-Tan'Thalon, Noble district-
Dawn rose over the spires of Tan'Thalon, painting the buildings and streets in pastels. From the noble district it was quite a sight seeing the sun slowly climb over the Arc Wall. As golden rays shot around, the wall itself seemed to defy it with the glittering Lazulli inlays. The Moon-Glass Salon didn't witness this spectacle. It was hidden in the streets and had always been more of a night club. As such it was quiet at this hour, its great opal windows reflecting only the lantern-lit streets below. Perfume clung to the air like silk. Nobles laughed in distant alcoves, drunk on spiced wine and gossip, but the far corner booth — the one swathed in indigo drapes — was curtained off and marked with a single, flickering candle. Eldarion hesitated for only a moment. He always came here when he wanted to feel important. Desired. Obeyed. Which was basically all the time. No, he came here when he needed to feel heard. And tonight, someone waited for him. He slipped behind the drapes. Selvara sat with her back straight, gloved fingers resting lightly on a marble cup. Her hair shimmered like violet stormlight even in the dim, and her lila eyes followed Eldarion as though she had known the exact second he would arrive.
"Paladin," she purred. "You look… pleased with yourself."
Eldarion smirked, settling across from her.
"In the last fortnight I have secured three additional council votes, two noble houses have pledged steel for my initiatives, and the others—" He waved a hand. "—they begin to see reason. They know Tan'thalon needs a firmer hand than Maranth's dithering."
Selvara tilted her head, studying him with controlled amusement.
"I see. And how did you secure these votes?"
Eldarion leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"By reminding them of what the desert has already taken. And what will be taken if the council's weakness continues. The arc wall must be reinforced, the Wardens must answer to stronger authority, and the Diviner—"
Selvara's brow arched faintly. "The blind woman who embarrassed you."
Eldarion stiffened. "She is not important."
"Mm," Selvara murmured. "You speak her name with such venom for someone unimportant."
He scowled. "She clouds Talia's judgment. That alone makes her dangerous. Once my position in the council is assured, I'll see to it that her influence is—neutralized."
Selvara's smile was small, elegant, and predatory.
"You are learning, Eldarion. Influence is a sickness. A city dies from softness long before steel is ever drawn."
The compliment eased his posture. He exhaled, pleased with himself again, unaware of the faint neon pink shimmer coiling behind Selvara's irises — a remnant of her illusions.
"Continue rallying them," she said softly. "You will need at least half the Chamber behind you if you intend to redirect the Wardens' authority. And there are… interesting developments that may help your case."
Eldarion's eyes sharpened. "Developments?"
Selvara swirled the wine in her cup, watching the liquid as though it whispered secrets.
"Fresh reports," she said, "from the desert."
Eldarion felt a subtle thrill — a mixture of ambition and dread. "What kind of reports?"
"The kind," Selvara murmured, "that speak of the sands moving again. Of villages swallowed overnight. Of structures… rising. Something is stirring out there, Paladin. Something that will terrify the noble houses — unless they have someone strong, someone decisive to rally behind."
Eldarion leaned in, breath quickening. "You mean to say this could push the undecided councilors to my side?"
"Oh," she whispered, "it will do far more than that."
For a heartbeat, the candle sputtered. A ripple passed across Selvara's face — almost like a second expression flickered beneath her skin. Eldarion blinked, but the moment was gone.
"You will have my full report soon," she said, voice a silken thread. "For now? Keep pushing the council. And leave the desert… to me."
Eldarion did not see the faint smile she hid behind her glass — the smile of someone whose trap was almost complete. He only heard what he wanted to hear. And Selvara made certain of that.
-Tan'Thalon, Western Gate-
By the time Calenelda, Talia, and Foxglove reached Tan'Thalon, the air had cooled to a knife's edge. The city rose from the desert like something built to defy mortality. Spires of white marble, veined with gold and obsidian, climbed behind the great Arc Wall. At dawn, their surfaces caught the first light and returned it in sheets of fire.
