The quiet hum of layered wards buzzed around the secluded chamber of the Scion Hold's old sanctum.
Rewald stood at the center, talismans etched with radiant runes floating mid-air in a slow orbit around Arasha.
Leta and Roen observed from the edges, tense and ready with backup spells and salves if needed.
Arasha knelt in the circle, braced, the twisted fate crest on her arm already burning faintly. Her eyes were calm—determined.
"Are you ready, child?" Rewald asked solemnly.
"Yes," she answered, voice steady.
With a nod, Rewald extended his hand and activated the talismans.
The moment they resonated with Arasha's corrupted wound, pain surged like a flood, white-hot, searing through her ribs and spine.
Her vision trembled, her heartbeat thundered in her ears, and her whole body trembled from the violent backlash of purification and corruption clashing.
But Arasha didn't scream.
Didn't whimper.
She grit her teeth, nails digging into her palms as she endured every agonizing second.
The burn was unbearable—but she wouldn't distract Rewald, not when every fraction of his focus mattered.
Rewald's face showed strain as he adjusted runes mid-air, tuning their frequency.
Sweat formed on his brow, but at last, the talismans pulsed in perfect harmony—and the corruption receded slightly, visibly shrinking the black veins around her wound.
"Enough," Rewald commanded softly, withdrawing his hand.
The runes dimmed, and the pressure lifted.
Arasha slumped forward slightly, her arms too heavy to move.
Roen rushed forward with a stabilizing tonic while Leta quickly wrapped her in a magical cooling weave.
Rewald, though clearly exhausted himself, gently rested a hand on her shoulder.
"You endured far beyond what I expected," he said, voice low. "But we must refine it more. If you keep pushing like this, you'll break."
Arasha forced a weak nod. "Thank you… Rewald. Truly."
He nodded once, grave. "Rest now. That is an order."
Arasha barely reached her chambers before her legs gave way, collapsing onto the mattress like a discarded blade.
Sleep took her instantly.
The first image was warmth—tender, foreign.
She leaned against a tall man's chest, unfamiliar but achingly comforting.
His arms wrapped around her as he whispered softly:
"Lean on me. You're not alone anymore."
A sudden shift. Darkness.
Leta and Garran, blurred and pale, their mouths moving in frantic concern:
"Arasha, you must rest."
"Please, we can't lose you again."
Another lurch.
Blood. Screams. One of her knights, split in half by a massive club. The Ogre King towered, shadow blotting out the sun. The smell of iron and despair.
Arasha screamed but no sound came.
Then silence.
Leo—older, eyes glowing with the same eerie flicker as her crest—screaming, blood pouring from every orifice.
He cried to her with desperation.
"Big Sister…!"
Then—light.
Music played softly. She danced slowly in the abandoned training area, holding a younger version of the man from the first dream. He didn't speak, just trembled in her arms. She hugged him tightly.
He finally whispered,
"Don't hug me like that… You should really stop that habit of yours, hugging me to comfort me..."
Arasha gasped awake, cold sweat soaking her shift. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she stared at the pale ceiling, the heaviness of the dreams clinging to her.
She touched her crest-covered arm. Still there. Still pulsing faintly.
"What are these dreams…? Why do they feel more like memories than fiction…?"
She lay there for a long time, eyes wide open, as the sun slowly rose beyond the frost-rimmed windows.
****
Steam curled from the polished tiles of Arasha's private bath, the warm cascade of enchanted water washing away the stiffness clinging to her bones.
She tilted her face toward the falling water, feeling its gentle pressure against her sore shoulders.
The ache in her body, once constant and cruel, had faded slightly. Lighter. Bearable.
She exhaled slowly, and when she caught her reflection in the mirror as she dressed, a faint smile curled her lips—small, but real.
Her steps were steady as she entered her office, parchment and ink waiting in neat stacks, courtesy of John. He stood to the side, sorting through a few sealed dispatches with his usual efficiency. When he saw her, his brow furrowed immediately.
"You should be in bed, Commander," he said with all the subtlety of a blunt sword.
"I feel better," Arasha replied, settling into her seat. "The weight in my chest lessened a bit. I think Rewald's talisman did more than we expected."
John narrowed his eyes. "You think?"
She gave him a look. "John."
He sighed and shook his head, muttering, "Still as stubborn as ever."
Then he smiled faintly. "But your color's better today. That gaunt face of yours isn't as terrifying."
Arasha chuckled. "You always know how to flatter your commander."
"You're lucky I respect you too much to put it in writing." John jested and returned to his paperwork.
Later in the afternoon, Arasha found Rewald in the lower study room, surrounded by talisman diagrams and pages scrawled in an ancient magical script.
