Lumina and Corinth.

When Corinth took that step, the world around him shifted, as though reality itself sighed and reshaped, drawing him back to a half-forgotten life, to pain, to purpose, and to the ghosts that lingered in every dark corner. As his foot met the unseen floor, the walls of light and shadow collapsed inward, folding over him like a shroud. He felt himself slipping through the intangible barrier between life and death, and then—an immense, breathless silence.

In that moment, the weight of every decision, every life he’d taken, every moment he’d lost to his own torments, pressed down on him. The whispering voices of The Host and The Dreaming Ones faded, leaving only a ringing stillness that seemed to stretch into eternity. But then he heard something else—a voice that broke through the silence, as quiet as the scrape of glass on pavement, yet as familiar as his own heartbeat.

“Wake up, Corinth.”

And with a gasping, agonized breath, he jolted awake. His chest heaved, filling with air that stung like fire, his fingers clawing against the cold stone beneath him. A haze of red mist filled his vision as he looked around, disoriented, only to find himself back on the rain-slicked rooftop of a shattered cityscape. The dull glow of streetlights reflected off broken glass and the smears of blood where his battle had raged just moments ago. He groaned, feeling the bruises, the torn muscles, and the slow-burning ache of a battered body—alive again, against all odds.

Calista was gone, her remains reduced to ash that the wind had long scattered. Her death had been final, a rare blessing in this eternal conflict. But the bitterness of loss clung to the air like smoke, and when he looked to the building’s edge, he saw Magdalena staring down, her eyes dark, the hammer still held loosely in her hand. She didn’t seem surprised; if anything, she looked… resigned.

“Figured you’d get back up,” she muttered. Her voice held a rare softness that seemed out of place for her usual brash confidence.

Corinth looked at her, every inch of him aching with exhaustion, yet something felt clearer, more decisive. The choice he’d made—or perhaps the choice that had been made for him—still lingered, a dull pull in his chest that grounded him in ways his opiates never had.

“Don’t know if I was ready for it,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to shake off the haze of the between-worlds. His fingers came away sticky with blood that hadn’t yet dried, a stark reminder of his mortality. “Feels different this time.”

Magdalena shook her head. “It always does, but you still keep coming back. Guess that’s the blessing and the curse.”

She gestured back to the spot where Calista had fallen, her expression unreadable. Corinth followed her gaze, and he could almost see the Empusa’s twisted form again, her sneer burned into his memory. She’d taken so much from them—lives, hope, even the fragile peace that had lingered in the city before her arrival.

“So,” Magdalena said after a long pause, “you planning to quit this time? Or you still got that damn fool’s hope in you?”

Corinth huffed out a grim chuckle, though it was devoid of any real humor. “I’m not sure I have anything left to quit.”

The street below was empty now, though shadows danced in the corners, silent spectators to the city’s unending turmoil. He glanced down at his hands, the callouses from years of weapon-wielding layered over the scars of too many fights, and felt a surge of weary anger. He’d come back for a reason. But what, exactly, was that reason?

A voice—a new, strange one—cut through his thoughts, shivering through his bones. It wasn’t The Host or The Dreaming Ones, but something else, something older that he had felt in his last moments. It echoed in the corner of his mind, an ancient cadence that resonated with purpose.

“Find the sigil. Protect the gate.”

The phrase repeated itself, its urgency stirring something within him that he hadn’t felt since he’d first taken up the Templar’s oath. He looked at Magdalena, who met his gaze with a raised brow. The same words seemed to hang in the air between them.

“You heard that too, didn’t you?” he asked, feeling a cold certainty settle over him.

Magdalena nodded, a spark of something fierce and unyielding flaring in her eyes. “Yeah, I heard it. I’ve been hearing it for a while now. Didn’t know what it meant until now.”

