The chamber trembled as the Final Veil pulsed with light and shadow, entwined like two serpents circling one another. Every heartbeat echoed within the tower, as if the world itself awaited Prava's decision.
Rafael placed his hand on her shoulder. His voice was firm, though his eyes betrayed fear.
"Prava, whatever lies beyond that veil—you don't have to face it alone."
Allara stepped closer, her staff glowing faintly with healing light. "But the choice must still be yours. Neither blade nor spell can bear the weight meant for your soul."
Prava's chest tightened. The Heart Key blazed, burning hot against her skin, yet the warmth carried no pain—only truth. Before her, the veil rippled like water, and within its depths, she saw two paths.
One path shone with radiant light: a world purged of all shadow, but silent, cold, and lifeless.
The other writhed with darkness: chaos and endless war, yet raw with freedom and passion.
And between them—
A third path flickered, fragile and uncertain. A world where light and shadow coexisted, fragile as glass, demanding balance every day.
The voice of the tower thundered:
"Choose. Light. Shadow. Or Balance. The fate of every soul rests in your hands."
Prava's tears fell freely, yet her voice carried strength.
"If I am both… then I choose not to deny either. I choose balance. I choose to carry the burden, so the world may live with both light and shadow."
The veil shuddered, then cracked apart, scattering into stars. The chamber was filled with brilliance, neither blinding nor dark—just whole.
For the first time, the Tower of Stars was silent… and at peace.