After several days of staying here I've gotten to know the mefen's, And all welcomed me with grace and kindness making me feel like...This is my home
I look outside..,thunder cracked across the skies like a divine warning, and rain lashed the windows of the great hall in angry bursts. Servants hurried through the corridors, lighting torches to fight the growing darkness outside, while nobles murmured about omens and unnatural shifts in the wind.
I found Magnus's father standing alone by the grand window of the war room, his hands clasped behind his back. His cloak billowed slightly with each gust that slipped through the cracks of the old stone tower.
He didn't turn when I entered.
"Your steps are too quiet," he said, his voice low and heavy. "It's the mark of someone who's walked among clouds."
I froze.
"…What did you say?"
He finally turned to look at me, his gaze sharp and knowing, though not unkind. "You walk like someone from above. I've suspected since the day Magnus dragged you in. There's something in your presence. A... stillness."
I hesitated, then stepped forward. "Then I won't waste time pretending."
He raised a brow.
"I have a question," I said, standing firm despite the weight in the air. "And I need an honest answer."
He nodded once.
"Is it possible," I asked slowly, "for the people of Yeneva... to access the Celestial Realm?"
The room grew colder, as if the storm outside had suddenly bled into the walls.
His eyes darkened slightly—not in anger, but in remembrance.
"You ask a dangerous question, child," he said.
"I need to know," I pressed. "Not for curiosity. For purpose."
He walked toward the ancient map stretched across the war table, his fingers trailing along the faded lines and torn edges.
"There was a time," he began, "long before my ancestors built these towers, when the sky was not closed. When the veil between realms was thin, and those deemed worthy by faith or fate could glimpse the higher planes."
My heart quickened. "What changed?"
He looked at me gravely. "The veil was torn. Not from above—but from below."
I frowned. "You mean... it was sealed because of darkness?"
He nodded. "Something clawed its way up from the depths and tried to drag hayva down with it. In response, the celestial gates were closed—to protect both worlds. Since then, no one has crossed."
"No one?" I whispered.
"There are legends," he admitted. "Whispers of chosen ones—mortals who were touched by divine flame, allowed a glimpse. But even then, it came at a price."
I stared at him, the storm rumbling behind us like a distant drum.
"What kind of price?"
He met my eyes. "Sanity. Mortality. Humanity."
I felt a chill run down my spine.
"So if I told you someone wanted to open that gate again," I said carefully, "you'd say it's impossible?"
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "No. I'd say it's forbidden. Because no one opens a gate like that without waking something on the other side."
My lips parted, but I said nothing.
He studied me. "You're not just curious," he said softly. "You're remembering."
I swallowed hard. "…I think someone is trying to tear the veil again."
He nodded slowly. "Then Yeneva is in more danger than even Magnus knows."
I took a step back, the weight of the revelation crashing down on me.
I left the war room with my thoughts spiraling, my heart pounding.
The rain had softened into a gentle drizzle, but the gray skies still hung low over Yeneva like a veil mourning the sun.
The castle corridors were unusually silent, as if even the walls were bracing themselves for what was coming.
I stood alone in the small tower room overlooking the eastern woods, my bag packed with the few things I needed: a map, a sealed letter, and the pendant I had hidden since the day I fell from Hayva. The symbol of my origin. The proof of my purpose.
I heard footsteps behind me—familiar, impatient ones—and sighed softly.
"You're really bad at sneaking away," Magnus said, leaning casually against the doorway with his arms crossed.
I didn't turn. "I wasn't sneaking."
"You're standing in the 'dramatic exit' tower with a bag, looking like a tragic poem." He stepped closer. "That counts."
I offered a faint smile. "You always have something to say, don't you?"
"It's a gift," he said, but his voice lacked its usual smugness. "Where are you going?"
There it was.
The question I dreaded.
"I have something I need to do," I replied quietly.
He frowned. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I can give you," I said, finally turning to face him. "Please, Magnus… don't ask me to explain. I can't."
His brows drew together, a flicker of hurt crossing his face. "Why? After everything? You still don't trust me?"
"It's not about trust," I said quickly. "It's about protection. The less you know, the safer you'll be."
He stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly. "You're not invincible, Ophelia. You act like you have to carry the whole world on your shoulders, like no one's allowed to help you."
"I don't need help for this," I lied.
He didn't buy it for a second.
"Is this about the darkness?" he asked. "About the veil?"
I froze.
He saw it—just for a moment—in the way my eyes flickered, in the way my breath caught.
"I knew it," he muttered.
I looked away. "Please, Magnus… if you follow me, you might not come back."
"I don't care."
"Well I do!" I snapped, louder than I intended. The silence that followed was sharp and sudden.
I looked at him, my voice softening. "I care if something happens to you. More than I should."
His eyes searched mine, slowly, like he was trying to read the truth between the words I refused to speak.
And then he said, more quietly than I've ever heard him:
"…You're really leaving me behind?"
I nodded.
He looked away, jaw clenched. "Then at least tell me when you'll be back."
I hesitated.
"I don't know."
His breath hitched, and he looked back at me, his mask cracking. "Then you better promise me you will."
I stepped forward and reached up to brush a hand against his cheek. "I promise... if the stars still shine when this is over, I'll find you again."
He leaned into my touch for a heartbeat—just one.
After I leave, I gave him my pendant and turn my back to leave before I could change my mind, and without looking back, I stepped into the misty corridor beyond the tower.
And for the first time since falling to this world...
The corridor was silent but for the soft patter of rain against the stone arches. Each step I took felt heavier than the last. Not because of fear.
Because of them.
As I moved farther from the eastern tower, I felt it—a strange ache blooming in my chest, as if invisible strings were tugging gently against my back, begging me not to go.
I remembered the first time they let me join their training circle in the forest. How the younger wolves were cautious at first, sniffing the air around me, but eventually nudged my hands with their snouts, tails wagging like I was one of them.
I had laughed. Genuinely.
For a moment, I didn't feel like a being of light or duty. I felt… alive.
His father.
I recalled how he handed me a steaming mug of herbal brew during one of Yeneva's colder nights.
"This was Magnus favorite whe he was a child," he'd said softly, his voice less like a warrior and more like a father. We had stood in silence by the hearth.
He just stood there, offering quiet companionship.
And then—
Magnus.
The memory that gripped hardest.
His crooked grin as he helped me down from a high ledge I could've easily leapt from, just so he could say, "Even angels need rescuing sometimes."
The way he sulked in his hideout, flopping on pillows like a dramatic child.
The way he had looked at me really looked when I cried in prayer.
And the way he didn't try to fix it.
Just sat beside me.
Just stayed.
Now I was leaving him.
Leaving all of them.
My footsteps slowed, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. This mission... this duty… it was older than any bond I had forged here.
But as I walked into the fog-choked woods beyond the castle's reach, I realized something terrifying.
This place, these people… had become my tether.
And every step I took away from them, I step deeper into a loneliness I thought I had already accepted long ago.