A ripple of shock spread through the Weavers gathered in the hall. A few murmured among themselves, while one stepped hesitantly mind Hydra. "High Weaver, please… consider your decision carefully." She muttered.
But Hydra didn't hesitate. Her voice rang out with unwavering resolve. "Nothing will happen to Aaron while I am alive."
A tense silence followed. Then Althea let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "So be it. But don't think I'll let my daughter be used like this forever."
The hall went still.
Without another word, she turned sharply on her heel. At her gesture, a large number of Weavers moved to follow, the weight of their departure pressing down like a coming storm.
But before Althea could take another step, Hydra's voice sliced through the tension. "Althea!"
The woman stopped dead in her tracks.
Hydra took a step forward, eyes blazing. "You have the right to leave with your entire faction. But don't forget that I am still the High Weaver. And therefore, I command all ring-bearers, including Era. And as such, I decide that she remains under my command."
Althea stiffened. Hydra's voice dropped, but its weight only grew. "If you defy this, then I'll make sure she undergo Severance—forcing the Griffin Ring to choose another bearer."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Althea turned slowly, her face twisting with fury. "You're vile."
Hydra's lips curled into a smirk. "Certainly not as vile as you. "
Althea glared at her for a long, tense moment. Then, without another word, she spun around and strode out of the chamber, members of her faction of Weavers trailing behind her.
Aaron, still struggling to stay upright, watched her go. His mind swam with everything he had just learned. Era. The Ring of Forgotten Souls. His own role in this catastrophe.
But it was that one sentence—my daughter—that echoed louder than all the rest.
As the doors closed behind the last weaver following Althea, he forced himself to take a breath, turning toward Hydra. "Is she really Era's mother?"
Hydra exhaled sharply, her expression stern. "Yes."
Aaron froze. Her mother? The word hit him like a punch. He stared at the doors Althea had just walked through, trying to understand.
That cold, angry woman, Era's mother.
Around them, silence lingered like smoke after a fire. Then, slowly, the crowd of Weavers began to stir. The unity that had once filled the hall now felt cracked, fragile. Some stared at Hydra with wide eyes, others with unease. A few whispered to each other, clearly shaken by Althea's departure and what it meant for the balance of the Weavers.
Hydra straightened her shoulders. Whatever weight she carried from the encounter, she didn't let it show.
"We have lost numbers," she said firmly, addressing the room, "but not strength. The Circle holds. The order continues."
Her voice steadied the air. She gave instructions to Coren her seconds, organizing the remaining Weavers, assigning new roles to fill the gap left behind. No one questioned her authority now—not after what they'd witnessed.
Only when the last whisper died down and the hall had emptied did Hydra finally turn to Aaron again.
"Come with me," she said simply.
---
hey walked in silence through the quiet corridors, the air thick with tension. Hydra's footsteps were measured, but her presence felt heavier than usual—as though she carried more than just her robes.
She led Aaron into a small chamber lit by soft, floating orbs of light. It was simpler than the grand halls—private, still, insulated from judgment.
She gestured for him to sit. He obeyed.
Hydra remained standing for a long moment, arms crossed. Her gaze was steady, unflinching.
"You need to understand something," she said, her tone sharp—stripped of the warmth he had come to expect. "The least we can say is that your presence here, your choices, have brought serious consequences. Consequences we no longer have the luxury of revisiting. They're done. Real. Irreversible."
Aaron stiffened, but didn't speak.
"I have stood for you," she continued, "against voices that demanded otherwise. I risk being questioned as High Weaver—for shielding someone many believe has no place in our circle."
Her words struck like cold iron. "And if you cannot carry the weight of what's been set in motion… if you falter again… even I may not be able to protect you next time."
The silence that followed was brutal.
Then Hydra exhaled slowly. The sharpness in her eyes faded, her stance easing as she lowered herself into the seat across from him. The mask of the High Weaver slipped, just enough to show the exhaustion beneath.
"She didn't always hate me," Hydra said more softly. "There was a time we stood side by side. Althea was brilliant, fierce, unshakable. But everything changed when Era was chosen by the Griffin Ring… and placed under my command. From that moment on, there was tension. I thought keeping things professional would be the most respectful choice. I rarely consulted Althea on missions involving her daughter."
She paused, gaze distant.
"But Althea took it as exclusion. As if her voice no longer mattered."
Aaron's throat tightened. He hesitated, then asked, "Is she… okay?"
Hydra nodded, her expression gentler. "She's regained consciousness. Her condition is stable for now. She's strong—more than she knows."
Relief swept over him like a tide.
Hydra studied him a moment longer, then her voice dropped into something more thoughtful.
"There's something else you should know. Something few outside the Inner Circle are ever told."
Aaron looked up, searching her face.
"Long ago, during the Shadowed Uprising, there was a man named Kaelen Valehart. He was not a Weaver—not born under the marks, not trained in our ways—but he fought beside us when others fled. His courage and instincts were unmatched. He saved lives. Turned battles. The stars watched him, and in time… judged him worthy."
Her eyes flickered with old memory.
"So much so that a ring was forged in his name—the Griffin's Ring."
Aaron blinked. "They made a ring… for someone who wasn't even a Weaver?"
Hydra nodded. "Yes. It was a rare thing. And the ring was unlike any other. It could only be wielded by someone from Kaelen's bloodline. That rule has never changed. The Griffin Ring chooses only a descendant of Valehart."
She paused.
"And Era… is one of them."
Aaron sat back, stunned. The weight of that revelation settled in slowly. It wasn't just about Era's skill or training. Her place here ran deeper, older—written in the stars long before she was born.
Hydra's voice was calm, but firm. "You see now why Althea couldn't stop it. Why Era's path was never really hers to guide."
Aaron nodded slowly, his thoughts swirling. "Yeah… I see it now."
The silence lingered for a moment longer before Hydra rose quietly to her feet. "I need to return to the others," she said. "There's much to restore after Althea's departure. Her faction holds considerable influence—and they were never fully under my command."
Aaron stood as well, hesitating.
Hydra glanced back at him, the edge in her gaze softened now by something almost maternal. "You should rest. But if you prefer to walk, the halls remain open to you." She paused, then added, "And your ring—it should be active again."
Aaron gave a small nod. "Thank you."
Without another word, he stepped out into the corridor. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving him once more in the quiet embrace of stone and shadows.
As he moved through the quiet corridors alone, Aaron let his fingers trail along the cool stone walls. So much had changed in so little time. Althea. The Griffin Ring. Era's bloodline. Her mother.
And somewhere beneath it all… himself.
He didn't know where this path would lead. But one thing was clear—he was already too deep to turn back now.
The corridor curved ahead, dimly lit and silent. Aaron's thoughts raced, looping over everything Hydra had told him. About Era. About Kaelen Valehart. About fate carved into bloodlines.
Then—
A sudden force slammed into his side.
He gasped as strong hands yanked him off balance and shoved him hard through a half-open door. He stumbled, nearly falling—but before he could regain his footing, his back hit the stone wall with a thud.
A figure stepped into the light.
Young. Sharp-eyed. His expression a mix of pride and fury. There was something familiar about the shape of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes.
The stranger's hand pressed firmly against Aaron's chest, holding him against the wall. He leaned in, close enough that Aaron could see the gleam of something deeper than rage behind his smile.
"So," the young man said, voice low and cold. "Here we meet."
He shoved Aaron harder against the wall.
"I'm Dracon," he said, his lips curling into a cruel grin. "Era's brother."