The cold in the Tatras was not the kind that stung—it was the kind that haunted. A silence pressed into the world, heavy and old, as if the mountains themselves remembered things no one spoke of. Snow fell in fine, whispering drifts, swirling around the narrow trail that wound toward a jagged, shadowed peak.
Liora stood near the summit, her breath steaming in the frigid air. Jaeyun trudged beside her, cloak drawn tightly around his shoulders. Virelle walked ahead, navigating by instinct and memory. She hadn't spoken much since they left the crypt, but every step she took was filled with purpose.
Below them, hidden in the folds of the rock, slept the temple—the Mouth of Threads.
"Are you sure it's still here?" Jaeyun asked. "This place looks like it's been buried for centuries."
"It has," Virelle replied without looking back. "But the veil remembers. It pulls at the places where its skin is thinnest."
They rounded the final bend, and there it was.
Half-buried in ice and stone, the temple emerged like the spine of some ancient beast—arched pillars and sunken towers, all carved from black marble veined with silver. Even from a distance, Liora could feel the pull—the thrum of the veil, raw and exposed. It vibrated just below hearing, like a song without melody.
"We're not the first to arrive," Virelle said, her eyes narrowing.
And indeed, she was right.
Scattered along the crumbling ridge were signs of recent presence—boot prints in the snow, long drag marks, and sigils carved into the ice. Faint trails of smoke rose from stone outposts embedded in the mountainside. The Court had already sent their vanguard.
Jaeyun's grip tightened on his blade. "They're expecting us."
"Let them," Liora said softly.
She reached for the fragments. One floated free of her cloak, glowing with golden-white light. The other pulsed darkly, heavier than it had been before. When she brought them near the temple's edge, they both shimmered—as if recognizing where they were.
"This is where it ends," she whispered.
"No," said a voice behind her. "This is where it begins again."
Liora turned.
A group emerged from the path below.
Seven figures in worn travel cloaks and scattered armor. Some bore tattoos of the old Keepers. Others carried relics—blades, books, and charms of forgotten design. Their leader stepped forward—a woman in her sixties, one eye covered by a cloth of gold thread. She bowed slightly to Liora.
"We heard your call," she said. "The veil woke us."
Liora stepped forward, stunned. "You were part of the Second Circle?"
The woman smiled. "I was there when your mother last sealed the gate. I swore I would not raise my hand again. But something has changed. You have changed."
More Keepers emerged from the snow behind her—thirteen, then twenty, some young, some old, each carrying with them the worn symbols of an order once thought shattered.
Virelle stepped forward, disbelief flickering in her eyes. "I thought you were all gone."
"Not gone," the old woman said. "Waiting. For someone who could bind the veil without losing herself."
Liora felt the fragments pulse in answer.
"I don't know if I can lead you," she admitted.
"You already are," the woman replied.
Below them, deep within the temple, the Mouth of Threads stirred. A breath of ancient wind escaped the gates, curling upward like smoke. The convergence was near.
And the Court… was watching.
Liora turned to her allies, her hands alight with the veil's twin powers.
"This time," she said, "we don't just defend the world from breaking. We show them it can heal."
The Mouth of Threads was awake now.
From the summit where Liora stood, she could see it clearly—a circular altar deep within the collapsed temple structure, its surface cracked open like a wound in the mountain. Threads of light and shadow writhed from it like living roots, weaving through the stone like veins. The veil was thinnest here. And growing thinner by the minute.
Below, the Court's forces began to gather.
Figures in dark cloaks moved with mechanical precision, lining the temple's edge. At their center stood a woman cloaked in deep crimson, her presence more felt than seen. Her face was pale, angular, with eyes like glass. Liora didn't recognize her, but the fragments did. They pulsed in warning the moment her gaze turned toward them.
"That's her," Virelle whispered. "The Lady of Silence. The Court's anchor."
"She's here to finish what Thalen started," Jaeyun said, standing at Liora's side.
"And she has enough power to tear the veil open completely," Virelle added grimly.
Liora felt the pull from the fragments—one light, one shadow. If she wanted to stop this, she would have to fuse them. Not just temporarily, like before, but fully. It was the only way to weave the veil closed again… or to guide it into rebirth.
But fusing them would come at a cost.
She would not simply wield the veil—she would become part of it.
"I have to do it," she said quietly.
"No," Jaeyun snapped. "We'll find another way."
"There is no other way," Liora said. Her voice was calm, even as the wind howled around them. "The fragments respond to me. Only me. If we wait, she'll open the Mouth of Threads, and this world will unravel."
Virelle placed a hand on Jaeyun's shoulder. "We protect her," she said. "That's what we do."
Below, the battle began.
The Court's vanguard surged toward the ruined temple with blades of dark crystal and spells carved from void. The Keepers answered with old magic—runic shields and lightborn arrows, ancient chants that awakened the stone beneath their feet. The snow turned red. The air burned with clashing power.
Liora stepped through the chaos, untouched, as if the veil itself made space for her. Jaeyun fought beside her, blade singing. Virelle cast barriers that shimmered with ancestral light.
When Liora reached the altar, the Lady of Silence was waiting.
"You're too late," the Lady said. "The Mouth is already open."
"Then I'll close it," Liora replied.
The Lady extended her hands. Shadows erupted upward, forming claws of pure void. Liora answered with her own power—golden flame and deep indigo threads weaving from her palms. The two forces collided mid-air, tearing open the sky above them.
"You don't understand what you're trying to save," the Lady hissed. "The veil is a lie. A prison."
"No," Liora said. "It's a promise. A boundary. One we chose to protect."
With a scream, the Lady struck again—but Liora stepped forward, letting the fragments rise.
One of light.
One of darkness.
And she brought them together.
Pain lanced through her—memories that were not hers flooding her mind. She saw the first Keepers forging the veil from the ruins of a forgotten war. She saw her mother, Eliara, binding the original fragments with her own blood. She saw the truth:
The veil wasn't just magic. It was memory. It was choice.
And now, she would choose to mend it.
The fusion completed.
Light and shadow burst outward from Liora's chest like a nova, blinding the battlefield. Time stilled. The Mouth of Threads glowed with new color—gold streaked with black, silver laced with violet. The tear in reality healed—not sealed, not hidden—but rewoven with new understanding.
The Lady of Silence fell to her knees.
The remaining Court forces fled into the mountains, their connection to the veil severed.
The battle was over.
Liora collapsed to her knees at the altar, breath ragged, eyes wide. But she was still herself. Not broken. Not consumed.
Changed.
Around her, the Keepers stood in stunned silence. Virelle approached, tears in her eyes. Jaeyun dropped to her side, his hand in hers.
"You did it," he whispered.
Liora looked at the sky.
It was no longer torn.
But it was not the same.
The veil lived again.
And it remembered her name.