The skiff shuddered under the Veil's cinderfall, its engine groaning as we rose from Thornhollow's edge.
My hands gripped the railing, ash dusting my cloak, the twilight sky a bruise above.
Veyra stood beside me, her breath uneven, her face pale from the Ashwraith fight.
Her light blade had saved us, but the haze in her eyes—deeper now—cut me sharper than any cinder.
She'd woven again, for me, and I couldn't shake the fear of what she'd lost.
Toren leaned against the skiff's mast, his cinder knife sheathed, his smirk gone.
His crew—three Driftkin, scarred and silent—worked the engine, their eyes darting to me.
They knew something, like Toren, and it set my nerves on edge.
The Veil's cinders fell heavier, warm against my skin, and Lyra's memory—chained, drained—pushed me to trust Toren, despite Veyra's warning.
"You okay?" I asked Veyra, voice low, keeping it between us.
Her cloak was torn, her scar stark in the skiff's cinder-lamp glow.
I wanted to help, to take her haze away, but my immunity was useless here.
She nodded, but her eyes were distant.
"Lost… a face this time," she said, voice barely above the engine's hum.
"Someone from my Skyloft, maybe a friend."
She forced a smile, weak and fleeting.
"It's fine, Kael. Had to keep you alive."
Her words hit hard.
She was losing pieces for me, like Lyra had for the Veilkeepers.
That spark—her trust, her sacrifice—grew, a feeling I couldn't name but wouldn't lose.
"You shouldn't have to," I said, voice tight. "I'll be smarter. No more glimpses."
She shook her head, eyes meeting mine, fierce despite the haze.
"You're not the only one fighting, Kael. Your gift—it's bigger than us. I chose this."
Her resolve, her belief in me, was a lifeline, deeper than Lyra's warmth, scarier for it.
Toren interrupted, stepping closer.
"Enough whispering," he said, voice low. "Time to talk, Kael.
Lyra's Spark is key to the Veil's core—a machine that amplifies cinderfall, keeps the islands weak.
Veilkeepers are draining her, but she's strong. She's still alive."
My chest tightened, Lyra's memory flashing—her weak voice, "You're killing us."
Toren's words matched it, but his Ashbreaker plan—burn the core—risked her.
"How do you know?" I demanded. "And why's Lyra special?"
Toren's eyes gleamed, like he'd waited for this.
"Her Spark's bright, like yours. Veilkeepers need strong weavers to stabilize the core.
We hit Varn, free her, and burn the machine. You in?"
Veyra's gaze burned into me.
"He's reckless, Kael," she said, voice sharp. "Ashbreakers don't save—they destroy. Lyra could die."
Her worry, her need to protect me, deepened that spark.
She was fighting for me, not just Lyra, and it made my choice harder.
Before I could answer, a hum shook the skiff, ash swirling below.
An Ashwraith rose from the mist, eyes glowing, its whisper cold:
"Starborn…"
It lunged, claws raking the hull, drawn by my glimpse in the tunnel.
Veyra wove a blade, stepping forward, haze worsening.
"Kael, stay back!" she shouted, slashing tendrils.
Toren wove a light, his crew scattering, but the Ashwraith focused on me, its hum vibrating my bones.
I froze, guilt crashing in—my glimpse had done this.
Veyra's blade flickered, her face paler, and I couldn't let her lose more.
I pulled a cinder, weaving a faint light, hoping to distract it.
The Ashwraith turned, claws swiping, but Toren's light flared, scattering it into ash.
Veyra collapsed, panting, haze thick.
"Kael, you idiot," she muttered, but her eyes held relief, not anger.
I knelt beside her, heart pounding.
"I'm sorry," I said, voice low. "I had to help."
She shook her head, a faint smile.
"Trouble," she said, soft, like a secret.
That spark flared—her forgiveness, her strength.
I wanted to guard it, like Lyra's journal.
Toren grabbed my arm, pulling me up.
"Nice trick, but you're drawing monsters," he said. "Varn's close. Decide—join us, or lose Lyra."
I glanced at Veyra, her haze a warning, her trust a guide.
Lyra was my past, but Veyra—she was my reason to fight smarter.
A shadow moved on the skiff's edge—a Driftkin, Hemlock's spy, slipping away, cinder glowing.
He'd seen my weave, and he was running to a Veilkeeper.
The spy's shadow vanished into the skiff's hold, his cinder's glow betraying him.
My heart sank—Hemlock's reach was longer than I'd thought, and now a Veilkeeper would know my gift.
Veyra's eyes followed mine, catching the movement.
"Kael," she whispered, voice strained, "we're not safe."
I nodded, anger rising. Hemlock had sold me out, and this spy would finish it.
Toren's crew hadn't noticed, their focus on the engine, the Ashwraith's ash settling below.
I wanted to chase the spy, but Veyra's haze stopped me—she needed rest, not another fight.
"Tell me about your Skyloft," I said, soft, hoping to steady her. "Before the haze."
Her eyes softened, surprised.
"It was… bright," she said, voice distant. "Cinder-lamps everywhere, my mentor teaching me to weave. She was like a mother, till I forgot her face."
Her scar twitched, a story unspoken.
"You'd have liked her, Kael. She believed in fighting, like you."
Her words, her trust, deepened that spark.
I saw Lyra in her—her strength, her sacrifice—but Veyra was different, a light I couldn't lose.
"We'll stop them," I said, voice firm. "For her, for Lyra."
She nodded, a faint smile.
"Together."
The word held weight, a promise without touch, a cinder I'd carry.
Toren's voice cut through.
"Skiff's landing soon," he said, eyes on the Veil. "Varn's defenses are tight. You ready, Kael?"
I glanced at Veyra, her haze a warning, her trust a guide.
The spy's cinder glowed in the hold, and I knew—Veilkeepers were coming, and my gift was no longer a secret.
The skiff tilted, descending toward a misty island, Skyloft Varn's shadow looming.
My pouch warmed, cinders pulsing, like they sensed the fight ahead.
Veyra stood, steadier now, her eyes on me, a silent vow.
Toren's crew prepped the engine, oblivious to the spy.
I wanted to warn them, but Toren's gaze stopped me—he was watching, weighing my choice.
Lyra was close, her Spark draining for the core.
Veyra's haze, her belief in me, was closer, a spark I'd protect.
The spy's cinder flickered, a Veilkeeper's shadow waiting.
Whatever Toren offered, whatever Varn held, I was walking into a trap—
And Veyra was with me.