**Chapter 48 – Farewells and New Paths
**[YETI CHAMBER – INTERIOR, POST-BATTLE ]**
Daylight **cascaded** through the massive hole in the ceiling like liquid gold — transforming a chamber that had lived in perpetual twilight for a thousand years into a celestial cathedral, rays piercing the snow still falling in a translucent white curtain, each flake capturing light and **gleaming** like a fragment of a lost star, creating luminous columns that made the ice crystals on the walls **resplend** like diamonds torn from a divine mine, an almost **sacred** effect in a space that minutes earlier had witnessed violence capable of cracking the very foundations of the mountain.
The destruction was **impossible to ignore** — deep craters where impacts had demolished millennial stone until exposing geological layers that had not seen light since before the first civilizations, cracks traversing walls in organic patterns branching dozens of meters, ceiling fragments scattered like the bones of a fallen titan, snow mixed with dust creating a gray-white paste covering every surface.
But **life persisted** — not death, not desolation. Yetis **moving** cautiously, emerging from side chambers, eyes still wide but no longer paralyzed, observing the strangers who had defeated their warrior-king but **chose** to spare the community when extermination would have been easier.
---
**Keara** knelt beside a Yeti warrior — a loyal soldier with a deep diagonal cut crossing his forearm, muscle exposed, dark blue blood staining the snow.
Her staff **glowed** in warm gold — light pulsing with a life of its own, synchronized with her heartbeat, energy flowing through ancient wood carved with healing runes until it reached her palms, then leaping to the wound where torn muscle began to **reconnect** visibly to the naked eye, fibers intertwining like an invisible weaver at work, skin regenerating layer by layer.
— Stay **still** — maternal but **firm** voice. — Almost done. If you move, the healing will be imperfect.
The Yeti watched with enormous yellow eyes **wide** open — not understanding the magic intellectually but **feeling** it on a primitive level: warmth where there should have been pain, absence of agony, **life** flowing where death had begun to stake its claim.
He grunted low — guttural sound resonating in his massive chest, gratitude transcending words.
Fifty seconds later — the wound **closed** completely, only a faint pink line in the fur marking where it had been.
Keara stepped back — breathing heavily, sweat covering her forehead despite the penetrating cold, mana **drained**.
*Fifteenth healed.*
*Six remain.*
*Mana at forty percent.*
*Enough.*
*I can't leave any of them suffering.*
---
**Jelim** floated **five meters** above — body suspended through self-applied telekinesis that seemed to require no conscious effort.
Arms extended — functional positioning maximizing control.
**Orbiting** around her in a double-ring pattern — **thirty-six** fragments of stone and ice levitated, fifty to three hundred kilos each, defying gravity through will transformed into force.
They rose **slowly** — controlled with surgical precision, without tremor, crossing the space until reaching the massive twenty-meter hole in the ceiling.
**Positioned themselves** — each fragment finding the **exact** place from which it had broken, as if Jelim could **read** the geological memory of the stone itself.
But she did not **fuse** them permanently — only repositioned them through constant pressure, creating a temporary cover that would prevent snow from continuing to cascade but would not restore true structural integrity.
*This will have to suffice.*
*Full repair would take months.*
The last fragment **settled** with a brief sound of stone scraping.
Jelim lowered her arms — releasing tension.
Voice emerged muffled, flat:
— Structure temporarily stabilized. Minimum seventy-two hours. Beyond that I make no guarantees.
A gray-furred Yeti elder **nodded** deeply from a distance.
Jelim saw but did not acknowledge verbally — merely tilting her mask three degrees before diverting attention.
---
**Steve** was **surrounded** — not threateningly but by **seven** Yeti cubs between one and a half and two meters tall, equivalent to children five to nine years old, immaculate white fur, enormous blue eyes **shining** with pure childish curiosity.
He tried to **communicate** with almost comical determination — making **absurdly exaggerated** facial expressions, eyebrows rising to his hairline then crashing down, mouth twisting into impossible shapes, hands gesturing wildly.
— I… **I**… — pointed to his own chest with both thumbs — …am… **STEVE**! — Each syllable separated, volume raised. — **STEEEEEVE**! Got it? **STEVE**!
The cubs simply **stared** — heads tilting in perfect sync, ears twitching, expressions communicating: *Is this human functioning correctly?*
Silence for **four seconds**.
Then the smallest — silver fur, intense blue eyes — took a **brave** step forward.
