Night lay thick over the ridge, the fire in Lucien's camp burning low but steady. The blood-oath messages had already been sent, cast into Weave and wind. Now there was nothing to do but wait—and sharpen fury into resolve.
Lucien stood alone just beyond the ruins, where the world fell away into the ink-dark valley. The night here was quiet—too quiet.
Which was why he noticed the shift in the air the moment it arrived.
A hum.
Then a pull, like heat drawn backward through the spine.
He turned.
A shape emerged from the edge of shadow, flame-colored robes catching stray moonlight. Not just red—deep, carmine silk that shimmered like blood on velvet. Her boots made no sound on the stone.
Clarity.
The Crimson Witch.
Lucien's body stilled like a sword held mid-swing. His eyes narrowed, disbelief turned blade.
"You," he said, the word nearly a snarl.
She stopped several paces away, her hands visible and bare.
Lucien's gaze dragged over her—unwillingly—but still caught the truth:
She was still beautiful.
No, more than that—undiminished.
Her features were unchanged by time, as if the years had folded around her instead of through her. Silver streaked her hair, but not in frailty; it crowned her temples like burnished moonlight. Her skin, though touched by age, held the gleam of someone who had mastered both fire and time. Power hummed in the way she stood. Every inch of her said: I have not been broken.
And still, Lucien's hand went to his blade.
"You have the gall," he said darkly, "to step into my shadow after all this time?"
Clarity's gaze didn't flinch. "I do."
He took a step forward. "I should burn you where you stand."
She smiled—sadly. "Then why haven't you?"
Lucien's eyes flared. "Give me a reason."
"I came to."
A beat.
"I came to give you a reason," she said more gently. "To speak of what I once stole from you… and what's still yours to take back."
Lucien didn't move.
"You mean Selene."
"I mean everything," Clarity said. "But yes. Her, too."
He spat to the side. "Don't pretend to care about her."
"I don't."
The honesty caught him off guard.
Clarity stepped forward, carefully, her voice low and clear. "I didn't come for her. I owe nothing to the girl. I came because I once loved a man made of fire—and I betrayed him. This is for him."
Lucien's jaw tightened.
"I don't forgive easily."
"I don't expect you to," she said.
The wind stirred her cloak, and with it came the scent of old flame and cedar bark—familiar, painfully so.
Lucien didn't sheath his blade. "Then speak."
Clarity looked toward the horizon, the stars like pinpricks above them. "You want to know who caused the rift between you and her. The one who tore Selene from your side. It wasn't just the Tower."
He waited.
"There's a new power inside it now," she said. "One that wasn't there when you fell. A girl. Young. Gifted. Poisoned."
Lucien's brow furrowed. "Who?"
"She calls herself Gwen. But that's not her name—not really. She's… something else. Something the Tower made in secret. Something they swore they'd never try again."
Lucien's fingers flexed around the hilt. "Why does that name matter?"
Clarity's voice lowered. "Because she's the one who took Selene. And she's the reason you and the girl never saw each other clearly."
She stepped closer, eyes lit with sorrow and steel.
"She's the whisper in Selene's ear. The reason she questioned you. The reason she left."
Lucien's face didn't change—but a breath caught in his chest.
He said nothing for a long moment. Then:
"And what does that make you? A repentant witness?"
Clarity's smile returned—quiet and bitter. "No. It makes me guilty, too. I told them about you all those years ago. I helped seal you. And I thought it was right."
Lucien's rage coiled again, but she raised a hand.
"But I didn't betray your people."
Lucien's eyes snapped to hers.
"I couldn't betray them," she said. "Not all the way. So I hid them."
He blinked. "What?"
"I scattered them. Your strongest allies. Your old fireguard. They're alive, Lucien. I hid them from the Tower, moved them across continents, buried them behind false sigils and binding stones. I told them you were dead—but I never let them be taken."
Lucien stepped forward, fury suddenly colliding with confusion.
"Why?" he growled.
Clarity's eyes gleamed. "Because maybe I knew, even then, that I'd made the wrong enemy. That I'd turned on the only man who could've broken the cycle. I told myself I was being clever. But I think I just didn't want your fire to go out forever."
Lucien looked away, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
He couldn't hate her enough to drown the ache.
And he couldn't trust her enough to forgive.
"…Where are they?" he asked.
Clarity nodded. "Scattered. But I can show you."
A beat.
Then she added, softer: "There's more. But I know you don't want to hear it now."
Lucien didn't answer.
She stepped back once. Twice.
"Think what you will of me, Lucien Rave. But I kept your flame lit—because I remembered who you were. Even when you didn't."
And with that, she vanished in a soft column of flame.
Lucien stood in the dark, alone again.
And though the rage still burned… it flickered with something else.
A question.
Not just of Gwen.
But of Clarity herself.
Why hide his allies? Why betray him and still preserve the core of his power?
There was a fracture in the story he'd told himself.
And somewhere in it… was the truth