The deeper we walked into the twilight-draped forest, the quieter the world became—like we were being swallowed into something sacred and ancient. The winds didn't howl here, they whispered. Even the trees stood differently, tall and motionless, as though listening.
The Queen's steps were deliberate, her gaze distant. We hadn't spoken since Popu's farewell... until now.
"The Celestial Order," she began, her voice gentle yet clear, "was founded by one of the first heroes during the Dragon's Liberation Era."
I turned to her. Her eyes remained forward, as though the trees themselves were her audience.
"It was also during that era," she continued, "that the spirit of the Third Circle—Solviel—was discovered. Not merely discovered... but rebirthed. She was passed down as an inheritance through generations of the Gadriel family, always choosing one who would carry the light forward."
The name Solviel stirred something in me. I'd read it before—once—in the restricted scrolls beneath my family's old estate, in faded ink and wary language. The Third Circle… A spirit said to have stood beside kings and burned cities to ash.
"I don't have news of who inherited Solviel this time," the Queen admitted, "but if we can find the current contractor… we may begin to understand the true aim of the current Dragonlord."
I frowned, processing the name again.
"Does the holy spirit Solviel exist before the era of dragons?" I asked.
"Yes." She nodded, brushing her hand against the bark of an old tree. "All spirits did. Some spirits were there at the world's first breath. Others may predate even that."
"So… Solviel is one of the ancients then?"
"Indeed," she confirmed. "An ancient spirit bound by vow and memory. And through the years, many others have awakened, or manifested anew—spirits born of events, or prayers, or tragedy."
I slowed beside her. "So that's why we're heading to the Temple of Threads? To find the current contractor of Solviel, and maybe find answers?"
"That is one of the reasons," she said, her voice a shade lower now.
"One of them?" I asked, eyebrows raised.
The Queen looked at me now, her expression unreadable.
"Solviel played a pivotal role in the Dragon's Liberation Era. If we make contact with her, not only could we gain clarity… but perhaps she would fight beside us again, should war come knocking."
A thought itched at me then. "But… from what I remember reading—Solviel isn't whole, right? Her essence is scattered?"
The Queen's lips curled in the faintest grimace. "That's true. Her spirit was fractured near the end of the liberation. Her body may have perished—but her will lived on, scattered across places we can no longer name. Some say her mirror of truth was stolen. Others believe she shattered herself to preserve memory."
"And if we find those missing fragments…" I began.
"Then we may recover parts of the lost history," she said.
That phrase struck me still.
"Lost history?" I echoed.
The Queen tilted her head with the hint of a smirk. "I'm surprised. A former royal like you never heard of it?"
I crossed my arms. "No. I always thought it was just a myth—something old scholars argue about when they're bored."
"Unfortunately," she said, "it is not. The Lost History isn't just forgotten—it was buried. Torn out from the tomes, purged from memory, erased by those who feared what it revealed."
The forest around us dimmed, and I noticed faint silver threads drifting in the air—visible only at the corner of my eye.
We were getting close.
"So," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "we're not just walking toward a temple… are we?"
The Queen's eyes flicked up.
"We're walking into the echoes of truth," she replied. "And truth has never been kind to those who seek it."
A cold mist slithered in from the edges of the path, thickening with each breath I took. It wasn't natural fog. No—it moved with intention. It pulsed like breath. Coiled like something watching.
It crept across my boots, curled around my ankles, and climbed slowly as if to test the weight of my soul.
I stepped forward and lowered my stance, my fingers now unveiling its claws. "What is this?"
"Relax," the Queen said calmly, her expression unchanged. "It is the Loomwardens."
Before I could respond, the air shifted.
"No one shall pass thy sacred place with intent of unending suffering."
The words came from all directions—male and female voices, dozens at once. No... hundreds. Echoing with tones that overlapped and folded into one another like woven silk, creating a tapestry of sound that scraped against the edges of my mind.
The Queen stood tall, her cloak gently lifting from the pressure in the air. "I am the Elven Queen Jeisha. I came here not for war—but for answers."
There was a pause.
Then, the Loomwardens responded with a question that struck like a blade dipped in judgment:
"Even if one would argue it's supposedly answers of questions yielding the world to suffer?"
"Yes," the Queen replied without hesitation. "Even if the answers are ones that would kill."
The mist shuddered. I could feel the weight shift.
Then, another voice—no, the same voice, only... directed now at me.
"Then what does one buried in crimson blood seek?"
I blinked. That was me.
I took a breath, grounding myself before stepping forward into the swirling fog.
"I am Vanessa Van Vokhsina," I said, my voice steady despite the unnatural cold pressing into my spine. "Former princess of a kingdom now in slumber. I seek questions—questions only this place may answer."
Silence followed.
Then the Loomwardens murmured as one, slower this time, as though considering me carefully.
"Shall the answers to your question bring you peace upon your slumbered kingdom?"
I hesitated only for a heartbeat. "I... yes. And if the answers do not bring me peace, then I have brought myself to the wrong path."
A low hum, almost curious.
"Interesting..."
The mist began to move. Not retreating—but unraveling.
It drew itself into thin threads of silvery-white, revealing stone steps that hadn't been visible a moment ago. They stretched upward—up toward a temple carved into a steep mountainside, its silhouette towering like a sentinel over time itself.
The Queen stepped first, her pace slow but sure.
I followed, my thoughts swirling like the remnants of the fog still curling at our backs.
We had passed the threshold of the veil. Now came the truth.
And the truth never left anyone untouched.
The stone beneath my feet was cold—older than memory, and carved not by chisel, but by forces that predated civilization.
The fog had receded, but its presence still lingered in my lungs, in the way the shadows danced around our silhouettes as we climbed. The steps were uneven, jagged in places, and the ascent was steep enough that I had to use both hands to steady myself at times.
The Queen, however, walked without falter.
I watched the sway of her white hair in the wind, the calm with which she faced the mountain. And despite myself, I spoke.
"You answered them without hesitation."
She didn't turn back, but I could sense her listening.
"When they asked if you'd still seek the truth, even if it meant suffering."
Her steps slowed just enough that we were side by side now.
"I've had to ask myself that question many times," she said, her voice almost lost to the howling breeze. "And suffering... comes whether you pursue truth or not. I'd rather suffer knowing than live blind to it."
Her words settled into my chest like snow—quiet, but heavy.
I looked away, toward the cliffside. Below us, the mist still clung to the forest canopy like a patient predator.
"I'm not sure if I'm prepared for the answers I'm looking for," I admitted. "I think... part of me is afraid the truth won't change anything. That it'll just make it worse."
The Queen paused then and looked at me—truly looked.
"It may," she said. "But pretending we still live in the world before the dragonlord's awakening won't stop the war that's coming."
I bit the inside of my cheek, then nodded. She was right, even if I didn't want to admit it.
We climbed in silence for a time, until the winds shifted again, this time carrying with it the faintest note of music. No instruments, no voice—just a vibration in the air, like threads plucked gently on a loom.
"Is that... the Temple?" I asked.
She nodded, her gaze fixed ahead.
"The Celestial Order awaits."
And as I lifted my head toward the towering spires now visible through the thinning mist, I realized the mountain didn't just test the body—it tested belief. Every step forward was a choice. And I had already made mine.