The remnants of the battle shimmered under pale lights. Ice spread like veins through steel, sealing cracks, corpses, and chaos beneath layers of unyielding frost. Sector D, once a quiet hub of weapons storage and tech support, had become a mausoleum.
Natasha stood alone, her back to the sealed entrance. The wind from the broken ventilation system whispered through the silence. Her rapier, Fateweaver, was still in hand—its tip buried in the icy floor.
She didn't flinch when the door behind her slid open.
Edith stepped inside, her black coat dusted with frost. She made no effort to announce herself. She didn't need to.
"Just like old times," she muttered, hands tucked into her pockets.
Natasha didn't turn. "If this reminds you of the old times, I think your memory's worse than mine."
Edith gave a dry smile. "Cold silence. Wreckage everywhere. You brooding with a sword. Gwynn would've smacked you over the head with a staff by now."
That got a reaction. Barely.
Natasha pulled Fateweaver free, letting the blade hum softly in the air before sheathing it.
"She'd say I was being dramatic," Natasha murmured.
"She'd be right," Edith replied, stepping closer.
They stood side by side now, both staring at the carnage they'd survived.
"You were always the favorite," Edith said with mock bitterness. "Her frost prodigy. 'Natasha learns like ice forms—slow, patient, unrelenting.' I got stuck with footwork drills while you froze waterfalls."
"You were the better fighter," Natasha said evenly. "She only pushed me because she saw how badly I wanted to be like her."
Edith's voice softened. "You didn't need to be like her, Nat. You were already you."
Natasha closed her eyes for a beat.
"I don't feel like me anymore."
"Neither do I."
They let the silence settle, two women molded by war and ghosts.
"You think Kael knows?" Edith asked. "What his mother was part of?"
"No," Natasha answered. "And he shouldn't. Not yet."
"Ironic, isn't it?" Edith muttered. "The three of us—all tied to Gwynn. One dead. One pretending not to bleed. One carrying a sun on his back."
Natasha's face hardened. "That subhuman was Arcana-stabilized. Someone's perfected dual Arcana merging."
Edith exhaled. "And dropped it right on our doorstep."
"They wanted a message delivered," Natasha said coldly. "They got my answer."
Edith looked at her friend, studying the slight tremble in her fingers. Not fear—just strain. "You can't carry all this alone, Nat."
Natasha glanced sideways. "I'm not."
Edith raised an eyebrow.
"I have you," she said quietly.
The smile that crossed Edith's face was small and tired, but real.
"Damn right you do."
They stood there a while longer, side by side like they had when they were girls training in the mountains under the eye of a woman who demanded nothing less than excellence.
Gwynn was gone.
But her legacy was still breathing.