The next morning, I didn't tell anyone where I was going.Serena only raised an eyebrow as I passed her in the corridor. She knew better than to ask.
The ruined west wing was quiet—too quiet. Dust floated in the fractured light. When I reached the cracked mirror, I half expected it to reflect another message. It didn't.
But someone was already there.
The masked figure stood with their back to me, motionless.
"You came," they said, without turning."You asked," I replied.
They turned and held out the shard again. This time, I took it.
It was heavier than it looked, and colder. The rune carved into it still glowed faintly.
"This," I said, "was on the last page of 1098-AR.""Yes," they replied. "But its real name is older—far older."I looked up. "Then what does it mean?"They hesitated. Then: "It was a signature."
That stopped me. "A signature?"
"From the one who rewrote the record. Not just the tribunal files—but the Flameheart account itself. The version the court accepted… was a lie."
I went still."You're saying—""Yes. Someone powerful. Someone who had reason to erase the truth. And now…"
They trailed off."What?""Now the lie is being reprinted—systematically. Across other royal records."
I stared at them."How do you know this?"
Their hand brushed the mirror's cracked surface."Because I tried to stop it once. And failed."
I stepped back."Then why come to me?"
The figure lowered their voice."Because you're the only one who still remembers the question, not just the answer."
The mirror flickered.
And we were alone again.