## CHAPTER 71: _"The Gods Who Watch in Silence"_
**I. The Whispering Mountains**
Snow fell like secrets.
Arien and Lysia stood before the Temple of Virell, buried deep within the haunted peaks of the Greytop Range. The temple was carved from obsidian and old flame, said to be the last place where the gods could be heard—if one knew how to listen.
No priest remained. No monk dared stay. Only echoes remained.
> "You brought me to pray?" Lysia asked.
> "I brought you to remember," Arien replied.
They lit no fire. Instead, they knelt on stone, offering silence instead of words. The mountains listened.
---
**II. The Oracle's Mirror**
Beneath the altar was a mirror forged by the First Fire. It showed not reflections—but regrets.
Lysia looked first. Her own face did not appear. Instead, she saw her mother holding her as an infant, blood on her lips, love in her eyes.
Arien looked next. The mirror cracked.
He saw the father he never knew. The younger brother he could not save. And a version of himself—crowned, cruel, alone.
> "Is this what I could've become?"
> "It's what you chose not to," Lysia whispered.
---
**III. The Test of Flame**
An old rite awaited them: the Trial of Fireless Flame. They would walk barefoot across obsidian and salt, blindfolded, hearts exposed by spell.
The flame did not burn skin. It burned truth.
Arien staggered as visions clawed through him: every soldier who died under his command, every choice made for love that led to war.
Lysia screamed as the curse bled from her—memories of the first time her touch killed, and the day she realized her love might never be safe.
They made it across.
Together.
And the temple walls wept flame.
---
**IV. The Offer**
A spirit greeted them as dawn broke.
Not a god. Not a ghost. Something in between.
> "You have loved where no love was meant. You have lived where death was sown. But are you willing to forget?"
They stared at each other.
> "No," Arien said.
> "Never," Lysia added.
The spirit bowed.
> "Then walk the path unblessed. And make it sacred."
---
**V. The Descent**
As they left the temple, their steps felt heavier—but their hearts lighter.
They were not cleansed.
They were not holy.
But they were chosen—by pain, by choice, by love.
Behind them, the temple crumbled into ash.
And ahead, a new path formed in golden dust.