A lot had happened. She had lost her life. That truth weighed on him, heavier than any sword or spell. Even if he were reincarnated, with his permission, they could have performed a reincarnation ritual for her—but that wasn't possible. The Blood-Veiled Sword—the one the Demon Lord had used to strike her down—had pierced her soul. It wasn't just a weapon; it was a curse. Her soul wouldn't be safe. Even if the sword were destroyed, or the Demon Lord killed, she could only ever hope for reincarnation after everything was undone.
Rowan sat on his bed, staring at the window as sunlight poured in, painting the room with gold and warmth. He closed his eyes slowly, letting the quiet settle over him. For a moment, he imagined her smiling at him, her laugh echoing like wind through the trees. With a deep breath, he drifted into a light sleep, carrying both sorrow and resolve in his heart.