Leta leaned on one of the long tables, tired eyes scanning ingredients, while Roen carefully etched a purification circle on a scroll with glowing ink.
"Working hard?" Arasha asked, stepping in.
Rewald looked up. "We wouldn't be, if our patient wasn't such a high risk one."
"I'm not a high risk," she said.
Rewald arched an eyebrow.
Arasha cleared her throat. "...Just a busy one."
Leta and Roen snorted at the same time.
"Tomorrow," he said, setting his pen down. "The talisman isn't ready yet. The corruption… it's adapting faster than expected. I want to reinforce the runes."
"I understand." She gave them each a nod. "Get some rest. All of you."
Roen snarked. "That's rich, coming from you."
Leta smirked. "Coming from the commander who happened to push herself to the limit to deliver letters and help rebuild a village from a flood without rest. Ironic, isn't it?"
Arasha raised a hand dramatically. "Alright, guilty as charged. And I'll promise to stay in the hold this time."
Leta, Roen, and Garran, who just happened to hear her say that as he passed by, sighed a long one.
Rewald chuckled, and she took that as her cue to escape. "I'll leave you to it. Don't overdo things."
Evening light bathed the training courtyard in amber hues as Arasha walked into the squire's yard.
Young recruits were lining up for sword drills, fumbling and sweaty but determined. Some looked her way, startled, and tried to straighten their stances.
She joined quietly at the edge, arms folded as she watched.
One squire tripped during a footwork exercise, sprawling in the dirt. His friend helped him up with a laugh, and the two resumed as if nothing had happened.
Arasha's gaze softened.
Her thoughts wandered—back to the flickering dream she couldn't shake. That same man again, younger this time. Smiling, laughing, then crumbling with emotion as she embraced him.
Where are you…? Why do you haunt my dreams?
A breeze stirred the training flags.
For a moment, Arasha closed her eyes. Somewhere, across realms perhaps, someone was reaching for her. Waiting. And though she didn't know his name, she felt the weight of his promise resting just beside the curse carved on her soul.
She opened her eyes.
"Back to work, squires," she called out.
They scrambled into motion, energized by her voice.
And for now—she got to get her strength back.
****
The sun hung low behind wisps of cloud, casting long shadows over the Scion Hold as a quiet but palpable tension settled across its stone walls.
After a grueling month and a half of relentless talisman purging rituals, daily potion supplements, and two harrowing weeks within the illusionary Hollow Valley simulations, Arasha finally stood ready.
Not perfectly healed—but strong enough to walk into the darkness without buckling down.
She stood in her warcloak, reinforced with enchanted thread, and the talisman Rewald personally crafted now bound into her breastplate.
Its pulsing sigil hummed low against her chest, stabilizing the rift-corruption that once threatened to consume her from within.
Rewald waited at the gates, leaning on a carved staff that shimmered with latent energy.
Despite his age, the archmage looked every bit a battle-hardened sentinel of ancient power. His calm, steady gaze met hers and he nodded once.
"She's given her approval," he said, offering a rolled parchment sealed with Linalee's sigil. "Your stubbornness and persistence made Linalee resign to just let you go before you think of any other means to make her worry."
Arasha gave a soft chuckle. "Stubbornness is part of my duty."
Before she could mount her steed, Garran approached, his expression a mixture of concern and iron resolve.
"The monster hordes continue to grow in number," he reported. "But we've stationed rapid-response teams near the border villages. If any allied outpost calls for assistance, we'll be ready to respond."
"Good," Arasha said, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder. "Don't hesitate. Cull them quickly. We can't afford to give the rift cult more chaos to hide in."
"You have my word." Garran's voice was steady. "You just make sure to come back in one piece."
John arrived next, arms crossed, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "Paperwork's already been sorted by priority tier. You'll barely have a stack waiting when you return—assuming you don't get lost in a cursed valley and vanish forever."
"I will come back even if stress is the first to greet me back," Arasha replied dryly.
Then, quieter, she added, "Thank you—for keeping things steady."
John nodded once, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them. No dramatics. Just the assurance of loyalty.
Arasha looked out beyond the gates—toward the unseen edges of Hollow Valley.
Her purpose burned clear in her chest: to seek answers about the twisted crest on her soul and on Leo's, to learn the origin of the corruption infecting her world, and to understand the true reason of the rift cult.
She mounted her horse and tightened her cloak as Rewald climbed into his enchanted transport beside her.
As they set off, the cold wind stirred the edges of her mantle, and Arasha narrowed her eyes at the distant horizon.
No more waiting. It's time to see what truths the Hollow Valley has buried.