From a distance, Tan'Thalon looked divine. Up close, Foxglove noticed the cracks. Her ears twitched beneath the hood of her cloak as sound washed over her in invisible waves. Bridges connecting the temple districts carried fractures beneath their polished surfaces. Loose stone trembled beneath the feet of passing merchants. Somewhere high above, a bannerpole groaned against its mounting. And beneath the hymns echoing through the courtyards came something else. Whispers. Not loud enough to understand. But constant. Persistent. Like something living beneath the city's skin.
"Your home looks... tired," Foxglove murmured.
Calenelda adjusted the cloak Talia had insisted she wear, hiding the faint glow that still lingered beneath her skin. "It's not tired."
Talia glanced sideways at her.
Calenelda smiled faintly. "It's remembering."
"You mean the city or you?"
"Both." The answer came lightly, but Talia felt something beneath it.
Since leaving the temple, Calenelda had changed. Not merely because of the power now moving beneath her skin. There was something else. Something softer. Something Talia had only seen when they were alone. The memory came without permission. Calenelda sitting beside the fire. The warmth of her shoulder against Talia's. That reckless, impossible question.
Would you like to go on a date with me?
Talia immediately looked away. Calenelda's lips curved. "You're doing it again."
Talia frowned. "Doing what?"
"Thinking loudly."
"I do not think loudly."
"You do around me."
Heat crept into Talia's face.
Foxglove's ears perked. "Oh?"
"Nothing," Talia said immediately.
Calenelda laughed. Not loudly. But enough. Talia glared at her.
"You are insufferable."
"And yet you invited me to dinner."
Foxglove turned her head. Talia nearly stumbled.
"I did not—"
Calenelda's smile widened. "Relax. I was not going to tell her."
Foxglove looked between them. "I feel as though I've missed something."
"You have," Talia muttered.
Calenelda's expression softened. For a brief moment, neither of them said anything. Then Talia felt Calenelda's fingers brush against the back of her hand. Not taking it. Not yet. Just there. An invitation. Talia looked down. Her heart immediately betrayed her. She almost reached back.
Then the gates opened. The spell broke. Paladins stood beneath the archway in white and gold armor, their helms etched with sunbursts. One lowered his spear slightly as he recognized Talia.
"Captain Suri-Farah."
Talia straightened instinctively. The warmth vanished from her posture.
"The Council expected your patrol back a week ago."
"Detours," she replied.
The sentry's gaze moved to Calenelda. "And this would be?"
Calenelda tilted her head. "You mean to tell me you don't recognize Tan'Thalon's hero?"
The sentry's expression tightened as he noticed the faint emberlight beneath her sleeve.
He stepped aside. "Enter."
No welcome. No questions. Only silence. As they passed beneath the gate, Talia felt the city close around them. And without thinking, she stepped away from Calenelda. Only half a pace. Barely noticeable.
Calenelda noticed immediately. Her hand remained at her side. For several moments, she said nothing.
Then quietly: "You don't have to do that."
Talia kept walking. "Do what?"
"Pretend we're strangers when someone is looking."
Talia stopped. Calenelda took another step before realizing she had been left behind. She turned. Talia stood perfectly straight. Captain Suri-Farah again. Shoulders squared. Expression composed.
"There is no need to make assumptions about what people might think."
Calenelda's smile faded slightly. "Assumptions?"
Talia immediately regretted the word. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
"Not here."
The answer came too quickly. Too quietly. Almost pleading. Calenelda's expression changed. The playful confidence disappeared. Talia hated that she could hear the silence that followed.
"Fine," Calenelda said.
Just one word. She turned and continued toward the city. But she didn't reach for Talia again.
They reached the inner sanctum by midday. It had been built around a vast open atrium where a pool of still water reflected the Council Spire above. Myrrh and jasmine scented the air. The serenity felt manufactured. A familiar voice greeted them from beneath the colonnade.
"Diviner."
Calenelda stopped. Eldarion stood in the shade. His robes were immaculate despite the dust blowing through the city. Gold threaded his dark hair. His smile was perfectly polite. And utterly devoid of warmth.
"Lord Eldarion," Calenelda said flatly. "I didn't expect you to come yourself."
"Oh, I insisted."
His gaze moved past her. It settled briefly on Talia. Something flickered behind his eyes. Not recognition. Observation. Then he smiled again.
