Celeste moved with practiced ease through the winding corridors of the labyrinth, her steps sure, her path unwavering. Roland followed, noting the way she barely hesitated at each twisting turn, as if she had walked this route a dozen times before. The suspicion gnawed at him, and when they reached a perfectly intact Veil gate—one she had led him to without so much as a moment’s doubt—he knew for certain. He let out a small huff, crossing his arms. “You planned this.” Celeste didn’t even look guilty. Instead, she smirked, placing a hand on the gate’s smooth stone frame. “Of course I did. Now stop pouting and help me open it.”
As they stepped through the fading edges of the labyrinth gate, mist curled around Roland’s boots, thick and swirling like smoke. He blinked as the air shifted—not thinning into open wilderness but revealing something entirely unexpected.
Before them stretched a town, vibrant and alive. Roland’s breath caught. He had expected more Veil-warped ruins, another crumbling remnant of the past. Instead, he found a bustling Motherborn settlement. Structures of smooth stone and woven crystal arched over the streets, their surfaces glowing faintly with embedded divine energy. The air carried the scent of flowers and fresh bread, and the soft murmur of conversation echoed through the streets.
An active Motherborn town.
Roland barely had time to process before a small figure stepped toward them. She was barely half his height, with smooth, pearl-white skin that caught the light in a way that made her look sculpted rather than born. A CrystalBorn.
“CeeCee!” the woman exclaimed, beaming as she hurried forward.
Celeste groaned, rubbing her temples. “By the roots, Pystria, don’t call me that.”
Roland glanced between them, suppressing a grin. “CeeCee?”
Pystria ignored Celeste’s protests and grinned up at him. “And who’s this?” She looked him over, sharp blue eyes scanning him with unnerving efficiency before giving a quick, satisfied nod. Then, to his complete confusion, she winked. “He’ll do.”
Roland blinked. “I’ll do for what exactly?”
Celeste crossed her arms. “Ignore her.”
Pystria laughed. “Welcome to Fraella, traveller.” She gestured around them with a flourish. “A little sanctuary, one of many hidden across the worlds.”
Roland took in the town again, noticing the way the people moved—not like warriors, but families, artisans, scholars. “I didn’t think there were still places like this.”
“Oh, we’re around,” Pystria said with a smirk. “Just takes knowing where to look. Or who to ask.” She turned back to Celeste. “So, you finally came back. You never visit unless you need something.”
Celeste sighed, but there was warmth beneath the exasperation. “I need something.”
Pystria laughed again. “Figured.” She glanced at Roland. “Let me guess—gear?”
Celeste nodded. “We have materials from a World tree labyrinth. Chitin, claws, even some divine crystal.”
Pystria’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, now you’re speaking my language. Come on, let’s get you two properly equipped.”
Roland followed Celeste and Pystria through the winding streets of Fraella, his eyes darting between the towering crystal structures and the bustling figures that moved through them. The city was unlike anything he had ever seen—alive, thriving, hidden away from the world.
Motherborn of all shapes and sizes filled the streets. He hadn’t seen another Lifeborn, though, and there were a few figures he couldn’t place at all—Motherborn, clearly, but different. Half-breeds? The thought crossed his mind, but he wasn’t about to ask. Some questions were better left alone.
Eventually, they stopped in front of a massive building with a door that towered at least six meters high. Roland glanced at Pystria, barely reaching his waist, and then back at the door. “Isn’t this a little... oversized?”
Pystria grinned. “You’ll see.”
As soon as they stepped inside, Roland understood. The air was thick with heat and the scent of molten metal. Sparks rained from the far end of the workshop, where a massive figure loomed over an anvil, hammering down with enough force to send vibrations through the floor. The smith was huge—easily fifteen feet tall, with black, stone-like skin that gleamed under the forge’s glow.
The giant turned, revealing deep-set, ember-like eyes that regarded them with quiet intensity. His voice rumbled like shifting mountains. “Celeste. You finally bring me something worth my time?”
Celeste smirked. “Winz, meet Roland. Roland, meet Winz—Starborn, master smith, and Pystria's husband also probably the only person in this city who can turn our materials into something truly dangerous.”
Roland blinked as he processed what Celeste had just said. He glanced between Winz, the towering Starborn, and Pystria, the tiny CrystalBorn who barely reached his waist. "Husband and wife?"
Pystria caught his expression and burst into laughter. “Oh, I love that look! You’re trying to picture how that works, aren’t you?”
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Roland coughed, suddenly very interested in the nearest piece of smithed metal. “I—uh—no, not at all.”
Winz rumbled a low chuckle as he set down his hammer. “You’re not the first to wonder.”
Pystria nudged Roland in the ribs, grinning mischievously. “Oh, come on, no need to be shy. I bet your Worldborn mind is racing with all sorts of interesting thoughts.”
Celeste groaned. “Can we please move on?”
Pystria winked at Roland before gracefully switching gears. “Anyway, enough fun. We’ve got work to do.” She gestured to the table where Celeste had laid out the materials they had collected.
Winz ran his massive hand over the chitin plates, nodding in approval. “Good quality. This will make for excellent armor.” He glanced at Roland and Celeste before moving toward a side table cluttered with strange, rune-etched stones. “But before I start shaping anything, we need to see how you both handle the energy flow.”
Roland and Celeste stood still as Winz and Pystria placed a few small, glowing shards on their skin. At first, nothing happened. Then a wave of energy rippled through Roland’s body, sharp but not painful. It was as if something deep inside him was being tested, measured.
