The light of the covenant still lingered, yet within the Tower of Stars, a hidden door stirred. Its surface shimmered like liquid glass, reflecting not the dawn outside but an endless abyss.
Prava stepped closer, her hand brushing against the veil. A whisper escaped from the depths—soft, sorrowful, and ancient.
"Child of two worlds… bearer of the Heart Key… you have walked the path, but the truth has been veiled."
Allara tightened her grip on her staff. "A final veil… the tower still hides its last secret."
Rafael's hand moved instinctively to his sword, though he knew steel would not protect against truth. He stood beside Prava nonetheless.
The veil parted. Visions poured out—stars collapsing, wings of shadow born from shattered constellations, and at the heart of it all, a flame that pulsed like Prava's own heartbeat.
"The Tower of Stars was not built to guard against darkness," the voice intoned. "It was forged from it. The Wings of Darkness were not invaders—they were fragments cast away when light tried to purge shadow. Yet shadow clings to light, as night to day."
Prava's knees weakened. The Heart Key glowed fiercely against her chest. "Then… what am I?"
The whisper became a solemn chorus.
"You are both light and shadow. The covenant can only exist because you bridge what was torn apart. Without you, the veil will return, and the world will shatter once more."
Tears burned in her eyes. She looked at Allara and Rafael, her voice trembling.
"My destiny… was never to fight against the shadow. It was to carry it… and bind it to the light."
The veil flickered, waiting for her choice. Beyond it lay either salvation—or ruin.