The coastal winds howled with the scent of salt and blood. Waves crashed against the towering cliffs of the fortress like the echoes of a war long forgotten, but war was far from over. Under the pale moonlight, the fortress near Laginaple loomed like a beast curled in slumber. Its ramparts were manned by Falzath loyalists, their eyes dull with corruption, their souls long surrendered to the dark promises of their masters. Towers etched with bone sigils pulsed with unnatural light, while banners stitched from flayed skin flapped lazily in the wind.
Tessara crouched low on a craggy outcrop overlooking the fortress, the ocean spray misting her porcelain skin and dampening the edges of her cloak. Her breathing was even and steady, her amber eyes cold with resolve. The Moonflower Mask rested upon her face, its delicate porcelain surface catching the glint of starlight. From the corners of her vision, the world shimmered in hues of silver and blue, illusions flitting in and out of existence like ghostly whispers.
Beside her, Mira adjusted the scope of her rifle, her movements precise. The once soft-spoken ranger of the Fourth Talon had become something more—deadeye, executioner, and silent guardian.
"Two guards on the left wall," Mira whispered. "Another patrol is circling the outer court. If we move now, we can slip through the southwest breach while they're between rotations."
Tessara gave a subtle nod. Her fingers brushed the symbol glowing softly on the back below her left shoulder—her crest. It pulsed in rhythm with the moon's phases, a mark of courage and quiet defiance that steadied her heart even as darkness pressed from all sides.
With a whisper of wind and a shimmer of light, Tessara vanished into shadow.
Lunar illusions danced through the night. To the corrupted eyes of the Falzath guards, it appeared that nothing stirred. Their minds, dulled by exposure to the relic's aura, failed to see the two figures slip through the breach like whispers on the breeze.
Inside the fortress, desecration reigned. The air reeked of decay and incense made from burned offerings. The walls were lined with grotesque relics—skin-bound scriptures, totems carved from bone and sinew, banners soaked in ancient blood. Tessara forced herself forward, focusing on the rhythm of her breath. This place reeked of betrayal. Not only of nations or bloodlines, but of something deeper—of purpose, of faith, of identity. The betrayal that had torn through the Soma Council echoed here, twisted and amplified.
They moved like specters. Mira's rifle sang only when necessary, muffled by enchantments, its sound more breath than thunder. Each shot fell like judgment. Tessara's illusions turned blades aside, bent perception, masked their footfalls. Where one failed, the other adapted. Where one struck, the other shielded. They were no longer two fighters. They were one will.
Deeper in, the fortress's twisted architecture shifted with each corridor. The Falzath had transformed this place with rites and blood, shaping reality to fit their vision. Walls bent at wrong angles. Doors led to impossible chambers. The deeper they ventured, the heavier the pull of corruption became.
Finally, they reached the inner sanctum.
At its heart stood a relic altar shaped like a gaping maw, teeth of obsidian jutting from the floor around it. Dark tendrils pulsed from its core, snaking through the floor and walls like roots feeding on despair. The air shimmered with arcane heat.
Around the altar, a priestess of Falzath chanted in a forgotten tongue. Her limbs were etched with self-inflicted sigils, her mouth torn at the corners to resemble a permanent smile. Blood trickled from her eyes, staining her tattered robe. She did not see Tessara or Mira enter. The veil of lunar deception still held.
"Mira," Tessara whispered.
One breath. One shot.
The rifle fired, and the priestess's chant ended with a final gurgle. Her body crumpled to the floor, the smile still fixed in death.
Tessara stepped forward, her boots echoing in the sanctum. Her crest flared with lunar brilliance. As her fingers touched the relic, a bolt of pain lanced through her skull. Light engulfed her mind.
A memory, stolen or gifted.
Tristan stood at the cliffside citadel, its towers crumbling behind him. Blood painted the floor. Mariam lay at his feet, wounded, clutching a bloodied shard of crystal—the Soma Heart.
"They betrayed us," she rasped, coughing blood. "The Elders chose Shin."
Tristan's voice was hollow, stripped of its former warmth. "They chose weakness."
From the shadows stepped Voryn.
"You could have ruled together," the robed figure said, his voice both ancient and young. "But love divided you. That is the Soma's true curse."
Tristan knelt beside Mariam. His hand shook as he cradled her head.
"Then I will carve a new legacy. One where betrayal is impossible. One where love does not falter."
The Falzath pact seared into his flesh. Tendrils of dark fire etched their design across his chest. His eyes, once gold like Shin's, now burned crimson.
"Let the Soma choke on their choices. Let them drown in what they cast aside."
The citadel burned. Screams echoed as Elders were consumed. Mariam smiled once before the fire took her.
Tessara collapsed to her knees, gasping, drenched in sweat. Mira was there in an instant, her hand steady on Tessara's back.
"You saw it too, didn't you?" Mira asked, her voice soft but taut.
Tessara nodded, still catching her breath. Her eyes brimmed with tears, not of fear, but of understanding.
"Tristan didn't fall to ambition. He fell to heartbreak. To envy. To love betrayed."
Her gaze turned toward the relic, which had now crumbled into ash.
"This was never just about the Falzath. This was about the Soma. About everything we thought we knew."
Outside, dawn touched the horizon with rose-colored light. The tide receded, the fortress quiet.
Tessara stood, shoulders squared. Her crest still glowed, stronger now.
"We have to tell Shin. The truth runs deeper than we thought."
Mira nodded. "Then we keep moving. For the west. For the truth."
And together, under the rising sun, they disappeared into the mist, leaving behind only silence and the ruins of deception.