Gaël found himself in a silent antechamber, bathed in a faint violet glow emanating from the crystals embedded in the walls. The light seemed to breathe, pulsing softly like a slumbering heart. The atmosphere was eerily peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos that raged behind them.
Long stone benches, worn smooth by the passage of time, lined the chamber, offering a tacit invitation to wait… or to reflect on what was to come.
Brann sat down without a word, arms crossed, his expression as unreadable as a granite wall. His half-lidded eyes stared at some distant, invisible point. Gaël hesitated, then finally mirrored him, his muscles still tight, the sting of adrenaline from the ritual still thrumming in his veins.
The silence pressed down on them, broken only by the faint hum of the Crucible as it continued its transformation.
Gaël glanced toward his companion.
"What he's doing in there…" he murmured, as if trying to pierce the heavy air.
Brann didn't even turn his head.
"It's not our concern," he said flatly. "We're meant to cut, not to forge. Stay focused."
His tone was dry, almost sharp, like a blade trimming away every unnecessary branch. He wasn't looking for a conversation. He was shutting it down.
Gaël frowned but knew Brann was right. The Way of the Severance wasn't a path for smiths or umbromancers.
A faint rustle caught his attention.
Maera stood by the door, her silhouette taut, arms crossed, her burning gaze locked onto Brann. Her golden eyes gleamed in the violet light, amber shards in a field of shadows.
She barely blinked, watching him like a predator eyeing its prey, measuring his strength, his cracks, his resolve. Then, in a breath laced with bitter amusement, she spoke:
"A Radiant Beast…"
Her voice vibrated with contained fury, her tone wavering between admiration and disdain.
"So it's true… You really are a fallen Brother."
She flashed a smile, a grin laced with defiance and fatalism. Her pupils narrowed, glinting with a fierce flame.
"I get it now. That's why the Luminous Order's after you."
Her smile widened, a flicker of challenge sparking in her amber eyes.
"Tell me, Brann the Fallen… was it the Lumen you betrayed? Or was it yourself you cut?"
Gaël felt the air shift. This wasn't a conversation anymore. It was a provocation.
At last, Brann lifted his gaze to meet Maera's, but his expression remained unchanged. No irritation. No justification. Just that cold, steel gaze that had already pierced countless souls before hers, never wavering.
"It doesn't matter," he said quietly. "What's been cut… never grows back."
Few words. But those words were enough to transform the room. The antechamber was no longer a silent cradle, it had become an invisible battlefield, where blades had yet to be drawn, but every glance cut through the air like a thrust.
Maera's smile sharpened, fiercer now. It wasn't a smile of joy. It was the smile of a predator sensing the bite. She leaned casually against the wall, but her fingers brushed the hilt of her weapon, already caressing the promise of the fight.
"The Luminous Order doesn't hunt shadows without a reason."
She tilted her head slightly, the violet crystal light deepening the shadows across her face.
"Radiant Beasts are sacred. Even to me."
Her voice dropped a tone, lower, rougher, each syllable honed by restrained contempt.
"They don't wear the hypocrisy of the Lumen's blessed."
Her gaze lingered on Brann, searching for a crack, a confession.
"So tell me, Brann… why?"
Silence fell. Long. Heavy. A silence not empty, but full. Like a burden laid at his feet, a weight Maera demanded he lift, expose, confess.
Gaël felt that silence, felt its weight. It wasn't a question. It was an accusation. A rope thrown to Brann, not to save him, but to drag him out of his silence… or to strangle him.
At last, Brann sighed, like a man tired of explaining the inexplicable. He looked away.
But Maera wasn't finished. She stepped closer, crossing the space like one crossing a threshold. Her shadow stretched, spilling across the floor, swallowing the violet glow of the nearest crystal.
"I've heard the rumors," she said, her voice turning into a blade. "The mission at Briseterre. The stained ones the Luminous Order wanted to purify."
She stopped, just a few paces from him. Her golden eyes blazed.
"And you, Brann… what did you do?"
She closed the last distance. Stood before him, so close her breath almost brushed his face.
Brann didn't move. His gaze showed neither regret nor pride. But in the steel-gray depths of his eyes, a light stirred. A faint, glowing ember. A spark of anger.
"I cut what needs to be cut."
Maera laughed. A cold laugh, brittle as glass shattering under a bare foot.
"That's what all monsters say."
She stepped back, arms crossed, her head tilting slightly, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper.
"The Order says you betrayed them. That you drew your blade against your own brothers, that you defended those who were meant to be purified."
A pause. Deep. Heavy.
Then she inhaled slowly, a breath trembling with anticipation. She fixed her golden eyes on his, piercing, questioning, hungry for the truth.
"So, Brann? Is it true? You only came to ValOmbre to escape the Order? The glory you carved out here… was it just a mask? An outlet? Just a smokescreen to hide your crime? You were never a hero, you were a coward! A fugitive! And we… we looked up to you as a pillar, as a beacon of hope… but all of it was built on a lie!"
She drew a breath, her voice sharpening, vibrating, the pure steel of a blade poised to strike:
"You could've overthrown the Archon. You had the strength. You had the people behind you. You had the forces of the arena. But you walked away. You turned your back. Tell me, have you ever carried anything but your own escape?"
Brann remained unmoved. Not a single line cracked his mask. Not a single breath disturbed his silhouette.
Then, slowly, he stood.
Gaël instinctively held his breath. His heart pounded in his temples, a muffled drum in the thick air.
Maera's smile widened. This was what she wanted. What she'd been waiting for. What she'd provoked.
Brann, standing, faced her. But his gaze… it was no longer a man's gaze. It was a chasm. A bottomless void, a shoreless abyss where even the sharpest truths drowned.
"Put down your blade, Maera."
A whisper. But it wasn't a plea. It was a warning. A line drawn in a single word.
But she didn't move.
Her smile stretched further, pulled by a defiance she no longer knew if she possessed… or if she conjured it just to keep from breaking.
Then Brann spoke. His voice fell like a guillotine, a tone without appeal, without warmth, without pity:
"You're just a child who knows nothing of the world."
The air shuddered. An invisible ripple seemed to sweep through the room. Gaël felt the impact of those words like a blow struck straight to his gut. And Maera…
Her smile vanished.
"What…?"
Her entire body froze. A fraction of a second suspended outside of time. As if those words had petrified her, ripped her momentum away.
Brann didn't repeat himself. He didn't need to.
He simply turned to Gaël, with a calm, sovereign slowness, as if Maera no longer existed.
"Let's go, Gaël."
His voice was firm, sharp, unquestionable.
"The forging will take time. We'll return tomorrow."
And without another glance at Maera, he walked away, his steps carving a path even the violet light dared not cross.