Lilith nodded once. "And he opened it."
"But it wasn't his plan," Isabella added, voice quiet, but certain. "He didn't have the vision."
"No," Elowen said. "He was used."
She let that sit. Not for dramatic effect, but because the next sentence needed space.
"And the worst part?"
Her gaze swept across the room—not accusing, not uncertain, just clear. Solid.
"They used his mother's story to do it. Twisted was the one thing that held that family together. The one pure act. The one piece of dignity. Turned it into fuel."
No one argued.
Because there was nothing to argue with.
Liliana didn't speak. But her face tensed. Her hands stayed folded, but one thumb pressed harder into her palm.
And Elowen rose—not in anger or urgency, just with the stillness of someone who had said what needed to be said.
"They were never meant to rise," she said, voice firm but calm. "But the cults didn't care about their place. They didn't care about legacy. Or power. Or bloodlines."
