A few days had passed since the battle.

  The Pink Holly Festival—a celebration cherished by the people of Moonset—was scheduled to continue the next day. But the revelation of the city’s partial destruction had left the community hesitant to celebrate.

  The fighters were left to rest up in the rooms of Silver’s temple, stretching his supplies thin. Yet, the heartfelt gratitude of the Sterna softened the strain. In the time that followed, Blū grew quietly introspective, replaying moments in his mind again and again until, eventually, he made a decision.

  One morning, while others gathered for breakfast or prepared for training, Blū wandered the halls of the temple. His steps were slow, uncertain. He took care to notice every corner, every decoration, every small mark along the stone walls—as if committing it all to memory. It wasn’t easy. But the path ahead shimmered with promise.

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  “And you’re sure about this?” Oy asked.

  “As sure as I can be,” Blū replied.

  They stood in their shared room, Blū by the open door, rays of golden morning light spilling through their small windows.

  “Why?” Oy’s voice was strained. His injuries still made it hard to walk, but he would recover. “Why him…?”

  Blū drew a long, steady breath. “It’s what’s best.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, if you can’t be honest with me, then who can you be honest with?”

  Blū turned toward him, eyes searching, desperate to be understood. “I made promises—to my parents, to lost friends, to Silver… and to myself. There was a day, long ago, when I decided what kind of man I wanted to be. But I feel like I’ve barely moved forward since then.”

  Oy considered that. “I heard it was quite the spectacle. Maybe that’s what pushed you to decide?”

  “No. It happened before that. At some point, I realized the Hero I imagined in my mind… I’d already met him. In flesh and blood.”

  Oy blinked in disbelief. “And you… you plan to open the gates?”

  “I plan to be there,” Blū said quietly. “At the very least.”

  The tension in the room thickened. Oy scratched the back of his head, avoiding eye contact. For a moment, the silence lingered—until he stepped forward and pulled Blū into an embrace. His arms, though weaker than usual, still wrapped around his brother with strength and love.

  “You haven’t told Silver… have you?”

  Blū shook his head. “No…”

  Oy pulled back, a faint smile curling on his lips. “Then just do it. Don’t let it haunt you.”

  Blū nodded, tears pricking his eyes. He ran his fingers through his white hair, trying to steady himself.

  “Bwahahaha!” Oy burst into laughter, suddenly. “The Gates of Paradise, huh?”

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  Sil bolted through the temple’s corridors, nearly tripping over herself as she raced toward the sound of her name. She burst through a doorway and found her fellow Stearna gathered around two beds.

  Yig and Pervoick were awake—finally—after thirty-two hours of rest.

  Spartan dashed in circles on the floor, yapping in sheer joy.

  Yig raised a hand, grinning as if nothing had happened. “Hiya!” he called out cheerfully.

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  Sil let out a cry and threw herself forward, wrapping an arm around each of them. She held them tightly, trembling from relief.

  Pervoick gave a small cough. His face was still pale, but considering his wounds, he looked remarkably better.

  “Feeling better?” she asked, leaning back.

  “Yep,” Yig replied bluntly.

  Spartan leapt into Yig’s arms, snuggling against him affectionately.

  “How are Blū and Oy doing?”

  “Banged up, like the rest of us. But they seem mostly unfazed—at least physically. They’ve just been stretching their backs and limbs every now and then.”

  “That’s good. So… is the festival still on?”

  “No, you fool. It ended!”

  “What? Why’d they stop it?” Yig groaned.

  “The day ended! You slept through it—and then some!” Sil barked.

  “Whoa. No wonder I’m not tired.”

  “You’re not alone. We all missed the party,” Slye said from his chair at the side of Pervoick’s bed, feet propped up on the frame.

  “Why’re you here?” Yig asked.

  “Oh, thanks for the warm welcome,” Slye replied with an amused scowl.

  “He said he wanted to enjoy the festival, remember?” Pervoick added, leaning back into his pillow and relaxing his joints. “Imagine our surprise when we found those beasts wreaking havoc instead.”

  Yig glanced around the room, gently patting Spartan as she curled up in his lap. Slye sat nearby in his chair, Pervoick rested in the bed beside him, Sil perched at the foot of the sheets, and two of the lower Stearna waited quietly in the corner.