"After all, it is not every day Tan'Thalon's missing heroes return from the desert dragging an unregistered Nyxir and a story about a forgotten god."
"We didn't come to argue jurisdiction," Talia said.
Eldarion turned toward her. "No." His smile remained. "You came because she asked you to."
Talia's expression hardened. Calenelda shifted beside her. Eldarion noticed. Of course he did.
"You've always had a weakness for lost causes, Talia."
"Watch your tone."
Calenelda placed a hand lightly against Talia's forearm. A familiar gesture. Comforting. Instinctive. For half a heartbeat, Talia relaxed beneath the touch. Then she noticed Eldarion watching. She pulled her arm away. Calenelda went still. It was subtle. So subtle that no one else would have noticed. Eldarion did. His eyes sharpened. Calenelda smiled at him. But there was no warmth in it.
"Careful, Eldarion."
His brow rose. "Was that a threat?"
"No." Calenelda tilted her head. "A warning."
For a moment, something cold passed between them. Then Eldarion gestured toward the Spire.
"The Council is waiting."
As he turned, Talia moved closer to Calenelda. Her voice lowered.
"He's lying about something."
"I know."
"You sound remarkably calm."
"I'm trying something new."
Talia glanced toward her. "What?"
"Not throwing him through a wall."
Despite herself, Talia nearly smiled.
Calenelda felt it. "There she is."
Talia immediately looked ahead. "Don't."
The word came sharper than she intended. Calenelda's expression fell. Again. Talia closed her eyes briefly.
Gods.
Calenelda spoke quietly. "You don't have to keep doing that."
"Telling you not to provoke me?"
"Pushing me away."
Talia stopped walking. Eldarion continued ahead.
For a few seconds, the crowd moved around them. Talia lowered her voice.
"I'm not pushing you away."
Calenelda turned toward her. Her pale green eyes couldn't see Talia's face. But somehow that made it worse.
"Then why does it feel like you are?"
Talia had no answer. Not one she could give here. Calenelda waited. Then her expression softened. Not angry. Not accusing. Understanding. That hurt more.
"Not here," Calenelda said quietly.
She repeated Talia's own words back to her. Then continued walking.
The Council chamber was already crowded when they entered. Obsidian pillars climbed toward a vaulted ceiling threaded with Lazulli veins. Above them, shifting projections of Xaerona's borders moved like ghosts across the stone. Lords, Generals, Artificers, Priests.
Every face turned toward them. Talia immediately felt herself retreat behind the armor she had spent years building. Captain Suri-Farah. Not Talia. Not the woman who had sat beside Calenelda beneath desert stars. Not the woman who had suggested dinner with a nervous smile. The Captain.
Calenelda stood beside her. Close enough that Talia could feel her warmth. Not touching. Not anymore. Talia hated that she noticed.
The chamber warden called for silence. Their account began. Talia spoke first. She described the storm. The losses. The ruins. The creatures beneath the temple. She was precise. Measured. Professional. Every word carefully stripped of emotion. When Calenelda spoke, however, the chamber leaned toward her.
The Diviner did not embellish. She didn't need to. Her voice remained calm as she described the sanctuary buried beneath the dunes. The memories trapped within it. The remnants of something ancient and hungry. And when she spoke of the temple collapsing around them, Talia's composure cracked. Only slightly.
"Without her," Talia said before anyone could ask, "we would not have survived."
Calenelda turned toward her. Talia immediately regretted speaking. Not because it wasn't true. But because the entire chamber was watching.
Calenelda's lips curved faintly. "She's too modest."
Talia's face warmed. "Don't."
The word escaped under her breath. Calenelda's smile faded. Again. Talia looked forward.
Stop doing that.
But she couldn't. Every instinct she possessed screamed at her to become smaller. Colder. Unreadable. The old walls rose around her with terrifying ease.
A councilor leaned forward. "Paladin Suri-Farah. Reports indicate your company was scattered during the storm. How is it that the two of you alone returned?"
Talia stiffened. "We survived."
"Together."
"Yes."
"How?"
Talia's jaw tightened. Calenelda answered before she could.
"By protecting one another."