Extended a tiny **claw**.
And **pinched** Steve's nose.
**Hard**.
— **AAAAAI!** — Steve recoiled **violently**, hands covering his nose, eyes watering. — **WHAT WAS THAT?! WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!**
Expression changing **dramatically** — eyebrows furrowing severely, mouth turning into a deep grimace of indignation, nose wrinkling, face contorted into a perfect mask of childish rage.
The effect was **instantaneous**.
They **froze** for half a second.
Then—
**Explosion** of **laughter** — deep, guttural, resonant but unmistakably **joyful** sounds, small bodies trembling so violently that some **fell** backward into the snow, legs kicking the air, claws covering mouths without success.
Steve blinked — processing in slow motion.
*They think… it's funny?*
*My anger amuses them?*
Understanding **dawned**.
*Then I'll give them a SHOW.*
He made an **even more ridiculous** expression — mouth opening in a massive "O", eyes bulging painfully, hands like monster claws, roaring in a **deliberately** ridiculous tone:
— **GRAAAAAAWR! MONSTER STEVE IS GONNA GET YOU! RUN!**
The cubs **exploded** in a new wave — some running in chaotic circles, others hiding behind siblings peeking out, one **rolling** uncontrollably through the snow, all loving the performance.
Steve couldn't **resist** — genuine smile cracking the fake mask, beginning to chase them in a controlled way, making beast sounds, letting them **win**, "accidentally" tripping dramatically, making exaggerated "shock" expressions.
*Children are universal.*
*Just… present.*
*Living the moment.*
For **six minutes** — he forgot everything: Fragments, remaining days, Nessira whispering, impossible mission, death always near.
He just **played**.
---
**Dagon** watched from a **distance** — leaning against a massive column, arms crossed, relaxed posture but tense muscles, expression returning to its usual **emptiness**.
Eyes **followed** Steve playing.
Not judging.
**Admiring** silently.
*The kid still laughs after almost dying yesterday.*
*Still plays like the world isn't ending.*
An unnamed emotion **tightened** his chest — envy mixed with admiration.
*I used to be like that.*
*Before everything.*
Memory of his daughter **surfaced** — smile, laughter, "daddy you're the best"—
**Shoved** it back brutally.
*No.*
*Focus on the present.*
*The past hurts too much.*
Eyes **shifted** — focusing on the Yeti King eighty meters away, Keara finishing the healing.
*Time to end this properly.*
He pushed off the column.
**Walked**.
---
The Yeti King **felt** the approach — instincts never shutting off, Dagon's presence carrying **existential weight** even without transformation.
Turned his head.
Saw the warrior approaching through celestial light.
And **smiled** — not threat, recognition between equals.
Rose with **considerable** effort — muscles protesting but **refusing** to remain seated.
**Struck** his own chest — **twice**, rhythm signifying maximum honor.
Spoke in a harmonic language impossible for humans:
— **"Kor'thall vor'mesh tal grish'mar. Du'ven kal'thor mesh'kal."**
*[You are truly a warrior of supreme honor. My people owe you an eternal debt of life.]*
---
Dagon stopped two meters away — looking up.
Expression **empty** — but not disrespectful.
Just deeply tired.
— I don't understand a word you're saying. — Flat tone. — But I assume gratitude or mutual respect based on context.
Eyes meeting yellow eyes:
— You were a **worthy** adversary. You fought with honor until the last moment. You protected your community when flight would have been easier. **That** defines a true warrior.
Tilted his head five degrees:
— You honored your people. For that… **I respect you** genuinely.
The Yeti processed the **tone** — communication transcending language.
**Smiled** more widely.
Extended his right hand — palm open, universal gesture.
Dagon looked for a second.
*Shake hands with a "monster."*
*But I know what I saw.*
*Father protecting family.*
*Like I tried to.*
Corner of lip **curved** — first genuine smile in hours.
Extended his own hand — completely engulfed but **firm** grip from both.
— It was a **pleasure** meeting you. — Sincere. — May your people prosper. May your children grow strong.
Squeezed harder for a second.
Released.
Mentally:
*Monster with principles superior to most humans.*
---
— If your **epic romance** is **finally over**— — Jelim's voice cut through the moment, floating above — …I finished repairing the damage from your **destructive playtime**.
Rare but **present** sarcasm.
Dagon looked up:
— Don't talk like that, Jelim. — Firm. — Great men connect through honest conflict. Testing limits under pressure.
