The silence returned after Selene's question—heavy, reverent.
Then, a flicker of heat.
The flame that had formed the Guardian flared suddenly—its face reforming from light and curling smoke, its voice soft but anchored by ancient weight.
"I will tell you what she could not," the spirit said.
Selene held her breath.
The Guardian stepped slowly around the chamber's edge, passing ancient symbols and sigils etched into the stone like veins of purpose.
"I first came to know Lysaria not as a Queen—but as a seeker," it began. "She came here in secret. Guided by one who bore a bloodline long thought extinguished."
"My father," Selene whispered.
The flame inclined in a flicker that might have been a nod.
"He was the last known descendant of the Bright Line who had not awakened. A quiet man. A learned one. His name was Arathe. Arathe of the Glenwood Flame."
Selene froze.
The name was unfamiliar—but something in her heart ached at the sound of it.
"He had found fragments of our lost legacy buried in Tower-forbidden records," the Guardian continued. "And he followed those threads through half the continent—until they led him here. He did not expect to survive the trials of entry. But he passed."
The spirit's flames pulsed as though remembering.
"And Lysaria followed."
Selene's fingers curled over her wrist. "But she was married. To the Emperor."
"Yes," the Guardian said. "But her soul was not chained. They met before her first binding—on a diplomatic voyage to the southern sanctums. They parted when duty called her elsewhere. But years later, fate drew her to Arathe again."
The room dimmed as the spirit moved toward the back wall. Selene followed.
"Here, in this chamber, the two of them spent three moons. Studying. Listening. And falling deeply—fiercely—in love."
The Guardian's voice gentled.
"She told me stories no Queen had ever dared whisper. He showed her truths she had been forbidden to know. It was here she discovered what the Bright Line had once stood for. What the Tower had stolen. And what her blood could awaken if joined with his."
Selene's eyes glistened.
"She never told me this," she said.
"She couldn't," the Guardian replied. "Because when the fourth moon rose, she was gone."
Selene looked up. "Why?"
"The Empire called her back. And she believed—naively—that her path could be reclaimed without violence. She left him here. Said she would return in secret."
"…But she didn't."
The flame dimmed.
"No. Arathe waited. Days turned to weeks. Then one night, the weave itself went silent. His bond to her—vanished. That was when he knew."
Selene's breath caught. "The Tower found out."
"They never allowed her to send word. And he… he never left this chamber again."
The spirit turned, its eyes full of light that felt like grief.
"He died waiting for her. And when I burned his body, I sealed his last memory into the stone. So that one day, if ever their child found her way here, she would know not just of duty—but of love."
Selene wiped her face. Her throat ached with the weight of what she hadn't known.
"And my mother?" she whispered.
"She returned. But not freely."
The chamber's flame dimmed further, becoming ghostly.
"It was years later. She was brought here—dragged in chains. Her magic weakened. Her eyes… hollow. But she fought. She fought them all. Especially the girl who led the Tower's seekers."
Selene blinked. "Gwen."
"She was younger then. Fierce. Brilliant. And blind to her own origin."
"What do you mean?"
The Guardian's flame stilled.
"Gwen bears Bright Line blood—but not by birth. She was crafted."
Selene stiffened. "Crafted?"
"By forbidden means. The Tower tried to revive the old power through arcane breeding, binding, soul grafting. Gwen was their only success. She knows nothing of this. Her memories… were shaped."
The silence rippled.
"She has always believed she came here by instinct. But in truth… she came because the chamber still calls to its own. Even broken ones."
Selene said nothing. Couldn't.
The Guardian approached slowly, heat brushing her cheek.
"Your mother left something here. Something she dared not entrust to paper."
It gestured toward a panel in the stone floor, long buried in soot and dust.
With trembling hands, Selene knelt and brushed the ash aside. A faint crest emerged: three flames beneath a single eye.
When she pressed her palm to it, the stone glowed—and opened.
Inside: a single sealed pendant, humming faintly with old magic.
A voice echoed from the stone—her mother's voice.
"My Selene," it whispered. "You have found the chamber. Then you are stronger than I feared—and brighter than I hoped. Remember us. And walk your path, not the one they will try to carve for you."
The voice faded.
Selene stood slowly, pendant in hand.
The Guardian watched her, then said gently:
"There's something you should know about Gwen. Something your mother was unable to include in her letter. She feared it might lead you to vengeance."
Selene turned sharply.
The spirit's eyes glowed low and steady.
"She never imagined it would be your enemy that led you here. What she expected… was that you would be led here by fate."