  “Where’s Host?”

  “Training with Oy, I think,” Slye replied. “Didn’t seem too happy with how the fight went.”

  “You guys sensed the aura too, right?” Yig asked. “They had that same dark feeling as the bears.”

  Pervoick nodded. “Yeah. But these ones were a lot more threatening. The bears didn’t choose the corruption—they were victims. These people, though? They welcomed it.”

  Slye agreed. “From what they say about the other worlds, you’ll see more of those types if you plan to climb all the way to the top of the World Tree.”

  Wrapped in his morning robe, Nil stepped through the open door with a bright, cheerful smile. “You’re both awake.”

  “You sensed it too, right, Master?” Yig asked.

  Nil paused for a second, catching up with the conversation, then nodded gravely. “Groups like that aren’t rare. Sadly, the more you travel, the more you’ll see.”

  His expression turned more serious. “I spoke with the guard captain, and the boy—Joe. They did their best to explain what happened.”

  The young men and women leaned in, ears perked with curiosity.

  “First of all—if any of you didn’t know— the Owl-man we fought was a Preacher. A Preacher of Surath. They travel between worlds, seeking the weak-minded, the forgotten, and the desperate. They offer them power, and in doing so, they slowly build a squad of warriors. It’s called a Dark Gang. That’s what you faced.”

  “But what about the guards?” Sil asked.

  “One of the gang members—a large one—used his Levula to manipulate their minds. From what I’ve gathered, he turned the Guard Station itself into a focal point for the effect. Anyone who spent time there came under his influence.”

  “Do you know why they were at my home?”

  “Chestnut?” Nil sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “Well… under Liria’s orders, guards were dispatched to neighboring villages and beyond, supposedly to reduce crime. In truth, they were kidnapping men—sacrifices for the Preacher to transform into those Owl-people.”

  Yig frowned. “So they planned to steal people from Chestnut?”

  “No need to worry about them now,” Nil assured him. “That’s all over.”

  “It’s probably what they intended for Furgen,” Sil added. “But he’s safe now. He’s with his family.”

  “Hmm…” Yig rubbed his chin in thought, then smiled. “It was a worthy challenge on the road to becoming a great hero.”

  “Yeah, about that,” Slye said, cutting in. “How did you manage to get all that mana?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The attacks you landed had way more force than ours. Your aura alone gave me chills.”

  “I don’t really know. This woman in a white dress gave it to me in a dream, and it was fun to use, so… I used it.”

  The room went quiet, unsure how to respond to that.

  “Maybe it’s an inherited Levula like ours,” Slye suggested.

  Sil hummed in thought. “Can you think of any family members you might’ve gotten the skill from, Yig?”

  “Nope. Only ever had Mum, and she hates fighting.”

  “You don’t know anyone else from either side of your family?”

  Yig shook his head, glancing around the room.

  “Nil, any ideas?” Sil asked.

  The master snapped out of a daze, straightening up as he returned to the moment. “What…? Oh. Well, aura takes many forms. Hard to say anything for certain. But a passed-down Levula would be my first guess too.”

  “Hey Sil,” Yig said, “can you get me a bandage?”

  “Why? Did a wound reopen?”

  “Nope. I just need to cover up my weak arm.”

  He raised his right arm, revealing a long yellow pattern along the skin of his forearm. It was intricately detailed, as if painted into his flesh by a god while still in the womb.

  “What is that?” Sil asked. The rest of the room looked just as amazed—as they should’ve.

  “Mother says it’s a thingy that makes my arm weak. If it’s not covered, it might hurt.”

  Nil stepped forward. “Sil, wrap his arm,” he said, voice firm.

  She obeyed.

  Yig hopped down from the bed, thanked Sil, then sighed as he inspected the bandage. He walked toward the door, rubbing his stomach as his sheep waddled behind him.

  “Maybe you should stay in bed a bit longer,” Sil suggested.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Nil raised a hand. “Wait, Yig. Would you mind if I took you to Master Silver?”

  “Sure. But… can I get a snack first?”

  Sil perked up. A snack sounded nice.