They both understood the implications—this wasn’t just another Templar errand. The sigil was a mark of the old world, a relic of untold power. If the gate mentioned in that echo was what he suspected, they were facing an ancient force capable of tearing the fragile peace between The Host and The Dreaming Ones.

“Where do we start?” she asked, her hammer gleaming as she gave it a resolute grip.

He managed a tired grin, flexing his fingers around the grip of his shotgun. “Back where we always do—with a dead-end lead and a map that goes nowhere.”

They left the rooftop together, descending through the ruined building’s stairwell. Corinth’s legs felt like lead, his every movement a reminder of the price he paid for returning. But beneath the pain, he felt something that he hadn’t in a long time—a sense of purpose, however broken and fragmented.

The echoes of that strange voice lingered as they made their way through the rain-slick streets, weaving between shadows and broken glass. With each step, Corinth felt himself settling back into the world, his connection to The Host and The Dreaming Ones more distant, but somehow, it felt right. This time, he would forge his own path, independent of those ancient forces.

But as they neared the forgotten districts where the sigils were rumored to be hidden, a familiar, numbing itch clawed at the back of his mind, the ghostly addiction to his opiates. He gritted his teeth, resisting it. For the first time, he didn’t reach for the vial in his coat.

Instead, he turned to Magdalena. “This time, we get it right.”

“Yeah?” she asked, her voice laced with both hope and skepticism. “And what’s different this time?”

He looked up, watching the storm clouds gather above them, dark and foreboding. “This time,” he said, “we’re not coming back.”

The smell of London’s rainy streets clung to Lumina as she stepped off the train at Paddington Station. Her mind was a haze, swirled between the mission she had just returned from and the weight of the past few weeks. She had been away from home for far too long, handling matters for the Templars in distant places. Yet even now, London felt like a hollow shell, a place she barely recognized anymore.

The city’s chaotic pulse matched the rhythm of her own heart, still unsettled by the events that had transpired in Eastern Germany. It was always the same: the lines between good and evil blur, and the personal cost of every victory is measured in blood, screams, and whispered justifications. She tried to shake it off. But it lingered, that heavy feeling, like something incomplete gnawing at her from within.

Her fingers brushed against the worn leather of her Templar uniform, a reflexive gesture of comfort, as she made her way to her apartment. But when she stepped through the door, it wasn’t the solitude she craved. A message waited for her, a small card, its crisp white edge sticking out from beneath a pile of neglected papers on her kitchen table.

Urgent. Meet at Temple Hall. Corinth.

Her stomach tightened. Corinth had been gone for months, too many months for her liking. Even though the Templars had assured her that he was handling his business with a new partner, she never really believed it. They had been through too much together for her to accept him gone for good. Not to mention, his absence had left a void, a question of what had happened to the one person who might’ve understood the same darkness she carried. The one person who was always as ruthless as she had to be.

She didn’t waste a moment more. She slipped back into her black coat, her red hair tamed into a sleek ponytail. With a determined step, she left her apartment and disappeared into the fog of London.

At Temple Hall, the air felt heavier, thicker with tension. When she entered the Templar headquarters, the familiar security systems hummed to life, guiding her toward the waiting room where Corinth had requested to meet her. The room was empty except for the low lighting that flickered across the stone walls. She sat on a chair near the center, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, her gaze unwavering.

Minutes passed, then hours. The feeling of waiting was one she had long since learned to endure, but it gnawed at her now, making her restless, fidgeting in her seat. She took out her phone, and briefly flicked through messages, none of them urgent. Not even a call from Cheryl.

And then, the door clicked open.

Corinth walked in.

Her heart skipped a beat, as it always did when she saw him. But this time, something was different. His usual confident stride had slowed, the weariness of battle now permanently etched into his face. His eyes—those eyes she had always found both comforting and unsettling—seemed more distant than ever.

“Corinth,” she said softly, though she had no idea how to greet him. It had been too long. “You look like hell.”

He gave her a half-smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, well, hell’s been busy.”