The words were simple. Honest. Talia felt the chamber react. Nothing dramatic. A few exchanged glances. A whisper. Eldarion leaning slightly forward in his chair.
Calenelda felt Talia's tension rise beside her. Her expression tightened. The answer had not been wrong. But suddenly Talia wished she had said less.
Archon Velareth rose. His Lazulli-inlaid staff struck the floor once. The chamber fell silent.
"You return from the western road with heavy losses," he said. "Yet two of our most promising scions stand before us alive." His gaze moved between them. "We will not waste what Xaerona has preserved."
Talia already knew she wasn't going to like what came next. "You will not march apart again."
The chamber murmured. "From this day forward, your strengths will be bound together in service to Tan'Thalon."
Talia felt heat rise behind her ears. Bound. Together. Before the entire Council.
Eldarion leaned back. "A wise arrangement." His smile turned faintly toward Talia. "Two strong wills bound to one purpose."
The implication was subtle. But deliberate.
Calenelda inclined her head. "As the Council wills."
Talia glanced toward her. Calenelda looked perfectly composed. Too composed.
"You'd enjoy this," Talia muttered.
Calenelda's lips curved. "Not as much as you think."
For a moment, something almost familiar passed between them. Then Talia remembered where they were. She straightened. The distance returned. Calenelda felt it. This time, she didn't react. That somehow made Talia feel worse.
The questioning continued.
"Are we certain they can function together?" a young councilor asked. "Their philosophies have not aligned in the past."
Velareth's staff struck the floor. "They will learn."
The matter should have ended there. But whispers continued. Strategy. Rivalry. Political alliances. Some wondered whether the Council intended to test them. Others whispered about whether the Diviner's growing power made the pairing dangerous.
Talia kept her gaze forward. She could feel Calenelda beside her. Could feel the silence between them.
Then Eldarion rose. "You return after weeks of silence, Diviner, with tales of a buried temple and the remnants of a god."
Velareth's staff struck the floor. Hard. Even Eldarion flinched.
"Lord Eldarion."
The warning was unmistakable. Eldarion bowed his head.
"Forgive me, Archon. But surely the Council deserves an explanation."
Velareth looked toward Calenelda. "Can you provide one?"
"Of course." Calenelda stepped forward. "We found what was once a sanctuary. It had been corrupted by centuries of worship and abandonment. Ba'Ham's creations were buried there." A murmur moved through the chamber. "The temple remembered," Calenelda continued. "And it wanted minds to feed upon."
One of the priests leaned forward. "You speak as if stone can think."
"It could." Calenelda's expression darkened. "It remembered the gods. It remembered suffering. And it wanted to be remembered in return."
Eldarion watched her. "How convenient."
Calenelda turned toward his voice. "Excuse me?"
"That such an ancient place would reveal itself to you."
"I didn't say it revealed itself to me."
"No?" His gaze moved across the faint light beneath her skin. "Yet you emerged changed."
The chamber grew quieter. Eldarion descended the steps from his seat. Not aggressively. Carefully.
"I do not claim to know what happened beneath those sands. I wasn't there." His eyes moved briefly toward Talia. "But I can see what returned."
Talia's hand tightened around the hilt of her sword. Calenelda noticed. Eldarion noticed that too.
"You bear something now," he continued. "Light in your veins. Power that reacts to divine resonance."
"I survived."
"That is not an explanation."
"No." Calenelda smiled faintly. "But it is the truth."
Eldarion turned toward the Council. "And truth is precisely what concerns me."
His voice remained calm. Measured. He wasn't accusing. Not yet.
"Ba'Ham is not merely a name from old scripture. His influence remains. We have evidence of cult activity across the western regions." Several councilors murmured agreement. "And now our Diviner returns carrying power she cannot explain."
Talia stepped forward. "She saved lives."
Every head turned. Eldarion paused. Talia immediately wished she hadn't spoken. But it was too late.
"She saved an entire village," she continued. "She held back the collapse of the temple long enough for us to escape. Whatever changed her—"
Eldarion turned his attention toward her. "What did change her, Captain?"
Talia stopped. She looked toward Calenelda. For the briefest moment, their eyes met. Calenelda couldn't see her. But Talia felt exposed anyway.
