The silence of the chamber weighed like lead. Only the fragile breath of the chained woman broke the suffocating air. Elyria's eyes burned, as if merely looking at that figure consumed her from within.
"My daughter..." echoed in her mind, repeating like a cursed chant.
Rhaevan was the first to break the torpor. His sword slid from its sheath with a metallic snap.
"It's a trick. This woman is nothing more than bait from the Order."
"Is it really?" whispered Lysarion, stepping closer to the cell with the calm of a spectator. His eyes glimmered, hungry for secrets. "Look closely... her face is your mirror, Elyria. If this is a trick, it is a perfect one."
Elyria stepped back, but her gaze could not pull away. The chains that bound the prisoner exhaled shadows like living smoke, and the key lying on the floor vibrated against the stone as if begging to be used.
The woman lifted her head, her voice weak, yet steady.
"They took everything from me... my name, my blood, my life. But you... you survived."
Elyria's heart pounded like a drum. "Who are you?"
"I am what remains of the truth they tried to erase. I am your mother. And you, Elyria, are the blade they forged to tear the Veil."
The words fell upon her like cold steel.
Kaelith laughed within her mind, trembling with delight.
"What a delicious gift. Blood calls to blood. Will you free her or not, little blade? Either choice will rip you apart inside."
Rhaevan stepped forward, sword aimed at the cell.
"Do not listen! This is poison. If you break those shackles, you will unleash more than just a woman."
But Lysarion smiled, gently brushing one of the chains.
"And what if that is precisely what we need? Perhaps the ruin of Eryndral waits here, ready to be freed by the right hands."
Elyria's mother coughed, drops of blood staining the ground.
"They lied about the massacre... about your father... about me. Everything you know is only what the throne allowed."
Elyria fell to her knees, trembling hands hovering over the key. The weight of the choice crushed her shoulders: to believe in the past she was taught, or in the living shadow before her.
Then a thunderous crash shook the ground above. Dust rained from the vaults, and screams echoed down the stairway.
"Guards," Rhaevan growled, stepping protectively in front of her.
"No, not just guards," Lysarion murmured, his smile dangerous. "It is them. The Order comes to claim what is theirs."
Torches flared in the corridor, accompanied by the drag of metallic steps. Symbols of Nyxara gleamed on the invaders' armor.
The prisoner raised her voice in a desperate cry, echoing through the chamber:
"Elyria! Your true name is—"
Before she could finish, a spear of light pierced through the bars of the cell, silencing her in a burst of agony.
Elyria screamed, her cry mingling with the clash of swords and the howl of Kaelith within her mind.
The chains rattled on their own, the key pulsed like a living heart. And for the first time, Elyria did not know whether freeing her mother would mean salvation... or damnation.
To be continued...