The day didn’t improve for Roland after his first encounter with the Veil. His mind still buzzed with the memory of that shimmering tunnel, the stars beyond the walls, and the intoxicating energy that filled every breath. Even after lunch, his thoughts lingered on that otherworldly place. But Celeste had promised the day was far from over—and she hadn't been joking.

The first sign came when Fang returned.

Roland heard the colossal creature long before it appeared, the rhythmic thud of its footsteps reverberating through the ground like distant drumbeats. When Fang finally emerged from the forest, jaws clamped around the neck of a massive, shaggy beast, Roland's eyes widened.

“A vorbear,” Celeste said, sounding more amused than surprised. “Good boy, Fang.”

The creature dangled limply from Fang's maw—a brute of a beast with thick, bristling fur and curved tusks protruding from its lower jaw. Even lifeless, it exuded a primal ferocity. Roland knew of vorbears by reputation: apex predators, territorial and aggressive. But seeing one up close drove the stories home.

“So...that’s lunch?” Roland asked, half-hoping for an easy afternoon.

Celeste laughed, the sound light and musical. “Lunch? No, Roland. That’s your sparring partner.”

His head snapped toward her. “You want me to fight that?”

“Not just you. Me, too.” Celeste grinned. “We need to practice working together in battle, and vorbears make perfect training dummies.”

Roland frowned. “Dummies? That thing looks like it could tear a tree in half.”

“Exactly,” she said, unfazed. “They’re strong, unpredictable, and relentless. Everything a Veil Keeper needs to get used to.”

Roland shifted uncomfortably as Fang dropped the beast on the ground with a heavy thud. His gift stirred, unbidden, as his eyes fell on the creature. Despite its unconscious state, he felt it—an undeniable presence beneath the coarse fur. The vorbear’s soul flickered faintly, like a stubborn ember refusing to die out.

“It has a soul,” Roland said softly.

Celeste’s expression lost its usual levity. “Of course it does.”

“But we’re just going to beat it senseless for practice?”

The words sounded harsher aloud than he'd intended, but the thought weighed on him. Mortana's gift let him see souls, glimpse the essence of what made something living. The vorbear wasn’t some mindless monster; it was something more.

To his surprise, Celeste didn’t dismiss his concern with a laugh. Instead, she knelt beside the beast and ran a hand through its thick fur. “I didn’t choose this creature by accident, Roland.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “Vorbears originally came from Pyralith. Their ancestors lived alongside the Flameborn. They were bred to crave the fight, to thrive in battle.”

Roland swallowed. “So...it likes getting beaten up?”

“Not exactly.” Celeste smiled faintly. “It will fight us with everything it has. Not because we force it to, but because it can’t resist the challenge. We’ll push it. It’ll push us back. That’s the nature of battle for creatures like this.”

Roland didn’t reply immediately. He crouched beside the sleeping beast, hand hovering over its fur. His gift stirred again, brushing against the vorbear’s soul. Beneath the flickering life force, he felt something else: anticipation, a sharp, restless hunger.

“It’s...waiting,” he said, brow furrowing. “It knows what’s coming.”

Celeste nodded. “It’s a creature of Pyralith. Flameborn creations live for transformation through struggle. This vorbear will either grow stronger today—or it will yield. Either way, it understands the game.”

Roland exhaled, the knot of guilt easing slightly. The beast wasn’t a victim; it was a participant. Still, he couldn’t shake the sense that today’s lesson would be more painful than any of his past lessons.

Celeste stood and cracked her knuckles. “Come on, Roland. Let’s wake our new friend up.”

Roland rose with a sigh. The vorbear stirred beneath Fang’s watchful gaze, muscles twitching as consciousness returned. The battle hadn’t started yet, but Roland already felt like he was stepping into a storm.

The afternoon unfolded with bruises, curses, and more than a few close calls.

Roland lunged forward, sword raised, but Celeste darted in front of him at the last second, blocking his path. His momentum carried him too far, and his swing went wide. The vorbear—now fully awake and very unhappy—sidestepped the blade and slammed into Roland’s side with bone-rattling force. He hit the ground hard, the air driven from his lungs.

“Sorry!” Celeste called as she dodged the creature’s next swipe. “You were too slow!”

Roland groaned and rolled to his feet. “Maybe you were too fast,” he muttered, though he knew she was right.

