After the encounter at the pedestal, Rose felt the storm inside her tighten—tense and waiting, like a thunderclap held just behind her ribs. Mortain's words echoed through her mind, not because they frightened her, but because they were familiar.
The pain of being misunderstood. The temptation of retreating into rage. The hunger to strike first so you never feel small again.
She'd danced with those thoughts once. But now? She'd outgrown them.
They made camp at the edge of the Whispering Pines, where the trees sang with wind and memory. Basil sharpened his blade nearby, casting frequent glances toward Rose, who sat cross-legged, tracing sigils into the dirt.
Nimbus floated low, noticeably quieter than usual. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," she lied.
"You always lie prettier when you're angry," he replied, drifting beside her. "Want to talk about it?"
Rose didn't answer.
Instead, she turned to Basil, her voice low. "If Mortain tries to use you against me… I need you to know something."
He looked up, calm and steady. "You're going to ask me to stay behind again, aren't you?"
"No," she said. "I'm going to ask you to trust that I'm strong enough not to lose myself. Even if he finds the softest part of me."
Basil set his sword down. "You're not alone in this, Rose."
She nodded. "I know. That's why it scares him."
As the moon rose higher, Lira's journal unfolded more secrets. One passage in particular caught Rose's attention:
> "The Stormsmith bears the spark of endings and beginnings. If the sigil burns true, it will unmake the god—not through force, but choice."
Unmake. Not kill.
Nimbus hovered above the page. "You think that means redemption?"
Rose shook her head. "I think it means I'll have to do something harder than killing him. I might have to understand him."
Basil grimaced. "That's a risk."
"I know," she whispered. "But if love really is the blade…"
Her voice trailed off. The thought clung to her like morning fog.
Later that night, she stood at the edge of the pines, staring at the distant stars. They shimmered like frost—cold and unblinking. In her hand, the sigil pulsed again, syncing with the rhythm of the earth beneath her feet.
"I'm not your puppet," she whispered to Mortain, though he wasn't there. "And I won't become you."
Lightning crackled across her palm. She let it dance up her arm, into her heart. She welcomed it this time.
The storm was hers now.
No more running.
No more hiding.
Basil joined her without a word, standing shoulder to shoulder. He offered her a small, knowing smile.
Rose took his hand.
No promises. No grand speeches. Just warmth. Just presence.
The kind of connection Mortain had lost—and feared above all else.
In the silence of the pines, Rose made a vow—not to destroy Mortain out of vengeance, but to end the cycle he began.
To be more than what the world had made her.
To be hope, even in the eye of ruin.