The Tower was unusually quiet tonight, as if it too sensed the weight of secrets stirring within its ancient bones. Gwen paced her chamber for hours, restless and suffocated by half-truths and suspicious silences. Moriah had always worn the face of composure, wisdom, and silent power. But Gwen no longer believed in façades.
Something had been buried—something older than the Tower itself, older than the politics she was entangled in. If she wanted Moriah's seat, if she was going to rise beyond being just another schemer in the Tower, she needed the whole truth. No matter how twisted.
And tonight, she would claim it.
She pulled her hood low and slipped through the silent halls until she reached the forbidden wing, where one man lived beyond the reach of the Council or any title they dared to bestow—Gaya, the Wisdom of the Tower.
No one really understood Gaya. He wasn't a Council member, yet the Council sought his insight during times of crisis. He wasn't a sage, yet his words were often quoted like scripture. He was… a relic. A witness to ancient things. A man who had once touched the core of forbidden knowledge and survived. But tonight, Gwen needed more than his wisdom—she needed a favor. A very old one.
It was the only reason he agreed to see her.
She had saved his only son years ago, when the arrogant boy had drawn the wrath of a monster prince from the Bone Sands by laying hands on the prince's sister. Gwen had risked her life to interfere—out of strategy, not kindness—and that favor, she kept close. Until now.
She found Gaya where she knew he'd be—in the shadowed alcove just beyond the west courtyard, the air thick with the scent of crushed herbs and burning sage. The moonlight traced silver over his dark robes, and his eyes, grey and still like a storm long past, watched her without surprise.
"You cashed in the debt," he said before she could speak. "I wondered when you would."
"I need answers," Gwen said quietly. "Not the kind wrapped in riddles or wisdom. The truth, Gaya. About Moriah. About Clarity. About Lucien."
He studied her a long moment, then turned his back and motioned her to follow. "Then follow me, Gwen of the Quiet Flame. But know this: the truth burns hotter than ambition. Can you stand the heat?"
"I already am," she murmured.
They entered his private sanctum—shelves of forbidden scrolls, relics humming with locked power, and a pool of memory water glowing faintly in the center. Gaya poured himself a bitter drink, untouched by centuries.
"Two thousand years ago," he began, "before the Tower became the sanctified institution it is now… there were three whose fates danced like flames—Lucien, Moriah, and Clarity."
Gwen stayed standing, arms folded tight.
"Clarity was born of the sea but shaped by fire," he continued. "A mermaid princess, rare and unruly. The merfolk were healers, singers of pure essence. But Clarity… she was a contradiction. She wielded both water and fire. Born to soothe, bred to burn. The Crimson Witch, they called her."
"She sounds like someone I would've liked," Gwen said under her breath.
"Until you crossed her," Gaya countered with a ghost of a smile. "She was discovered by Sophy—the very same who mentored Moriah. A prodigy. But always… volatile."
He circled the pool once, the glowing water reflecting his memories.
"She met Lucien in the Elven forest—Grimois Sea's emerald edge. They both came seeking a rare wood essence, one that could revive the dying. Lucien needed it for his commander, Luz Hano, after a wyvern attack. Clarity needed it for reasons she never spoke aloud."
"And they fought?" Gwen asked.
"Oh yes. Clarity did not yield. She attacked with all the fury of her dual affinity—fire and water in chaos. But Lucien… Lucien was calm. Precise. He defeated her without breaking a sweat. And in that moment, she fell for him."
"Of course she did," Gwen muttered. "Power attracts power."
"To Clarity, only someone terrifyingly powerful and obscenely handsome was worthy of her obsession. And Lucien… was both."
Gaya paused, then added, "She offered him her bloodline. A sacred act. Especially for a hybrid like her. She believed he could merge with it, become even stronger."
"But he refused?" Gwen guessed.
"He ignored her entirely," Gaya confirmed. "He took the wood essence. Left her behind. No affection. No acknowledgment. To Clarity, that was worse than defeat."
"And Moriah?"
"Moriah had already been chosen. Lucien was the heir of Damon Rave, the Eastern Human Emperor. When Damon sought to secure alliance with Richard Horma of the North, the match with Moriah sealed it. She was admired, respected. Everything Clarity was not."
Gwen scowled. "So Clarity was the discarded one. The wild card."
"She still tried," Gaya said. "She offered everything—power, loyalty, even her soul. But Lucien never chose her. Not openly. Not ever."
"And that led to betrayal."
"Part of it," Gaya said. "But the real betrayal came from Sophy."
His voice dropped lower.
"Sophy foresaw Lucien becoming more than mortal. He was merging bloodlines—something no one had accomplished. And when Damon died, Lucien ruled. Glorious and terrible. The people loved him. And that terrified the Tower."
"They feared him," Gwen said.
"They feared what he would become. So Sophy twisted truth into poison. She spun a story that Lucien was not just merging bloodlines—but stealing them. Draining them. Killing his own to gain power."
"And Clarity...?"
"Clarity stood as witness."
Gwen blinked. "She testified against him?"
"She said he was a bloodsucker. A predator. And the Tower believed her. Moriah stayed silent. Clarity stood tall. And Lucien… fell."
"Why would she do that if she loved him?" Gwen whispered.
Gaya's eyes darkened. "Because she did. And he never loved her back. She gave everything. He gave nothing. In the end, hate is just love that's been humiliated."
Silence filled the chamber.
Gwen stared at the glowing memory pool. "So Moriah played the quiet pawn. Clarity played the bitter lover. And Lucien... was left to burn."
Gaya turned away, his voice hoarse. "And now you know. The truth is yours. What you do with it… that's your next betrayal to make."
Gwen's breath caught. For once, she felt the weight of the Tower settle on her like a crown—and a curse.
But she didn't look away.
She had come for truth.
And she would use it.