(Part 3: The King's Verdict)
The blue-cloaked councilor rose again. "Then let her be useful. If the diary obeys her tongue, let her read it. Let her tear the secrets from its pages before time rots them away."
"Yes," muttered the crimson one, though his voice was laced with venom. "But under watch. A human with such knowledge is a danger."
The king turned his head slightly. His gaze swept the council, then stopped—not at them, but at the figure who had been silent the entire time.
Xyren.
He stood near the end of the crescent, his cloak of black and silver pooling like shadows around him. His eyes, so like the king's, flicked briefly toward Aria. For the first time since she had entered, she saw something stir there—not cruelty, not even pity, but recognition.
Julian spoke, his voice final.
"She will read the diary. She will remain in Carfein. Her life belongs to the roots now." His amber eyes bore into Aria's, and her breath caught in her throat. "There is no return, human. This is your world until your last breath."
The words fell like a blade.
Aria's vision blurred. She gripped the folds of her dress to keep from collapsing. Her mind screamed of Earth—of streets, faces, sunlight not filtered through ancient trees. But the roots had closed around her. The council's eyes pinned her like an insect.
And Xyren's gaze—steady, unreadable—was the last thing she saw before the guards led her away.
The great doors closed with a boom.
Her fate was sealed.