"I don't know."
"Exactly."
Calenelda's fingers tightened into a fist. "Careful, Eldarion."
He smiled. "I'm only asking questions."
"No." Calenelda's voice lowered. "You're arranging answers."
The chamber stirred. Eldarion's expression remained composed.
"Then answer this." He turned back toward Talia. "You stand here willing to defend her despite admitting you cannot explain what she has become."
Talia's jaw tightened. "Because I know her."
"Do you?"
The question came softly. Almost kindly. Talia froze. Eldarion took another step.
"You were separated from your company. Trapped together beneath the desert. You returned as the only members surviving that temple." His gaze moved between them. "I imagine that kind of experience creates... powerful loyalties."
Calenelda went still. She understood what he was doing. He didn't know. He was fishing. Talia's heart began beating harder.
"There is nothing unusual about loyalty between soldiers," she said.
Eldarion smiled. "Of course."
But he didn't stop looking at her. "Then perhaps you will have no difficulty serving as an objective witness."
Velareth leaned forward. The Archon's gaze settled upon Talia.
"Captain Suri-Farah." The chamber quieted. "You have vouched for the Diviner's character."
"I have."
"Are you willing to continue doing so?"
"Yes."
"Even should the Council determine her power requires observation?"
"Yes."
"Even if your judgment is called into question?"
Talia frowned. "My judgment will not be compromised."
Velareth paused. His expression didn't change.
"That was not my question."
Talia's stomach dropped. Eldarion remained silent. Watching. Waiting. The old instinct returned. The instinct to protect herself. To control perception. To give no one a weakness they could use.
"There is no personal attachment between the Diviner and myself," Talia said.
Absolute silence. Calenelda did not move. Did not speak. But Talia felt something change beside her. A distance. Not physical. Something worse. The Council seemed satisfied.
Velareth nodded slowly. "Very well."
Eldarion sat down. His expression was impossible to read. But Talia knew. She had answered exactly as he hoped. Not because he knew the truth. Because her fear had told him there was one. Calenelda remained perfectly still. Too still.
Before the questioning could continue, the great doors opened. The sound cut through the chamber. High Councilor Maranth entered first. Councilor Veyra followed beside him. Unlike Eldarion, Maranth did not wait to be acknowledged. He did not need to.
"The Diviner speaks true, Archon Velareth."
The chamber stirred. Maranth approached the dais and placed several sealed documents before the Archon.
"We have confirmed reports of cultist activity and experimentation corresponding with the events described in the western desert."
Velareth leaned forward. "These findings have been verified?"
"By multiple sources." Maranth nodded toward Veyra. "And by the Council's data analyst."
Veyra raised a small Lazulli orb, courtesy of Shyra. With a flick of her wrist, threads of blue light unfolded across the chamber. A map appeared above them. The western desert. The ruins at its center. Lines of magical activity pulsed outward from the site.
"These surges were recorded during the same period as the expedition," Veyra said. "They are consistent with the descriptions provided by Captain Suri-Farah and the Diviner."
A wave of murmurs moved through the chamber. Velareth studied the projection.
"This changes things."
Eldarion rose again. "You speak of evidence."
There was barely concealed irritation beneath his calm tone. "This Council has the right to examine those reports."
Velareth raised a hand. "Enough."
The chamber fell silent. "The Council will deliberate." His gaze settled upon Calenelda. "Diviner, you will remain within the city's bounds until our decision is made."
Calenelda inclined her head.
"You may continue your studies under supervision." Then Velareth turned toward Talia. "Captain Suri-Farah, as her assigned witness and partner in service, you will be responsible for observing her conduct."
Talia nodded. "Of course."
Calenelda said nothing. Eldarion passed them as the assembly began to disperse.
He paused beside Talia. "I do hope you're right about her."
Talia didn't look at him. "Because if you're wrong, Captain..." His eyes briefly moved toward Calenelda. "...faith has a way of becoming very expensive."
Then he walked away.
The chamber emptied slowly. Talia waited until the last councilors had disappeared through the doors. Only then did she turn.