The vorbear paced a few steps away, its dark eyes fixed on them both with wary amusement. It was playing with them. Roland could feel the creature’s anticipation—a sharp, crackling hunger for the challenge. The harder they fought, the more the vorbear seemed to enjoy itself.

Celeste sidled closer to Roland, her breath steady despite hours of exertion. “We need to stop tripping over each other,” she said.

“You don’t say.”

She smiled, unbothered by his sarcasm. "Let's try again. I'll soften it up with some poison prayers and buff your strength. You go in for the legs."

"Poison prayers? I thought you were a healer."

Celeste’s eyes twinkled with mischief. "Healing and poison are two sides of the same coin. One mends, the other breaks. Both come from the same well." She extended her hand, and a faint green light coiled around her fingers. "Trust me."

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He gave a reluctant nod.

Celeste turned toward the vorbear and began to chant, her voice flowing like water:

"Sap of root, venom’s grace,

Weave the toxin, slow the chase.

From lifeblood’s thread, strike unseen,

With nature’s wrath, sharp and keen."

The green light leapt from her hand, twisting through the air like a living thing. It struck the vorbear’s flank. The beast snarled and shook itself, muscles stiffening as the poison took hold.

"Go now!" Celeste barked.

Roland charged, feeling a sudden warmth rush through his veins as Celeste whispered another incantation:

"Strength of oak, unyielding might,

Lend this blade relentless fight."

The moment the words left her lips, Roland’s body surged with power. His muscles responded faster, his balance steadier. The sword in his hand felt weightless.

He aimed low, swinging for the vorbear’s legs. The beast tried to dodge, but the poison slowed its movements just enough. The blade struck true, forcing the creature to one knee.

"Yes!" Roland shouted.

But the triumph was short-lived. The vorbear roared, digging its tusks into the ground for leverage. With a mighty heave, it wrenched itself upright, knocking Roland back once more. He landed in a heap beside Celeste.

"Well, that worked better than last time," Celeste said, panting.

"Only because it didn't kill us," Roland replied.

The vorbear shook itself again, its breath labored but its eyes still sharp. Then, with a deep huff, it turned and lumbered toward the forest. They didn’t pursue it.

Celeste sat up and wiped sweat from her brow. "That means it’s done."

"Good for it," Roland said, lying flat on his back. "I’m also done, I think it won this round”

Celeste laughed, the sound bright and unbothered despite the hours of battle. "You're not wrong. But next time, we’ll move as one."

Roland closed his eyes, the memory of Celeste's prayers still whispering through his mind. Two sides of a single coin, she’d said. He wondered what else he'd need to learn before he felt like anything more than a simple knight standing in a world far bigger than he'd ever imagined.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the training ground as Roland and Celeste sat on the grass, bruised and exhausted. Fang lay nearby, gnawing lazily on a tree trunk the size of a wagon. The air was thick with the tang of disturbed earth and the faint, metallic scent of the vorbear’s blood.

Roland rubbed his aching shoulder and let out a tired chuckle. “I have to admit,” he said, voice light, “I thought fighting alongside a Lifeborn would be... I don’t know... easier. I mean, you’re stronger than me, obviously, but compared to what I saw in my dreams—those Motherborn fighting the colossals—you seemed... weaker.”

The air shifted. Celeste’s smile froze, and for a fleeting second, her face darkened. The playful spark in her eyes vanished, replaced by something colder.

Roland’s stomach tightened. He knew that look; it was the same guarded expression his father used to get when someone mentioned his mother. Regret flooded him. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” Celeste interrupted, though her tone suggested otherwise. She stared past him, eyes unfocused. "You’re right, though. I am weaker than I should be."

Roland sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

Celeste sighed, running a hand over her scaled head. The casual, carefree mask she usually wore slipped away, leaving something more raw. “Since I know all about you from Sir Geld, I guess it’s only fair I share a bit about myself.”

Roland said nothing, giving her the space to continue.

“I died,” she said, voice flat. “At the battle of Solarium Crossing.”

Roland’s breath caught. “You... died?”

Her gaze met his. “Yes. I was there when the colossals lost control. I remember fighting side-by-side with the Lightborn and Starborn, trying to stop them. We succeeded, eventually, but not before I was crushed.” She tapped her chest, right over her heart. “A colossal’s claw pierced straight through me. I died on that field.”

