Elara confronted Aldric in his sanctum that evening. The moon burned outside the high glass dome, turning the world silver and surreal.
"You lied to me."
He stood at the edge of the fire, back turned. "I protected you."
"You protected yourself. You knew about the Moonmother. About what I am."
He turned, eyes heavy. "I knew… pieces."
"Enough to silence me."
He didn't deny it.
Elara stepped closer. "You told me I was chosen. That our bond was fate. But it wasn't. It was strategy."
"No," he said. "It became fate."
She shook her head. "You used me."
He closed the distance. "And I loved you for it. Do you understand what that means for someone like me?"
"Do you understand what it cost me?"
Silence fell between them. Neither moved.
Then she spoke softly. "We can't fight what's coming unless we're honest."
"I'm trying," he whispered.
"Try harder."
Then she turned and left.
And in the corner of the sanctum, the air shifted—watching.
Waiting.
Listening.