"Truth rarely arrives clean. It comes in smoke, cloaked in betrayal, dripping like blood through a silver glove."
Cornelius had heard lies before—sweet ones, gilded in duty.
But this truth felt cold. Metallic.
Like betrayal shaped to fit the hand of someone he once trusted.
---
(Arago – Inner Hall, Just After the Briefing)
The war room had been cleared. Orders given. Maps rolled tight.
But the shadows did not leave with the men.
The heavy door creaked shut behind them.
Silence.
Cornelius stood stiff, eyes fixed on Duke Aslac like a man struck in the chest.
"The ambush…"
"…was planned?"
Aslac didn't deny it.
"By Ceasare and myself."
The words clung to the stone walls like lingering ash.
Francesca blinked, disbelieving.
Cornelius stepped forward.
"You used Alberta as bait?"
"I watched every movement. I would've intervened."
Aslac's voice remained calm, steady.
"I needed to see what both of you would do when pressed. Especially you, Your Highness."
There was a pause. And then—
"It wasn't easy," Aslac added, quieter.
"But war doesn't care about comfort. And neither will what's coming."
The title did not soften the blow.
Cornelius' jaw clenched. Francesca's fists curled.
---
Dantes, leaning lazily against the table, gave a slow, deliberate clap.
"Impressive performance. Honestly, Ceasare missed his calling—should've been an actor."
Cornelius shot him a sharp glare.
Dantes only shrugged.
"I'm just saying. He sold it. I was almost convinced."
Francesca folded her arms, jaw tight.
"Sold it too well. He looked afraid when the crystal cracked."
Dantes' smirk faded.
"That's because it wasn't part of the act."
---
He reached into his coat.
From a hidden pocket, he pulled a shard of crystal—once radiant, now cracked and dull, veined with threads of creeping black.
He laid it on the table.
"This was blessed by the Church."
Aslac's expression darkened.
"And now it's corrupted by the Wane."
Dantes nodded.
"The convoy turned violent the moment it fractured. Their eyes were black. Something else was inside them. And one of them said my name…"
His voice lowered.
"…Not the one I gave them."
The room froze.
Alberta's hand moved instinctively toward her pendant.
Francesca stepped closer to the table, eyes locked on the crystal like it might blink.
And still, Alberta said nothing—
but her knuckles whitened at her side.
---
Francesca broke the silence.
"Then the Church doesn't just fear the Wane."
"They're using it."
"Or worse," Dantes murmured, "they're learning how to control it."
Cornelius stepped forward.
"Does the Crown know?"
Aslac didn't answer.
His silence was the answer.
---
A soft knock echoed.
A courier entered, breathless, and bowed before Duke Aslac, handing him a sealed letter.
He broke the wax, eyes scanning the parchment—face cooling with each line.
Then he looked up.
"It's from Ceasare."
Alberta, standing still now, lifted her head.
"And?"
Aslac's voice dropped.
"He's confirmed… Mercedes is alive."
The room held its breath.
"Somewhere in Solendawn. He doesn't know where. The Church is holding her—possibly without the Crown's knowledge."
Francesca's voice cracked.
"Then they're using her."
She turned away, blinking fast.
Alberta took one step forward—then stopped.
Her hands trembled at her sides, rage and disbelief flooding in behind her quiet eyes.
Alive. Still suffering. And still in their hands.
---
A long silence.
They all looked down at the map again.
Its inked borders. Its pristine lines.
None of them marked where the rot began.
None of them showed where it would rise again.
And somewhere—out of reach, behind cold walls—was the woman who had once cradled the kingdom's lost children.
---
(Later – Dantes, Alone)
He stood by the high window of the keep.
The sea below crashed against the cliffs, relentless and cold.
He didn't move when Alberta stepped in. Her presence was quiet—but not unnoticed.
He didn't turn. He didn't need to.
He just whispered:
"If they've touched her…"
His hand curled against the windowsill.
"…there'll be nothing sacred left to save."
He didn't look at Alberta.
But he felt her there.
Like a memory.
Like a promise the gods forgot to erase.
---
(Even Later – Secluded Balcony Overlooking the Cliffs)
The keep had fallen quiet.
Only the wind remained—humming like a secret too old to name.
Alberta stood alone beneath the stars, the sea far below crashing like distant thunder. Her cloak fluttered behind her, eyes locked on the palm of her hand.
She hesitated.
Then slowly, she unfastened the pendant around her neck—the one Francesca had once helped her hide beneath layers of silk and prayer.
Her fingers closed around it.
A breath in.
And the air changed.
---
A faint glow flickered beneath her skin—veins threading gold, like dawn caught in glass.
She lifted her hand, and the pendant pulsed in response.
From her fingertips, a shimmer bloomed—gentle and soundless, like falling light.
The wind halted.
The world stilled.
For one breathless second, time bent inward.
Then—it vanished.
Snuffed like a candle. Gone.
---
Alberta staggered slightly.
The cliffside wind returned, harsh and real. Her heart pounded.
Behind her, no one stirred. No one had seen.
Except maybe the stars.
She looked down at her hand, then toward the horizon.
"I never stopped hiding it…"
But tonight, for just a moment—
she let it breathe.
Even truth, she realized, can flicker like smoke.
---