The wind howled across the cliffs, a mournful wail that seemed to echo the ache in Nysalea's chest. "Your Highness… Sister… I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice fragile, nearly lost in the gusts that tugged at her veil.
"I thought- The gallbladder would be enough... but- I... I'm sorry."
Each word seared her throat, heavy with the weight of failure.
She had been granted a chance most cultivators would slaughter for.
A path to ascend, to stand among the greats... and yet, she remained rooted, unable to cross that invisible threshold.
Her hands clenched, nails biting into her palms, as shame coiled tighter around her heart.
What did it mean to be worthy?
If she couldn't seize this moment, how could she face the battles ahead?
Would Riven and Selene always be there, a steady hand to pull her from the abyss?
Could they bear that burden forever?
