Sophy looked at him, her skepticism evident. She had seen this kind of desperation before, but she also knew that the consequences of failure could be devastating.

  Sophy gasped, “You’re asking the impossible, Rowan. We should not attempt it.”

  But Rowan didn’t care, didn’t hear—his resolve unwavering. He gently began to lift the massive tree off Sarn and the celestial, his muscles straining under the effort.

  Rowan, with a mix of determination and a wavered look: “I’ll support her while you prepare.”

  “No. Don’t be reckless, Rowan. It’s impossible,” she scoffed, her voice ced with disbelief.

  Louder, with force: “We’ve done the impossible before, Sophy. We’re not giving up now.”

  Sophy: “Why would you go this far for this unknown girl?” she shouted.

  Rowan didn’t answer. He paused. There wasn't any answer for "why." Time was running out, and Sophy wasn’t willing to do it. His chest grew heavy. He barely had time to argue.

  The air around them thickened with tension.

  Rowan’s muscles tensed as he continued lifting the massive tree, his jaw clenched in determination. The strain was evident, but he didn’t falter. Sophy’s eyes widened as she looked at him, astonished by his resolve.

  Sophy, now calmer: “You’re going to attempt it now? Have you forgotten what happened st time? They didn’t succeed for a reason.”

  Rowan paused, breathing heavily, sweat dripping from his forehead. His voice was steady but firm, though desperation lingered beneath it.

  “They failed because the conditions weren’t right. This is different. We still have a chance.” He tried to look still, with sweat on his head.

  Sophy stared at him, conflicted.

  “Do you even understand what might happen even if we succeed? The celestial’s soul won’t simply vanish. And you’ll just burden this girl with greater responsibilities. Obviously, she won’t be able to manage it. She’ll bring disaster for both of us,” Sophy tried to convince him.

  Rowan nodded, unwavering despite the sweat on his face.

  Rowan, looking down at the celestial: “I will take all the responsibilities. But please, give her another chance.”

  His “please,” though resolute, struck Sophy with a strange sense of pity. It was uncharacteristic for someone like Rowan, who rarely let his emotions surface so openly. She sighed, her thoughts racing.

  “Rowan, you…” Sophy said under her breath.

  “Fine. But don’t regret this ter,” she muttered.

  Gently, she took Sarn’s limp body onto her p, brushing dirt away from her face. Turning to Rowan, she spoke firmly:

  “I’ll need your help. Follow my instructions without hesitation.” She removed the hair strands from Sarn’s face.

  Rowan blinked, surprised at her sudden decisiveness. Then, without hesitation, he nodded.

  Rowan didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to.

  Even the trees stood still, as if the forest itself held its breath. Uncertainty weighed down the air like storm clouds.

  Sophy, with hurry: “Everything needs to be done in absolute secrecy. No one can ever find out about this,” she warned, her voice cold and serious.

  They were now inside the theater at the hospital for Celestial Knights. The room was dimly lit, sterile, and eerily quiet. Sophy adjusted her gloves and mask, her hands trembling ever so slightly. On the operating table y Sarn—pale, fragile, and unnervingly still.

  Sophy began the procedure, her movements precise but heavy with the enormity of the task. She removed Sarn’s failing heart and pced it aside with practiced hands. Turning to a preservation chamber, she retrieved the celestial’s heart—fresh and pulsating with a faint, otherworldly glow. It seemed alive, brimming with energy that both awed and unsettled her.

  She hesitated for a fraction of a second, staring at the foreign heart in her gloved hands.

  Sophy (under her breath): “This isn’t a procedure. It’s a gamble.”

  But Rowan’s voice echoed in her mind—his desperate, “Please…” The weight of his trust kept her moving.

  The operation was complete. Sophy exhaled shakily, her focus now shifting to the heart monitor. The silence was deafening, her breaths matching the slow, mechanical rhythm of the machine.

  Her heart pounded as she stared at the screen. The rate was rising—then it paused. Panic cwed at her thoughts.

  What if it fails?

  She told herself she was ready for this—for the possibility of failure—but Rowan’s unwavering belief in her gnawed at her resolve.

  Just as despair began to creep in, the monitor beeped—different, steady.

  Her eyes widened as the rhythm steadied, then strengthened.

  Sophy froze, jaw sck in disbelief. The celestial heart had synchronized. Sarn’s vitals were stabilizing.

  Her lips parted, but no words came out. She stumbled back a step, gripping the table for support.

  It… worked?

  For a fleeting moment, hope and astonishment repced the doubt that had consumed her. Also, a heavy creeping sensation overwhelmed her looking at the creature before.She was not human anymore.

  After taking a celestial’s most important organ, the soul would live in her.

  Did the heart gave her another life or another burden?