Pause:
— A concept you might not understand.
Jelim tilted her mask:
— Ah. **I see**. — Tone suggesting the exact opposite. — Masculine violence as primitive language of emotional connection.
Turned floating **slowly** away.
Dagon sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose.
*Impossible.*
Then **turned** — sweeping the chamber:
— **Hey, everyone!** — Projecting voice. — **Meeting! Now!**
---
**Fifteen minutes later** — farewells made, equipment checked, wounds healed, group **ready**.
Positioned at the entrance to the narrow tunnel, external light shining promisingly.
Before leaving — they **turned** simultaneously.
The Yeti King in front — striking his chest once.
Warriors — twenty-four raising weapons in salute.
Females — holding cubs, some waving.
Elders — nodding approval.
---
Keara **felt** — insistent pressure against her calf.
Looked down.
Heart **leaped**.
The **Yeti baby** — the same one from before, enormous blue eyes **overflowing** with tears — clinging to her leg, trembling, refusing to let go.
*Don't go. Stay. I need you.*
Something **broke** inside her.
She knelt **immediately** — snow soaking her knees, lowering to the baby's height.
Held the small face **gently**:
— Hey, little one… — sad but genuine smile. — Don't be like that. This isn't goodbye forever.
Pulled into a **tight** hug — small body trembling against her chest:
— I'll come back. **I promise**. When you're big and strong… I'll come back to see you. Okay?
Held for thirty seconds — letting the moment exist.
Then gently pulled away.
The baby didn't resist — understanding that adults leave.
Returned to its mother in trembling steps.
Keara stood, wiping her eyes.
*Not her child.*
*But it hurts the same.*
*It always hurts.*
---
The group **walked** — through the tunnel, light increasing.
When they emerged into open air — Dagon spoke without looking:
— Next stop: the **mafia** guardian.
**Dangerous** tone.
---
**[VILLAGE – GUARDIAN'S HOUSE, ONE HOUR LATER]**
The guardian — fifty-six years old, prominent belly spilling over an expensive belt, absurdly inappropriate silk clothes for a poor village, sweat covering his forehead — reclined in a leather armchair that alone cost more than an average house, wine goblet trembling imperceptibly.
Fireplace **crackled** — expensive firewood burning, excessive heat making the room suffocating, obscene luxury when most villagers shivered through the nights.
Door **exploded** kicked open — wood splintering on iron hinges, slamming the wall with a BANG that made pictures **tremble**.
A guard stumbled in — twenty-three years old, ill-fitting armor, eyes **wide** with panic:
— **S-SIR**! The adventurers! The ones you sent to the mountain! They're **ALIVE**! **COMING BACK**! Heading **HERE**!
**CRASH**.
The goblet **fell** — thin glass **shattering** on the floor, red wine spreading in a pool resembling coagulated blood, staining a Persian rug that had cost three months of taxes.
— **WHAT?!** — He leaped, knocking over the armchair. — Impossible! **IMPOSSIBLE**! No one returns from that mountain! In **ten years** sending people, **NO ONE** ever came back!
But voice too **high-pitched** — betraying that he had always **known** someone would eventually survive.
And when they did… they would come for **him**.
With **questions**. With **anger**. With **justice**.
— **GET OUT OF MY WAY**! — He shoved the guard **violently**, fat hands slapping the young man's chest.
Ran for the **back** door — escape route planned for years for exactly this moment.
*Horse in the stables.*
*Gold buried under the stone.*
*Fake documents in the saddlebag.*
*New identity three days south.*
*I can start over.*
Reached the back door.
Hands **trembling**, fingers fumbling to turn the knob.
**Opened**.
And **froze** — literally, muscles **locking**, breath **stopping**.
---
**Dagon** standing on the other side — two meters away, completely blocking the exit, arms crossed, expression absolutely **empty** more terrifying than open rage.
**Keara** to the right — staff glowing faintly.
**Jelim** above — **twelve** golden energy spears orbiting.
The guardian **stumbled** back.
Fell on his back — impact knocking air from lungs, head hitting the floor.
Began **crawling** desperately, pathetically, fat fingers scraping the ground.
---
Dagon **walked** — not hurried, just inevitable.
Entered observing the excessive luxury.
*Silk. Imported wine. Gold.*
*All paid with blood.*
Reached the guardian in four steps.