"Calenelda—"
The Diviner was already walking. Talia followed.
"Calenelda."
No response. They entered the colonnade outside. Afternoon light poured through the arches. For several seconds, only the sound of their footsteps filled the space. Finally, Calenelda stopped. Talia almost walked into her. The Diviner didn't turn around.
"That went almost as well as I expected."
Talia stared at her. "He is trying to destroy you."
"I know."
"And you're making jokes?"
Calenelda smiled faintly. "I'm trying."
Something in her voice made Talia's anger falter. She stepped closer.
"Calenelda."
The Diviner's fingers tightened around the stone masonry. "You don't have to."
Talia stopped. "What?"
"Explain."
Calenelda finally turned toward her. Her pale green eyes were calm. Too calm. Talia hated that.
"I wasn't going to announce anything to the Council," Calenelda continued. "Gods, Talia, I wasn't expecting you to stand on a table and declare your love for me." Talia flinched. "But there is a difference between keeping something private..." Calenelda swallowed. "...and pretending it doesn't exist."
Talia opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Calenelda's expression softened immediately. That was almost worse.
"You think I'm ashamed of you?"
"No."
The answer came without hesitation. Talia blinked. Calenelda looked away.
"I know you're not."
Relief began to rise in Talia's chest. Then Calenelda continued.
"I think you're terrified."
The relief vanished. Calenelda's voice was quiet.
"I think being alone with me in the desert was easier because there was no one there to tell you what you were supposed to be."
Talia felt the truth of it strike. Calenelda smiled sadly.
"And I understand that." She turned back toward Talia. "I really do." Talia stepped closer. "But understanding why something hurts..." Calenelda's voice caught. She recovered almost immediately. "...doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."
For once, Talia had no shield. No clever answer. No order to hide behind.
"I panicked." Calenelda was silent. "I saw them looking at us." Talia looked toward the Council chamber. "At you. At me. At everything." Her hands clenched. "And suddenly I wasn't there anymore."
Calenelda tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
"I was Captain Suri-Farah again." The words came bitterly. "Perfect posture. Perfect answers. Perfect obedience."
She laughed once. A humorless laugh.
"I spent my entire life learning how not to give people anything they could use against me." Calenelda's expression softened. "And then I did exactly that to you."
Silence. Talia stepped closer. This time, she didn't stop herself. Her hand found Calenelda's. The Diviner's fingers were cold.
"I meant what I said in the desert," Talia whispered.
Calenelda's breath caught.
"About the kiss." Talia squeezed her hand. "About you." Calenelda said nothing. "And about the date."
That finally made the faintest smile appear. Talia felt something inside her loosen.
"I am not ready for Tan'Thalon to know." Calenelda's expression tightened slightly. "But I don't want you to think that means I don't want you." Talia stepped closer still. "Because I do."
For several seconds, Calenelda simply stood there. Then she lifted her free hand and touched Talia's cheek. The gesture was gentle. Almost unbearably so.
"I can wait for you."
Talia closed her eyes. Calenelda's thumb brushed against her skin.
"But don't disappear on me."
Talia opened her eyes. "I won't."
Behind them, somewhere within the Council Spire, a door closed. The sound echoed through the colonnade. Calenelda's expression changed. Her hand lowered.
"What?" Talia looked toward the shadows.
Nothing. Calenelda tilted her head.
"Someone was listening."
Talia's hand immediately went toward her sword. But Calenelda shook her head.
"No."
A faint smile returned. This one sharper. More dangerous.
"Not close enough to hear."
Talia studied her. "What did you sense?"
Calenelda looked back toward the Spire. "Nothing."
Then she squeezed Talia's hand once before letting go.
"Which means I need to start worrying about what I can't sense."
Far above them, hidden behind latticed marble, a figure stepped away from the balcony. Eldarion had not heard their conversation. He had not needed to. He had seen enough. The Captain's hesitation. The Diviner's hurt. The way Talia had gone pale when questioned. And most importantly—
The way Calenelda had looked at her. He smiled faintly. Not because he understood what existed between them. Not yet. But because he had found something neither of them knew how to defend. And in Tan'Thalon, uncertainty was often more dangerous than truth.