dark velvet, veins glowing like molten gold, and behind him... a creature that shouldn't exist.
A Veilspawn Colossus—a towering beast with four faces, each locked in a different expression of agony. Chained by runes. Fed by souls.
He was building a weapon. A monstrous anchor to tear the Veil fully open.
Liora felt her breath catch.
"Mavrek!" she called.
He turned. Slowly. Like he'd been expecting her voice all along.
"Sister," he said, voice smooth. "You're just in time."
The White Circle didn't attack.
They made way.
Because this wasn't war yet.
This was family business.
Liora stepped to the edge of the crater, the others flanking her—Thalia stiff as a knife, Iskar frowning, Vex with blood still dripping down his knuckles.
"You're really doing this?" she asked. "Ripping the Veil wide open?"
Mavrek nodded. "The gods chose us. Alarin was a seed, not a mistake. You feel it, don't you? The call?"
"I feel what he did. The pain he caused."
"Necessary pain," Mavrek said, smiling. "He didn't go far enough. He failed to cleanse the world of weakness."
"You mean compassion."
He laughed. It was a tired sound. Almost... sad. "You think what we are allows for compassion? You merged souls, Liora. You broke a rule no human should break. And now you're more like me than you want to admit."
She stepped forward, voice steady. "I'll admit it. But I'll never become you."
Mavrek raised a hand. The Colossus stirred.
And then the sky began to tear.
Not a metaphor.
A tear, like paper, opened above the Mouth—bleeding light that wasn't light, casting shadows that didn't move. Through it came voices, hundreds, screaming in every language. Begging. Cursing. Laughing.
Thalia fell to one knee, clutching her head.
The fusion inside Liora flared—trying to reach through, trying to join whatever was coming.
But she held it back.
Barely.
Mavrek smiled. "When the Veil breaks fully, death ends. Suffering ends. Individuality ends. Do you understand what that means?"
"It means you'll kill everyone just to stop feeling alone."
That shut him up.
For a moment.
Then he whispered, "You always were the smart one."
The sky cracked again.
And this time, something came through.
Not a god.
Not a beast.
A Sevarin.
One of the originals—brought back in twisted glory. Wings made of iron feathers. A mouth stitched closed with bone. Its eyes locked on Liora.
And it bowed.
"Welcome home," Mavrek said.
Liora stepped back.
And then something inside her snapped.
Power rushed through her. Veil-touched magic. Her hands shimmered between realms, light and shadow bleeding off her skin.
The Veil wasn't a door anymore.
It was a weapon.
And she was ready to use it.