Crouched — grabbing him by the **collar** of his shirt with one hand, lifting as if ninety kilos weighed **nothing**.
And **threw** — body flying four meters, slamming the opposite wall, falling with a groan.
Internal guard froze in terror.
— This isn't your business. — Dagon's voice low. — **Leave**.
The guard **fled** running.
---
Dagon approached the guardian trying to rise:
— You already **know** why we're here. Alive. — Pause letting it sink in. — Save me the time of throwing in your face that you **manipulated** hundreds to their deaths. Just **answer** about the Nessiras.
The guardian tried to resist:
— I-I don't know anyth—
Jelim **moved** a finger subtly.
Twelve spears repositioned — six pointing at his face centimeters away, six at his body, glowing intensely.
Dagon leaned closer:
— Say one more thing I don't want to hear… — **dangerous** whisper — …and it will be your **end** painful and slow.
The guardian looked at the trembling spears.
Looked at Dagon.
Looked at Keara watching without pity.
**Broke**:
— **OKAY**! Okay! I **surrender**! I'll tell you everything I know! Just don't kill me please!
Jelim raised the spears — still pointing but creating minimal space.
---
The guardian spoke **fast**, desperate:
— I don't know much! I swear on everything holy! Just… generations ago, my great-grandfather was chief of this village. We lived in constant absolute terror — monsters attacking nonstop, people dying, no protection at all.
Breath accelerating:
— But then great-grandfather had a **friend** from outside. From distant lands. Skin completely **white** like freshly fallen snow. Eyes **blue** like deep ice from ancient glaciers. Hair white like solidified pure light.
Keara **tensed** slightly — the description echoing something vague in fragmented memory.
— That friend came when called. Brought **others** of his kind. And **protected** the village completely. Drove away all monsters permanently. Established absolute safe territory that lasts to this day.
Pause swallowing hard:
— Since then we've lived in relative peace without attacks. But the relationship with that strange people was… **secret**. Extremely restricted. Only village chiefs maintained direct contact. From generation to generation without breaking tradition or revealing the secret.
Dagon tilted his head:
— You said a lot of useless words. And still haven't said **anything** I'm truly interested in.
Looked at Jelim — gave a slight nod.
Spears **descended** dangerously close to the guardian's face.
— **WAIT! WAIT PLEASE**! — He screamed desperately. — They meet on the **other side** of this frozen mountain! Exactly the **north** side! There's a hidden deep valley between the highest peaks! A place maps don't show! That's **ALL** I know! I swear on everything holy and my life!
---
Dagon studied his face for **five full seconds** — searching for signs of lying in microexpressions, muscle tension, breathing pattern.
Found only **pure** and genuine terror.
Nodded satisfied:
— Enough for now.
Nodded to Jelim again.
Spears **vanished** dissolving into particles — except **one** that fell stabbing the wooden floor two centimeters beside his head.
**Clear** message without words needed.
— Let's go. We have nothing more useful here. — Turned to the door.
The group left — leaving the guardian trembling on the floor.
When the door closed behind them — he remained motionless for thirty seconds processing.
Then whispered to the empty room trembling:
— This is getting **too dangerous**… already **two** people in such short time coming to ask about the Nessiras. And both… both got information that should have remained secret… the secret can't be kept much longer…
The spear on the floor **trembled** slightly on its own.
The guardian **screamed** terrified crawling away.
But the spear only fell sideways inert after a second.
Alone — hyperventilating, cold sweat covering his body completely, deeply understanding that the comfortable life he knew was **ending** irreversibly.
---
**[EXTERIOR – VILLAGE]**
Steve **sitting** in the snow — surrounded by five children six to ten years old, playing with a patched leather ball.
**Laughing** genuinely — sound he hadn't made in long days, kicking gently, letting the smaller ones win easily, making exaggerated expressions when they missed, celebrating dramatically when they scored.
*Simple. Normal. Human.*
For five precious minutes — he completely forgot everything except the immediate game.
---
Dagon emerged from the house — saw Steve playing naturally.
Approached walking:
— Hey, **kid**.
Steve looked — saw the group with serious expressions.
Stood up:
— Just a moment. — To the children: — Wait here, okay? I'll be right back.
Walked to Dagon:
— Did the guardian finally give useful information?
— Not the exact precise location. But a solid enough lead. North side of this mountain. Hidden valley between the peaks.
Significant pause.