She could feel the shift in the air between them, the quiet understanding of two people who had been to the edge of the abyss and come back broken, scarred, yet somehow still standing.

“I heard about the mission,” Lumina said, her voice quieter now. “The one in Eastern Germany. You were supposed to report in.”

His eyes flashed with something she couldn’t quite place. A flicker of discomfort, maybe guilt.

“Yeah, about that.” Corinth’s voice was low, guarded. “It didn’t go quite as planned. There was something… something else going on. Something bigger than we thought.”

Lumina’s brows furrowed. The words felt like a warning, something unsaid hanging in the air. She stood up from her chair, crossing the room to face him.

“What are you talking about?” Her voice was stern now. “What went wrong? Was this part of the assignment, or is there something you’re not telling me?”

Corinth didn’t meet her eyes at first. He let out a long breath, as though weighing the gravity of what he was about to say. “I don’t know how to explain it. But something—someone—pulled me back.” He glanced up, locking eyes with her, and for the first time, Lumina saw something she hadn’t expected: confusion.

“I was fighting a battle, Lumina. One I couldn’t win. But I didn’t die. Not like you think. I—” His words faltered. “I ended up in a place. A space between worlds, something like that. I heard this voice, telling me to wake up. And then I was back, standing on a rooftop, fighting all over again.”

Lumina stood still, the realization sinking in. He wasn’t just reporting the details of a mission gone wrong. This wasn’t about the ancient sigils or the occult enemies they fought. No, this was something far worse.

“You died.” The words left her mouth before she could stop them.

Corinth’s expression tightened, and for a moment, he looked like the Corinth she remembered—strong, confident, sure of his place in the world. But then it crumbled again, and the weight of his confession settled between them.

“Not the first time. But yeah, I died,” he admitted. “And now… it’s different. I don’t know what’s happening. It’s like everything that mattered before doesn’t matter anymore. The fighting, the Templars, the purpose… I thought I had it all figured out. But now, I’m just lost.”

Lumina didn’t know how to respond. She stepped closer, her gaze softening. “Corinth, you know I’ve been there too. It doesn’t get easier. But we keep going, because there’s no other choice.”

He met her eyes now, a slight nod of understanding. But then, he stepped back, his expression hardening.

“That’s not the problem,” he muttered. “The problem is this: the voice I heard, it wasn’t from The Host or the Dreaming Ones. It was something older, something from before all of them. And it told me something important.” He paused. “Find the sigil. Protect the gate.”

Lumina felt a chill race down her spine. She had heard that phrase before. Not from Corinth, but from the whispers of the ancient texts, the lost lore of the Templars. The sigil. The gate. It was not just a mission—it was the beginning of something far greater, far darker.

“I’ve been hearing it too,” she confessed, her voice low. “The sigil… it’s connected to something I’ve been investigating. Something ancient. I thought it was just a myth, but… if we’re hearing it now, it means it’s real.”

Corinth’s eyes widened slightly, and a spark of recognition flared in them. “You think it’s connected to the Templars?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “But I know one thing: we’re being pulled into something bigger than either of us. Something that could change everything.”

The silence between them was thick, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was a strange sense of unity in knowing they weren’t alone in this fight, even if they didn’t fully understand what it meant.

Corinth cracked a tired smile. “So, what now?”

Lumina met his gaze, her resolve hardening. “Now, we find this sigil. We protect the gate. And whatever happens, we don’t let whatever’s on the other side win.”

He nodded, the weight of their shared understanding settling in. It wasn’t about redemption anymore. It wasn’t about fighting for the Templars or the Dreaming Ones. It was about stopping something far worse.

“Then let’s get to work,” he said, his voice steady.

Together, they walked out of Temple Hall, the storm raging above them, the rain a constant reminder that they were never truly safe. But for the first time in a long while, Lumina felt a glimmer of something—purpose. And that was all she needed. For now.