Vane didn't look up. He remained slumped in the dirt, a pathetic heap of stained robes and shattered brilliance. The man who had spoken so clinically about "refining life" was now nothing more than a cowering ghost.
The old man's hand trembled as he maintained his grip on Vane's hair, forcing the scholar to face the woman and child he had effectively orphaned.
"You were the martyr," the old man hissed, his voice cracking with decades of stored grief. "We told stories of your bravery. We told Diana her father was a hero who died resisting the Council's corruption. And all this time... you were their architect?"
Elara finally pulled back from Diana, her face a mask of wet soot and raw agony. She didn't look like the fierce warrior who had threatened them in the woods; she looked like someone who had just watched her entire world burn for the second time.
"Elara... you don't understand... the progress... I was doing it to ensure a future where we wouldn't have to hide anymore..."