Heavy hand on Steve's shoulder:
— Better say your **goodbyes** properly. You won't see them again anytime soon.
Steve looked at the children laughing innocently — something **tightened** painfully in his chest.
— I know perfectly well. But I have very important things to do. People depending on me to survive.
He ruffled the boy's hair affectionately:
— But listen to this carefully. I want you to take care of all of them. — He pointed at the younger ones. — You're the oldest here. That means great responsibility. Protect them always. Help them when they need it. Always. Understood?
The boy nodded — serious, understanding the weight of the words.
Steve looked each child directly in the eyes:
— And all of you remember this: no matter what happens in the future, no matter how scary the world seems sometimes… there is always a choice. Between kindness and cruelty. Between helping others and hurting them. Between doing what's right and doing what's easy.
He touched his own chest with emphasis:
— Always choose kindness. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard and no one is watching. Did you all understand?
The little girl — six years old, blonde braids, blue eyes — began to cry silently, tears rolling down.
Steve pulled her into a tight hug — letting her cry against his shoulder for thirty full seconds without rushing her.
Then gently pulled away:
— Hey, don't cry like that. I'll come back someday. I promise sincerely. And when I do… I hope you'll be teaching those incredible kicking skills to the other little ones. You're really good. Keep practicing always and get even better.
She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, nodding — smiling through the crying.
Steve stood up slowly — looking at the entire group one last time.
Engraving each face deeply into his memory.
He might never see them again.
But they mattered now.
In this moment they mattered a great deal.
He waved — turning quickly before his own emotion could overflow uncontrollably and stop him from leaving.
He walked back without looking behind — knowing deep down that if he looked one last time he wouldn't be able to keep going.
He reached the waiting group.
They began walking together — heading north, the massive mountain in the distance.
Fifty meters later — Steve stopped abruptly without warning.
— You're already risking too much because of me. — Tense voice, staring at the snow at his feet. — I won't forgive myself if something happens to you. If you get seriously hurt. If…
Fists clenched until nails dug into palms.
He didn't finish the sentence.
Keara touched his arm gently but firmly:
— Steve, look at me. — Waited until he raised his eyes. — We're not here because anyone forced us. We're here because we genuinely want to be.
She squeezed his arm with emphasis:
— Because you matter to us. Because your cause is just and worth fighting for. Because… helping you also helps us in ways you might not understand yet.
Dagon approached from the other side:
— She's absolutely right. — Heavy hand on his shoulder. — Everyone here is here of their own free and spontaneous will. If we didn't want to be here, we wouldn't be.
He looked Steve directly without blinking:
— So stop blaming yourself unnecessarily right now. Accept once and for all that you are worthy of help and protection. And move forward with that certainty in your heart.
Steve looked between them — processing the words slowly.
Then looked at Jelim floating — expecting her to remain silent and distant as she always did.
But to his surprise—
Jelim floated slightly closer than usual:
— That's exactly right. — Flat voice but words clearly chosen. — If I didn't want to be here, there would be no reason to put up with you every day without my own will.
Almost imperceptible pause:
— I'm here because I consciously chose to do this. Understood at last?
Steve broke — not in tears but in deep relief releasing accumulated tension.
Shoulders relaxing, chest loosening, something tight finally releasing.
— Guys… — voice coming out hoarse. — …thank you so much from the bottom of my heart. Seriously.
He discreetly wiped the corner of his eye — smiling through a single tear:
— Thank you so much.
Keara gave a quick hug — maternal and comforting.
Dagon squeezed his shoulder — firm and confident.
Jelim floated slightly closer — for her that was completely equivalent to a physical hug.
After a moment of recovery, Dagon said:
— Now that this is finally completely cleared up… — returning to his practical tone — …we continue our journey. We have Nessiras to find at last.
He looked north — the massive mountain rising:
— And definitive answers to obtain about everything.
The group nodded in unison.
They continued walking — through deep snow, leaving the small village behind definitively.
**[CENTRAL CONTINENT – VELERITHON, ROAD TO THE CAPITAL]**
The carriage rocked rhythmically — reinforced wooden wheels crossing an ancient, well-maintained stone road, pulled by two pure white horses.
Inside — three occupants in relative silence.
Júlia — short pink hair falling to her shoulders, bright pink eyes, blue accents decorating silver armor indicating mid-rank knight — sat looking out the window.