Roland didn’t know what to say. His mind reeled, trying to reconcile the vibrant, lively Celeste with the image of her broken body on a battlefield from decades past.

Celeste's mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Mother—Viridius—brought me back. Forty years ago.”

“Forty years?” Roland frowned. “But... you look younger than that.”

“That’s the problem.” She gestured to her body. “This body is only forty years old. But my soul is much older. When Mother called me back, she didn’t return me fully formed. My essence, my power—it’s out of balance. My soul’s experience doesn’t align with my body’s development. I haven’t grown into it yet.”

Roland rubbed the back of his neck, trying to grasp the enormity of what she was saying. “So... you’re like a war veteran in a recruit’s body?”

Celeste chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “Something like that. I can remember fighting colossals, channeling vast amounts of divine energy like it was nothing. But now? I get exhausted after a few healing prayers and some poison work. The strength I once had is... disconnected.”

“Is that why your soul looks cracked?” Roland asked before he could stop himself.

Celeste’s eyes widened. “You saw that?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. When we first met. I didn’t mean to pry.”

She exhaled slowly. “No, it’s okay. The cracks are from the resurrection. Mortana teaches that souls aren't meant to be pulled back from the Cycle. Mine was shattered and reassembled. It holds, but... it’s fragile.”

They sat in silence for a moment, “So what happens now?” Roland asked softly.

Celeste shrugged. “I train. I fight. I wait for my body to catch up with my soul... or for my soul to give out. Whichever comes first.”

Roland's chest tightened. He didn’t know what to say.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said at last. “Together.”

For the first time since the conversation started, Celeste smiled. “Yeah. We will.”

Celeste’s smile lingered for a moment before she tilted her head, studying Roland with a curious glint in her eyes. "You know," she said, voice light but pointed, "you’re not exactly what I expected either."

Roland raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What were you expecting? Someone taller?"

She smirked. "No, someone stronger. Or... more attuned."

"Attuned?" Roland shifted uncomfortably. "To what?"

"Your gift." She tapped her temple. "Your soul sight. You barely use it."

"Because it’s useless in combat," Roland said with a shrug. "What am I supposed to do? Gaze into an enemy's soul while they’re trying to cut me down?"

Celeste blinked, disbelief flashing across her face. "Is that what you think?"

"That’s what I know," he shot back, defensive. "I can see when someone's soul is passing, I can ease that transition. Mortana gave me the gift to bring peace, not win fights."

Celeste sat forward, elbows on her knees. "You’ve been told half the story, Roland. Deathborn are some of the deadliest warriors in history. Their abilities are terrifying in battle."

He frowned. "How? Seeing souls doesn’t stop a sword."

She shook her head. "You're not thinking like a Deathborn. Soul sight isn’t just about comforting the dying. When you look into someone's soul, you see more than their pain—you see their intent."

"Intent?" Roland's eyes narrowed.

"Yes. Deathborn warriors used their soul gaze in combat to predict their opponent's next move. Will they run? Defend? Attack? That instinct—that knowledge—makes them nearly impossible to surprise."

Roland’s stomach turned. "You’re saying I can read someone’s mind?"

"Not their mind, their soul. Intent runs deeper than thoughts. And there’s more."

He exhaled slowly. "Of course there is."

"Death touch," Celeste said, her voice quieter now. "When you lock onto a soul, you can disrupt the connection between it and the body. A touch at the right moment can cause muscles to seize, balance to falter. Some Deathborn warriors could stop a heart with a single brush of their hand."

Roland stared at her, a cold weight settling in his chest. "That sounds... unnatural."

"Death is part of life," Celeste said softly. "Your gift isn’t unnatural—it’s a weapon and a mercy. It just depends on how you wield it."

Roland sat back, mind racing. He’d spent years believing his gift was nothing more than a guide for the dying. But now, Celeste had torn that certainty apart.

"I don’t know if I want to use it like that," he admitted.

"That’s your choice," Celeste said, rising to her feet. "But you’ll need to decide soon. The Veil doesn’t care what you want. When the time comes, hesitation will kill you."

She extended a hand to help him up. Roland took it.

The Vorbear had left them battered and sore but it had been a good day.