When the final veil shattered, the land itself exhaled — a deep, trembling sigh of release.
The curse that bound the three bloodlines for centuries had finally begun to fade.
The mist, once heavy with sorrow, now danced gently over the mountains like threads of silver.
Lalin, Emma, and Allia stood at the edge of the terraced fields. The villagers were preparing for the Ritual of Shifting Fields,
a sacred ceremony of rotational rice planting, meant to honor the spirits of the land and the ancestors who guarded it.
Old chants echoed through the air.
Elders carried offerings — woven baskets of rice, mountain flowers, and bowls of pure water.
Smoke from burning herbs spiraled upward, merging with the morning mist.
One by one, the villagers bowed toward the altar built from earth and bamboo.
They called upon the forest guardians, ancestral spirits, and the deities of mountain and river,
inviting them to bless the coming season — and to protect those who had lifted the ancient curse.
Lalin looked down at her hands, still marked faintly with the red light that had sealed the past.
Emma smiled softly beside her.
"It's over now," she whispered. "The pain, the blood… it doesn't own us anymore."
Allia nodded, tears glimmering like dew. "We carry the memory, not the chains."
As the first seed touched the soil, a warm wind swept through the valley.
The earth pulsed once — alive again.
The curse was gone, burned away by truth, sacrifice, and love.
The three clasped hands, their hearts calm for the first time in years.
Above them, the mist parted completely, revealing a sky so blue it felt reborn.
The land sang. The ancestors smiled.
And amid the rhythm of drums and the prayers of the villagers,
Lalin, Emma, and Allia stepped forward into a new dawn — free, forgiven, and forever bound by love.