The wind whispered through the tall trees.
Night stretched its shadow across the white stone ground like frozen time.
Nuna, Emma, and Inlada followed the Celestial Fox deep into the forest —
to a place unnamed, hidden beneath roots that twisted like chains of eternity.
"This is where you were meant to come…"
The fox's voice was soft, trembling with something ancient.
"Because the vow made a thousand years ago… remains unbroken."
Emma halted. "A vow?"
Golden light flickered from the feathers of Seraphim's mask,
revealing a faint image — a woman in white standing exactly where they were now.
Inlada stared in awe. "We've… been here before, haven't we?"
Seraphim lowered her head, touching her silver blade engraved with ancient script:
"No bond can be severed by the Creator's sword,
if the heart has not yet forgotten."
The mist thickened. The wind fell silent.
And in the stillness, a dark silhouette began to stir —
the cursed shadow of a Celestial who had lost his form,
waiting for the descendants of light to set him free.
Nuna stepped forward, lifting her gaze.
"If our past was a curse… then it's time we freed it."
The silver light of Seraphim's sword merged with the radiance of the feathered mask,
forming an ancient sigil that floated in the air —
as if the sky itself was breathing,
and time had paused to judge fate once more.
Nuna stepped forward, lifting her gaze. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, yet a calm resolve steadied her hands.
"If our past was a curse… then it's time we freed it." Her voice, though soft, carried the weight of lifetimes of pain and longing.
The silver light of Seraphim's sword pulsed like a living heartbeat, resonating with the faint shimmer of the feathered mask clutched in her hand. Sparks of ethereal energy danced around them, forming an intricate lattice of runes that glowed with an almost sentient light.
The air itself seemed to thrum with expectation. Leaves trembled in the windless night, shadows twisted in impossible directions, and the scent of ozone and ancient forests filled the space. The sigil floated between them, suspended in midair, shifting like liquid silver under the moonlight.
Time felt fragile. Moments stretched and bent; the world held its breath. Nuna could feel the pulse of the curse entwined with her very veins, and yet, within that pulse, she sensed hope—tiny, fragile, but unyielding.
From the shadows, Seraphim stepped closer. His presence was a mixture of steel and warmth, the kind that could pierce a soul yet cradle it gently. "Are you ready?" he asked, though the question felt more like a ritual invocation than a query.
Nuna nodded. The sigil responded, spinning faster, threads of light lashing out like silver vines, wrapping around the remnants of her past—the shattered fragments of pain, betrayal, and memories that were never hers alone. She raised the mask higher, and the energy surged, forming a column of light that pierced the heavens, illuminating the valley with a brilliance that seemed almost divine.
In that moment, Nuna felt her body lift, weightless, as if the curse itself was dissolving. Whispers of forgotten voices—both pleading and forgiving—swirled around her. And then, in a heartbeat, silence fell.
The sigil collapsed inward like a blooming silver flower, the light settling onto the mask. It glowed faintly now, serene, as though it had absorbed every sorrow and anchored it safely away.
Nuna sank to her knees, gasping, yet the heaviness in her chest was gone. Seraphim knelt beside her, his hand brushing hers, grounding her to the world once more.
"You did it," he murmured, almost in awe. "We… freed it."
And somewhere, far above, the stars seemed to shimmer with approval, as if witnessing a destiny rewritten—one where the past no longer bound them, and yet, had brought them here, to this fragile, luminous peace.