One month had passed since the Battle of Veilwood.
The golden scar in the sky had faded to a faint, shimmering thread of light, a permanent reminder of the sacrifice that had sealed the rift. The fortress walls had been repaired, the fields outside had turned green again, and the wolves of Veilwood had slowly begun to remember what it felt like to live without fear.
But the changes were not just external.
Evelyn Blackwood sat in the sun-drenched garden of the Veilwood Estate, a cup of herbal tea warming her hands. The morning light caught the faint, golden flecks in her eyes—a mark left by the sealing ritual, a permanent connection between her soul and the land itself.
She was still herself. She still remembered every surgery, every wound, every life she had saved. But there was a quie
