Roland ran, his boots pounding against the rocky earth, heart racing as the regret of the moment pressed down on him. His breath came in ragged gasps, but he didn’t dare slow. He couldn’t. He looked back, just once, over his shoulder, as the battle raged on in the distance. His master—Sir Geld—lay there, a final barrier between the last remnants of Viridara and the encroaching hordes. The old man’s sword gleamed one last time in the dying light, his body already giving out as the enemy closed in.
The sight would burn into his memory forever.
Roland’s chest tightened, but there were no tears, not yet. He’d shed them later, when it was safe. For now, he had to survive. The others had escaped—fellow soldiers who had survived the massacre. They had ditched their armour and weapons in haste, scrambling over the jagged terrain of the mountains that loomed ahead, hoping to climb over the wall and into safety. It was a good plan for them. But it wasn’t his. He had his own mission.
A final task.
The package—the one Sir Geld had trusted him with, the one he had fought to protect—was clutched tightly against his chest. It was his burden now. Roland's mind kept circling back to one thing: He had failed his master. Sir Geld had given his life to protect him, and Roland had let him die. The thoughts of that failure crushed him. But if he could deliver the package, if he could fulfill the old man’s final wish… maybe it would be enough.
Maybe it would be enough to make up for what I’ve lost.
He glanced over his shoulder again, just in time to see a few of the corrupted soldiers stumbling over the rubble behind him. They had given chase, but in small numbers. They weren’t much of a threat—not yet. Roland took a moment to steady himself, then turned and bolted into the trees, heading east—always east. He didn’t know what lay ahead, only that he had to keep moving. The mountains would come later, after the mission was complete. The temple of the Old One was his true goal.
From time to time, Roland paused. A grunt or a growl would reach his ears, and he would find the corrupted soldiers trailing behind. They weren’t fast, not like the soldiers he had fought with. They were sluggish, their bodies twisted by the dark power that had corrupted them. It didn’t take much to deal with them—one quick swing of his sword, and they were down. But he didn’t waste any time. He couldn’t. He had to keep moving.
Each step forward felt like a small defiance against the world that had fallen apart. Each breath in his lungs felt like a victory, even if it was fleeting.
Roland ran, east, and the wind carried away the echo of Sir Geld’s sacrifice behind him. He had a long road ahead.
Roland slowed his pace as the land around him shifted. The chase had ended. The corrupted, their foul presence only lingering for a short while, had given up. It was as though the land itself had repelled them. There was an eerie stillness here, a sense of quiet that hung heavily in the air. The wind didn’t rustle the trees, and the faintest echo of his footsteps seemed to swallow itself in the dense silence. It was almost unnatural.
He had arrived at the outskirts of the temple of the Old One, though he couldn’t help but pause and take in the land around him. This used to be a city, a place of life and light—a city of the Lifeborn. But now, it was abandoned, desolate, untouched by the world outside. The air was thick with a heavy, solemn kind of peace, yet beneath it, a dark shadow clung. The corrupted wouldn’t dare come near. Something in this land kept them at bay, something ancient and dangerous.
It was the ruins of a home—a sanctuary. Roland’s eyes fell on the remnants of what had once been grand structures, now overgrown with creeping vines and twisted stone. It was here that the Lifeborn had once thrived, a shining example of vitality, of growth. But that was before.
There were whispers. Rumours that a colossal still roamed these lands, lurking beneath the surface of the broken city. A remnant from the last Veil Keeper war, a creature of terror, bred specifically to hunt and destroy. A massive, towering beast, trained in the art of killing the Motherborn. Roland shook his head, banishing the thought. The colossal would never find him—at least, not yet. The temple was his destination, the place where he could finally rest and recharge.
He couldn’t go on much longer without rest. The weight of the mission, the loss of his master, the burden of carrying the package—it was all too much. His body ached, and his mind was exhausted. But more pressing than his fatigue was the need to pray, to recharge his mark, and call upon Mortana.
As one of the rare Viridarians who followed Mortana, the Gentle Ender, Roland’s gift wasn’t as outwardly powerful as others. He couldn’t command the elements or summon great displays of divine power like some of his kin. His gift was quieter, subtler. His gift was the ability to see the soul of a person, to help those who were dying cross over into the afterlife. He could guide their spirits, ease their suffering, and give them peace in their final moments.
But that was not the reason he had sought Mortana’s mark in the first place.
No. Roland had been foolish. He had hoped, prayed in his youth, that by bearing Mortana’s gift, he could bring his mother back. His heart had been filled with that naive hope, that foolish desire to undo what had been taken from him. But only the gods had that power—and only for the Motherborn. He knew it now. He had learned that lesson painfully, slowly, as the years went on. There was no resurrection for him. Not for mortals like him.
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And yet, even now, with the knowledge of the truth on his shoulders, Roland could not abandon his faith. The gods had their purposes, and Mortana’s was clear. He had a duty. A mission. And it was time to perform it. He would make sure that people passing was as peaceful as possible.
The wind stirred slightly as Roland approached the crumbling temple. The silence was broken only by the soft scrape of his boots against the stone. The old temple still stood, though it had weathered countless years and battles. He reached out, placing a hand against its ancient walls, feeling the pulse of the land beneath his fingertips. A long breath filled his lungs, and he began to pray.
His voice was low, but steady. The words were familiar, a litany of devotion to Mortana, to the Goddess of Endings, to guide him and keep him strong in the days ahead. Roland knelt before the altar, closing his eyes. His prayer, a quiet plea, echoed in the still air.
