She pulled out a scroll—old, yellowed with age, bound with faded leather cord.
"Before I reveal this, I need you to promise me something."
Roshan's ears flattened slightly.
"Elder Mira, we don't have time for—"
"PROMISE me," Mira interrupted, voice sharp. "That regardless of what I tell you about what she is, you will still see HER. Faelyn. The female who taught your warriors metallurgy. Who brought panthers and leopards together. Who risked herself to save cursed blessed ones she'd never met."
Nyx shifted uncomfortably.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that learning someone's origin, their true nature, can make people forget their character. Their choices. Their HEART." Mira set the scroll on the table between them. "The Collective sees her as a resource. A tool. A thing to be used and discarded. I need to know you won't."
Roshan felt something cold settle in his stomach.
"We would never—"