Distant expression — not focused on the passing trees but on something internal, eyebrows slightly furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, fingers unconsciously drumming on her lap in a nervous pattern.
The fight.
The Maestro.
Those eyes when…
When he…
She shook her head trying to dispel the memory.
No.
Not now.
Not here.
Not in front of them.
Jéssica — long dark brown hair tied in a ponytail, white armor with the same blue accents as Júlia's, elegant — sat opposite, completely different.
Gesturing animatedly even though talking alone:
— And did you see? DID YOU REALLY SEE how those people on the mission completely revered me?! — Voice coming out excited, almost euphoric. — They treated me exactly like a CEO being received by loyal employees! Like a queen among obedient subjects!
Eyes shining with deep satisfaction:
— It was absolutely glorious! I finally felt important again! Like in the real world when I led meetings and everyone hung on my every word! When I had real authority and automatic respect!
She sighed contentedly:
— Those villagers were so… so naturally submissive! So respectful! So willing to obey without question! It would be perfect… absolutely perfect for my future company when we get out of here! All of them dressed in impeccable uniforms, working efficiently, building a commercial empire that…
She continued talking animatedly about impossible future plans.
San — naturally tousled dark hair, brown eyes, wearing the same style of armor as Júlia and Jéssica with some combat scratches — sat beside Júlia.
He wasn't listening to anything Jéssica was saying at all.
He was just… looking at Júlia beside him.
Her profile illuminated by filtered light from the window.
Beautiful.
Even when she was clearly disturbed by something.
How her hair captured the golden sunlight.
How her profile was perfect when she looked thoughtfully out the window.
He wanted to be able to help.
He wanted to know what was bothering her so much.
But he didn't know how to ask without seeming intrusive.
She had always been so strong.
So confident.
But since that mission…
…something changed.
The coachman — a sixty-year-old man, long gray beard, hands calloused from decades holding reins — shouted cheerfully from outside:
— Everyone get ready in there! We're finally about to arrive!
Jéssica literally jumped from her seat with enthusiasm — pressing her face against the window glass:
— LOOK! You two! Look quickly! — Pointing through the glass.
San looked distractedly.
Júlia blinked — pulled from deep thoughts after seconds of delay, turning her head mechanically.
On the horizon across an extensive green plain beyond a crystal-clear lake — distant hints.
Not the city fully visible yet — only its promise.
Massive white walls — shining under the setting sun, reflecting golden light.
Tall towers rising — vaguely visible but impressive even from afar.
Golden domes capturing light — creating intermittent flashes like distant beacons.
And above it all — something impossible — a massive floating structure that defied all known physical laws.
The Celestial Capital.
Finally close.
But not yet fully revealed.
Jéssica turned excitedly:
— San! Look! It looks like we're finally going to report the success of our first complete official mission!
San finally focused — smiling:
— Absolute truth. — Looked at Júlia expecting her reaction too.
Júlia blinked again — processing the unasked question after three seconds.
Then forced a smile — not genuine, clearly fabricated, but superficially appropriate:
— Ah! Yes! It's… it's really true! — Artificially over-enthusiastic tone. — We're finally going back… back home!
She turned quickly back to the window — before they could see the smile collapse.
Jéssica noticed nothing — already returning to talking animatedly about impossible future plans and the glory of the villagers' submission.
But San noticed.
He looked at Júlia with growing concern.
Something is definitely wrong.
She hasn't been okay since that mission.
Since the Maestro.
What exactly happened there?
Why can't she talk about it?
He didn't ask — respecting her space.
But the worry remained like a weight in his chest.
The carriage naturally accelerated — horses sensing the proximity of familiar stables, eager for rest and food.
The capital slowly growing on the horizon — but details still obscure, covered by distance and light mist, only a massive silhouette promising full revelation soon.
Very soon.
Perhaps within hours.
And then… then everything would change again in ways none of the three could predict or imagine.
[STEVE & GROUP: HEADING NORTH, HIDDEN VALLEY OF THE NESSIRAS]
[JÚLIA & GROUP: ARRIVING AT THE CELESTIAL CAPITAL]
[JÚLIA: HAUNTED BY MEMORIES OF THE MAESTRO]
[JÉSSICA: EXCITED ABOUT RECOVERED AUTHORITY]
[SAN: CONCERNED BUT SILENT]
[CONVERGENCE: DISTANT BUT INEVITABLE]
[NEXT: TRUTHS AWAIT BOTH GROUPS]