The Step-Stone flared one last time.

  YiChen burst through the camp’s barrier, silver sparks trailing behind like shorn meteors.

  He dropped to one knee.

  In his arms, Elena quivered faintly—like a shard of thin ice, brittle, ready to break.

  ?

  Outside the tents, ChengYu sat cross-legged within a healing array.

  Silverwing folded behind him, wings dulled to gray.

  On either side, Aeloryn and Hidaea worked tirelessly, their spirit beasts—Soulleaf and the Lumina Dove—spinning pale-gold lattices that stitched torn muscles back into order.

  At the crunch of boots, Aeloryn turned.

  Her breath caught—then she rushed forward.

  Hidaea followed, just as urgent.

  “This way!” Aeloryn’s voice was taut, guiding YiChen toward the medic tent.

  YiChen carried Elena after them in silence.

  Each step pressed into his chest like the grind of blades.

  ?

  The tent had been cleared.

  At its center lay a spirit-woven bed, runes pulsing faint light.

  “Here!” Hidaea called, pulling the sheets aside.

  YiChen bent, lowering Elena onto the mattress.

  The instant his arms released, her body trembled—fingers clutching weakly at the linen.

  Her face, streaked with tears, looked carved from fragile glass.

  YiChen straightened—

  and only then saw it.

  His combat gear below the chest was drenched in red.

  Blood had cooled there, gluing fabric to skin in a hardened shell.

  When he lifted a hand, thin crimson threads stretched between glove and armor.

  Her blood.

  Hot, then cold.

  Seeping through to him.

  Burning deeper than any wound of his own.

  Aeloryn was already at work, spirit lattice unfurling across Elena’s body.

  Hidaea’s hands were swift, cutting cloth, exposing torn channels laced in crimson.

  Every scar under the glow looked merciless.

  YiChen’s fingers trembled once.

  He stood silent—still caught beneath the rain of her blood.

  “Thank you. Leave her to us.”

  Aeloryn’s voice was soft, resolute.

  YiChen gave a single nod.

  He turned, stepping out of the tent.

  His silhouette stretched long in the lamp’s glow.

  Not a word left his lips.

  ?

  Outside, the blood on him had dried stiff.

  But his chest still burned raw.

  He brushed his cheek absently.

  His fingers came away sticky.

  Blood.

  He glanced once, then kept walking.

  ChengYu looked up from his array, brows furrowing.

  “Brother… is she badly hurt?”

  “Mn.” YiChen’s tone was steady, almost flat.

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  “They’re treating her. She’ll live.”

  He paused.

  “Earlier—your shoulder. How is it?”

  ChengYu scratched his head, forcing a grin.

  “Just muscle strain. Already fine—look!”

  He lifted his arm—then hissed. “Ow—okay, maybe not completely fine…”

  YiChen studied him, then said quietly:

  “In the Soul-Garden, we were given ointment for torn muscle.”

  “Oh—right!” ChengYu rummaged in his satchel, eyes lighting.

  “Jade-Spirit Salve! Ian said it worked miracles!”

  He pulled out a white jar.

  Warm fragrance drifted the moment the lid cracked.

  “Apply it yourself,” YiChen said evenly.

  “If you can’t reach, Silverwing can help. I need to wash this off—”

  His gaze dropped to the blood soaking his armor.

  Voice sharpened.

  “This stench is too heavy. It’ll draw every beast in range.”

  A beat.

  Then his eyes flashed cold.

  “Damn it. Carrying Elena back… I left a blood trail outside.”

  ?

  Herlan and Rako staggered into camp—

  faces ashen, breaths ragged.

  On their backs lay Craen and Reinhardt, bloodied as Elena, lives dangling by a thread.

  They dragged the wounded into the healer’s tent, then collapsed, gasping on the stone floor.

  For a long moment, no one moved.

  Then Rako rasped, voice raw as torn iron:

  “Don’t just sit there! Purifying Sand—scatter it! If that beast tracks us here, the camp won’t last a breath!”

  They had thrown only fragments in the retreat—barely enough to smear the scent.

  Stone and vine might hide a cave—

  but blood reeked like a beacon, spirit-pressure thick as smoke.

  YiChen and ChengYu locked eyes.

  No words.

  YiChen turned at once, striding to wash the blood from his armor.

  ChengYu seized a sack of Purifying Sand and bolted for the cave mouth.

  ?

  Minutes later, Aiden, Mikel, Kai, and Varuk returned—

  weary, scorched, but alive.

  For the first time, the camp dared to breathe.

  Then—two staggering figures appeared at the barrier.

  Leif. Gerold.

  Every heart froze.

  They stumbled through, too drained to trigger even a Step-Stone.

  The instant the wards sealed behind them, both collapsed.

  Healers dragged them inside—

  water, medicine, spirit-light.

  At last, their eyes fluttered open.

  Gerold’s first words tore free in a broken wail:

  “David… Noah… Ian… they’re gone—!!”

  Leif said nothing.

  His jaw locked until blood seeped from his gums.

  His whole body shook, chalk-white.

  The cave fell silent.

  Colder than stone.

  ?

  A sharp crack.

  A Step-Stone burst in the air.

  Everyone spun.

  —Ian.

  He staggered through the barrier, arms locked around something against his chest.

  Within the flicker of fading spirit-force, a faint soul-crystal pulsed.

  Noah’s soul.

  Ian dropped forward, still clutching it as though it were his own heart.

  Blood soaked him through; breath came in shreds.

  Only the dregs of a Source of Sacred Healing had carried him this far.

  Aeloryn and Hidaea rushed to him.

  Their hands pressed to his chest—

  and their faces went ashen.

  —Spirit channels shattered.

  —Heart torn.

  —Soul-core burning itself away.

  Leif’s hoarse scream cracked the silence:

  “The Soul-Jade Elixir—quick, there’s still time!”

  But Aeloryn’s voice shook.

  “There’s none left. Every last drop… Elena, Reinhardt, Craen…”

  Hidaea pressed harder, light pouring into his veins, desperate.

  But Ian’s eyes opened faintly.

  He looked once at YiChen, then across the squad—

  and shook his head.

  His arms closed tighter around the crystal.

  It shimmered faintly in answer.

  YiChen knelt beside him, gripping his blood-slick wrist.

  His voice was low, firm, unyielding:

  “…Anything left to say?”

  Ian’s lips curled into a smile so pale it seemed carved from smoke.

  His voice rasped, little more than breath:

  “…Together.”

  ?

  The healers exchanged a glance.

  Silence. Then both nodded.

  Aeloryn drew a silver-white Seal.

  Hidaea summoned the Lumina Dove.

  Its wings unfurled, hymn low and mournful, weaving a song of release.

  Spirit-light froze the air.

  Around Ian and Noah, rings of radiance opened—

  gently lifting their souls free from broken flesh.

  Ian closed his eyes. The faint smile remained.

  He would walk beside his brother again.

  White light rose upward, two threads twining, circling—

  slipping past the cave mouth, ascending into mist.

  No wails.

  No screams.

  The exorcists only stood in silence, shadows long against the stone.

  They watched those two lights rise.

  Smaller. Fainter.

  Gone.

  ?

  YiChen stood at the front, fists clenched until the bones ached.

  Behind him, ChengYu bit his lip until blood filled his mouth.

  Eyes rimmed red, but body unshaken.

  They stood.

  They watched.

  And with the Brighton brothers,

  a piece of their own future slipped away—

  dyed forever in the color of death.