Leon stepped forward.
Not because he was ready.
Because there was no other path.
The corridor of light narrowed around him, pulsing faintly with every beat of the shard inside his chest. Unlike the memory realm before, this space had no floor, no ceiling—just a long bridge of woven light stretching into silence. A single figure stood at the end.
A woman, cloaked in red veils, her back turned, standing motionless beneath a tree with no roots.
The tree floated.
Its branches curled like antlers, made of gold and fire, suspended in midair. From its limbs hung tiny shards—each the size of a nail—glowing in faint, different hues. They chimed softly as if stirred by breathless wind.
Leon approached slowly.
The veiled woman turned, but not fully. Her face remained hidden.
"I was wondering," she said, voice soft as falling dust, "how long it would take before you found the second."
Leon kept a hand on his hilt. "Are you another memory?"
She laughed, but the sound wasn't cruel.