Roland felt the surge of power flow through him as his mark recharged, the divine energy from Mortana filling him with a sense of strength he hadn’t realized he was missing. His body ached from the journey, but with each breath, he regained a little more of what he had lost. He needed rest, but the sound of something stirring behind him broke his focus.
Turning quickly, his hand instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword. What he saw nearly made his heart stop.
The head of a creature, the largest he had ever seen, emerged from the shadows. It was like a dog, but pure white, with an elongated snout and glowing eyes that seemed to pierce through the darkened ruins. The creature’s massive form was almost otherworldly, its muscles rippling beneath its fur as it slowly padded forward. Roland’s breath caught in his throat, unsure of what to do. The creature was clearly no ordinary beast—its presence alone was enough to make his blood run cold. The head alone was the size of a house, he didn’t know living creatures could get so large.
But it didn’t attack. Instead, it stopped a few paces away, sniffing the air, its nostrils flaring as if it were assessing him. Roland held his ground, his heart pounding in his chest. Was it waiting for something? Or was it simply watching him, sizing him up? The tension in the air thickened, and for a moment, Roland thought he might have to fight for his life.
Then, to his shock, the creature didn’t lunge at him. Instead, it tilted its head, almost as if curious. Roland remained frozen, his gaze flicking between the creature and the shadows where it had emerged. That’s when he saw her.
From behind the creature’s towering head, a figure slowly stepped forward. At first, it was just a flash of blue—a shimmer in the moonlight. But as she stepped into full view, Roland’s breath caught in his throat.
She was a woman, but unlike any human he had known. Her skin was a deep blue, covered in shimmering scales that seemed to catch the light with every movement. Instead of hair, her head was covered in hundreds of scales. She was tall, regal even, with an ethereal presence that radiated from her. Roland’s mind raced—this wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t some trick of the shadows.
It was a Lifeborn.
He had heard of them in stories—creatures of myth and legend, thought to have all but disappeared. He had believed them gone, wiped from the world with the fall of their cities. But here she was, real and standing before him.
The creature, still at her side, continued to sniff him, its massive nose hovering just inches from his chest. Roland’s heart pounded in his ears, unsure of what to do, but the Lifeborn seemed to smile as she observed him.
“Not corrupted!” she said brightly, as though meeting someone new was the most exciting thing in the world. “Good! That’s a relief!”
Roland blinked, thrown off guard by her cheerful tone, and slowly lowered his sword. The Lifeborn grinned at him, her eyes twinkling like the brightest stars. “I’m Celeste!” she said with a wide smile, her voice bubbly and full of life. “And this—” she gestured to the massive white creature at her side, who gave a playful whuff, “—this is Fang! He’s a big softie, really, as long as you’re not corrupted!”
Roland was still processing her presence. He had heard about the Lifeborn in the old stories, but none of them had ever described one like this. She was so… alive. Her energy was infectious, her movements graceful, yet lighthearted.
“I, uh…” Roland stumbled over his words, unsure of what to say. “I didn’t expect to meet someone like you.”
Celeste laughed, the sound light and melodic. “Oh, you’ll find that there’s a lot of surprises left in this world, Roland!” She winked. “I’m guessing you’re the one who’s been trusted with the package? Sir Geld’s package?” Her expression softened as she spoke his name, but then her smile quickly returned, brighter than ever.
Roland nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and confusion. He was unsure how she knew his name. “I… Yes. It’s for you, I suppose.”
With a quiet, steady nod, Celeste took the bundle from him. Her hands were gentle as she unwrapped it, each movement careful and deliberate. When the cloth fell away, revealing the badge inside, her expression shifted. For a brief moment, her smile disappeared, replaced by a look of solemn understanding. She studied the badge closely, her eyes softening with a quiet recognition.
“So it’s true,” she murmured to herself. Then, glancing up at Roland, she added, “He’s really gone, isn’t he?”
Roland’s heart tightened in his chest, but before he could respond, Celeste’s expression brightened again, as if to shake off the momentary sadness. “Well, if you didn’t have this badge, Fang would have definitely given you a rough time,” she explained, her voice returning to its usual cheerful tone. “This badge is like a secret passcode, you know? Without it, Fang is very particular about who he lets near here. He’s kind of like a guardian... or a giant teddy bear. Depends on the day.”
Roland remained stoic, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed her words. "I see," he said, his tone flat, betraying none of the surprise or relief he might have felt. "I’m glad I passed the test." His gaze lingered on the creature beside her, a silent acknowledgment of the danger it represented.
Celeste laughed again, the sound ringing like a bell. “Oh, no worries, you’re safe. For now,” she teased, her eyes sparkling. “Now that we’ve got that sorted out, we’ve got bigger things to think about, don’t we?”
Roland nodded slowly, trying to process everything that had just happened. “I guess so. What now?”
Celeste’s expression shifted, growing more serious as she met Roland’s gaze. “My Mother, Viridius, has given me a mission,” she said, her voice steady and resolute. “Since Sir Geld is no longer able to fulfill his part, it seems you will have to take up the mantle.” She paused, her eyes searching his face for any sign of hesitation. “I can’t do this alone, Roland. I need your help.”
She took a breath, and her features softened again, though the determination never left her voice. “Together, we’ll make sure the corruption doesn’t spread any further. We’ll close the Veil gates, no matter what it takes.”