The army set up camp a short distance from the battlefield, their spirits lifted despite the heavy losses. Fires dotted the encampment, their warm glow a stark contrast to the cold, desolate landscape around them.
Atreya sat alone near one of the fires, his gaze fixed on the Asura blade resting beside him. The weapon felt heavier than before, its faint glow seeming almost accusatory.
Celeste joined him, handing him a bowl of stew. "You need to eat," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
He accepted the bowl but didn't touch it. "Does it ever get easier?" he asked after a long silence.
Celeste's expression softened. "No. But you learn to carry it. And you don't have to carry it alone."
Her words brought a small measure of comfort, and he managed a faint smile. "Thank you."
---
That night, Atreya had a dream—or perhaps a vision. He stood in a void once more, the Asura blade glowing brightly in his hand. Before him stood a figure shrouded in shadows, their features obscured.
"You've taken your first step," the figure said, their voice echoing in the emptiness. "But the path ahead is fraught with danger."
"Who are you?" Atreya demanded.
The figure did not answer directly. Instead, they extended a hand, and in their palm appeared a fragment of light. "Take this," they said. "It will guide you when the darkness becomes unbearable."
When Atreya awoke, he found a faint mark glowing on his wrist—a symbol he didn't recognize but instinctively knew was significant.