Vas stared at her, the enormity of her words sinking in. His mind raced back to the spirits, the cosmic power they carried, and how unprepared he had been to wield them. Now, it made sense.

Morrigan's gaze hardened. "As for you, you can handle up to step three. Which, coincidentally, is the same stage of the Unveiling you're ready to achieve."

"What?" Vas blinked, utterly confused. He'd come here for answers, but nothing about this journey had been straightforward.

A soft chuckle echoed behind him. The Archivist, sitting in the shadows, stepped forward. "Yeah," he said, his tone light but his eyes sharp. "You completed the task I gave you within the time I allowed. You've earned the right to advance to the next step of the Unveiling."

"That's why you brought me here?" Vas asked, frowning as he turned from Morrigan to the Archivist.

"No," the Archivist replied, his voice calm but firm. "I brought you here because I needed to remove those spirits before they caused any more damage. And—" he paused for a moment, his lips curling into a slight smile—"because this way, it's easier for you to disappear without anyone noticing back there."

Vas let out a dry laugh, a bit of tension leaving his shoulders. "Thanks for that," he said, though the sarcastic edge was clear in his voice. "I had a feeling."

The Archivist shrugged nonchalantly. "No problem. Once you leave here, you'll have completed the third Unveiling." His eyes flickered toward Morrigan. "And yes, she'll still be with you. But I'll let you keep your abilities to forge with her—at least for now."

Vas's brow furrowed, absorbing the implications. "For now?"

The Archivist continued, his tone serious once more. "After that, you'll only retain the basic abilities from the first three steps of a Spirit Forger. No more celestial forges. No bending space or time." He raised an eyebrow. "At least, not until you've truly earned it."

Vas's mind swirled with questions, but before he could voice any of them, the Archivist added one final note. "Oh, and by the way—new memories will come to you in your dreams tonight. Don't be alarmed. They'll help you understand what's coming."

Vas's mouth opened to speak, but the Archivist held up a hand, silencing him. "No need to thank me," he said with a grin that was equal parts cryptic and amused.

Morrigan crossed her arms, her expression unreadable, but Vas could feel the weight of her gaze. "The third Unveiling is no small thing," she said. "It's not just about stepping forward in your abilities. It's about opening your mind to new realities. Don't take this lightly."

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Vas nodded, though a part of him still felt unsure. He had faced challenges before, but this—this felt different. Deeper. More dangerous.

"You'll be fine," the Archivist said, his voice a touch softer. "Just don't forget—this is only the beginning."

Vas swallowed hard, his pulse quickening as he tried to mentally prepare for what lay ahead. "What kind of dreams?"

The Archivist chuckled again, stepping back into the shadows. "You'll see."

As the light around them dimmed, Vas felt the familiar sensation of transition, of something shifting between worlds. Morrigan stood beside him, steady as ever, but her presence felt even more powerful, more connected. He could sense the unseen forge humming in the space between them, waiting for him to touch it, to call it into being.

"Ready?" she asked, her voice a quiet challenge.

Vas took a deep breath, the weight of the Unveiling pressing down on him, yet something inside him stirred—a sense of readiness, of purpose. He nodded.

"Let's go."

"Where are we supposed to go?" Vas asked, uncertainty tinging his voice as he glanced at Morrigan.

"First things first," Morrigan replied, a sly smile playing on her lips. "You're going to forge me into a pair of nice earrings." She paused, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Preferably with a crow motif."

Vas raised an eyebrow. "Fine. How exactly am I supposed to do that?"

Morrigan's smile faded, replaced by a serious, almost haunted look. "First, create the image in your mind—see the earrings, feel the material. Then, you'll refine the raw material into the shape you've envisioned. But the final step…" Her voice dropped to a whisper, laced with a chilling edge. "The final step is channeling me into the earrings. When you do, you'll see my memories. I won't sugarcoat them for your sake, Vas. It's going to get ugly. Be ready."

Vas nodded, his stomach knotting as he approached the forge. The Archivist had left the necessary materials—a block of black metal as dark as midnight and shards of silver that shimmered like moonlight. He grabbed the metal, feeling its cold, ancient weight in his hands, and began the process. In his mind, he formed the image of the earrings: delicate chains, ending in small, perfect circles. Inside each circle, a crow, wings outstretched, ready to take flight.

With each strike of the hammer, he shaped the metal. The rings gleamed, their thin chains catching the forge's firelight. The crow engravings, etched with precision, held an eerie, almost lifelike quality.

Finally, the moment came to channel Morrigan into the earrings. As he infused them with her essence, the world around him dissolved. The mists didn't part with a gentle breeze, but were torn asunder, ripped away like fragile silk by the force of a forgotten storm.

Morrigan emerged from the swirling vapors, not the hardened warrior-queen of legends, but a goddess in the terrifying bloom of her prime. Her beauty was wild and raw, an untamed reflection of the ancient land. Her skin gleamed with a pale, eerie luminescence, like bone under moonlight. Her lips, stained a deep, unnatural crimson, held the color of blood and wild berries. Her eyes—storm clouds darkening with fury and ecstasy—bore into Vas with a gaze that was both seductive and cruel.

The connection snapped into place, a bridge between the mortal and the divine, and the memories came crashing down on him like a flood.

He stood beside her on windswept hills, ravens swirling overhead, their beady black eyes reflecting her power. The earth beneath them trembled with the rhythm of battle drums, and Morrigan's presence pulsed like a primal force. She was the Morrígan, a goddess not just of war but of death itself, a force as ancient and untamable as the land she guarded.