Winz studied him for a long moment before shaking his head. “You’re still too undeveloped, boy. I can forge a shield for you—your mark can handle that much—but anything more would drain you too fast. The stronger the equipment, the more it draws from your god mark. You’d burn yourself out in the middle of a fight.”
Roland exhaled, slightly disappointed but understanding. “So, I have to get stronger before I can use better gear?”
“Exactly,” Winz said, already turning toward his forge. “A well-made shield will serve you better than an overpowered weapon that’ll leave you gasping after three swings.”
Pystria, however, had better news. She held up two small organs from one of the veil-lings, each glimmering with soft energy. “I can make something for both of you,” she said cheerfully. “Matching necklaces, infused with divine energy. They won’t turn you into juggernauts, but they’ll offer a layer of protection—dull a strike, lessen the impact of a fall. Just enough to tip fate in your favor.”
Roland glanced at Celeste, who shrugged. “Every advantage helps.”
Pystria grinned. “That’s the spirit! Now, let’s get to crafting, shall we?”
Roland stood back, watching as Winz and Pystria worked, mesmerized by the blend of ritual, prayer, and pure craftsmanship. It was unlike any forging he had ever seen. He had expected hammering, shaping, and refining—manual labour, the way any blacksmith would work metal. But here, the process was something more.
At times, it looked as though the materials shifted of their own accord, changing without direct touch. Winz would murmur a low prayer to the forge, and the chitin plates softened, melding seamlessly together as he shaped them into a round shield. Sparks of divine energy crackled along the seams before they cooled, reinforcing the structure beyond mere physical strength.
Pystria worked with equal precision, holding a Veil-ling organ between her hands, her fingers barely moving as the thing twisted and pulsed, its flesh hardening, the dull grey shifting into a deep, polished green. In a matter of minutes, what had once been a grotesque organ became a flawless gemstone, shimmering with stored divine energy.
Roland swallowed, both fascinated and unnerved. So this is why they don’t waste anything.
His attention shifted back to Winz, who was now holding the purified divine crystals they had gathered. The Starborn’s deep, gravelly voice resonated through the forge as he whispered an ancient blessing:
"Veil of worlds, hear my call,
Strengthen shield, let none let it fall.
By flame and star, by root and stone,
May this bond be sealed in bone."
The crystals flared with light as they sank into the shield’s surface, vanishing seamlessly into the material. When the glow faded, the shield no longer looked like mere chitin and metal—it felt different. The surface shimmered faintly with Veil-touched energy, and Roland could feel its presence, as if it recognized him.
On the other side of the forge, Pystria handed Celeste a pair of newly crafted daggers. The once jagged, uneven Veil-ling fangs had been shaped into elegant, wickedly sharp blades, the hilts adorned with small gemstones infused with divine energy. They glowed softly in Celeste’s hands, their edges reflecting the forge light like liquid silver.
Winz stepped back, crossing his massive arms as he surveyed his work. “Your shield is done,” he rumbled, nodding toward Roland. “Strong, resilient, and now bound to your mark. It’ll hold against steel and spell alike.”
Pystria beamed. “And your necklaces are nearly ready. Just need to set the stones.”
Roland ran a hand over the shield’s surface, feeling the divine hum beneath his fingertips. He wasn’t just holding a piece of armor—he was holding something alive with Veil energy.
He exhaled, glancing at Celeste. “Well,” he said, gripping the shield’s handle, feeling the perfect balance in his grasp. “I think this was worth the trip.”
Celeste twirled one of her daggers between her fingers, smirking. “Oh, definitely.”
Dinner was a lively affair, though Roland spent most of it listening rather than speaking. The three Motherborn had centuries of history between them, and it showed in the way they spoke—familiar, effortless, full of half-finished jokes and shared memories. They had known each other for nearly three thousand years, and yet, despite the warmth of their reunion, Roland noticed something peculiar.
Not once did they mention Celeste’s absence during those centuries she had been dead. They danced around it skillfully, never directly acknowledging the gap in time. They spoke of past battles, of the shifting fate of Motherborn sanctuaries, of people long gone, but there was always a careful avoidance when it came to anything that might remind Celeste of what she had lost.
Roland wasn’t sure if she noticed or if she simply chose not to react. She played along, rolling her eyes at Pystria’s teasing and arguing with Winz over the merits of different fighting styles. It was as if, for tonight, she was just Celeste—not someone brought back from death, not a warrior out of time, just their old friend.
By the time the meal wound down, Winz leaned back against the massive stone chair that barely fit his frame. “So,” he rumbled, “how long are you two staying?”
Celeste glanced at Roland before answering. “A few days, at least. We need to test out our equipment, make sure it holds up before heading back out.”
“And,” Pystria cut in, “you should visit the alchemist while you’re here. If you’re going to be diving into more labyrinths, you’ll need proper potions.”
Roland raised an eyebrow. “I thought alchemy wasn’t as effective for people like us.”
“It depends,” Celeste said. “Basic healing brews won’t do much—our marks accelerate recovery enough that potions are a waste unless you’re on death’s door. But there are other kinds. Stamina restoratives, resistance potions, Veil attunements...”
“And explosives,” Pystria added cheerfully. “Don’t forget the explosives.”
Roland looked between them, then exhaled. “Right. Potions. Explosives. More training. Sounds like we’re going to be busy.”
Winz grunted approvingly. “Good. Better to break your gear here than out there.”
Celeste smirked. “Then it’s settled. We stay, we test, and we prepare.”