Celestine's grip tightened around the pendant in her pocket, its edges biting into her palm. Elias Draven stood before her, a ghost she had long buried, yet here he was—alive.
For a moment, silence hung between them, thick with unspoken words. Then, Alistair Dorne stepped forward, his stance tense, his silver eyes glinting like sharpened steel.
"Explain yourself," he demanded. "You were declared dead, Draven."
Elias chuckled softly, his voice laced with something dangerously close to amusement. "Declared, yes. But death and truth don't always align, do they?" His gaze flicked to Celestine. "You of all people should know that."
Celestine ignored the jab. She had spent years ensuring the survival of Noctis-Lux, fighting off the remnants of the Usurper's Rebellion, and ruling with precision. Elias had been a part of that past, an advisor she had once trusted—before he disappeared. Before he became a memory.
And now, he stood before her, a man touched by the shadows.
"Where have you been?" she asked, her voice steady.
Elias tilted his head slightly, his amber eyes studying her. "Watching," he said simply. "Waiting."
"For what?"
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "For you to see what this city is becoming. To see that you are fighting the wrong war."
Celestine's jaw clenched. "You were there when the Usurper fell. You saw what his rebellion did to Noctis-Lux. You swore loyalty to the throne—my throne."
Elias's expression darkened, his smirk fading. "And yet, here we are," he said softly, gesturing toward the broken automaton at their feet, its obsidian veins pulsing faintly. "The Light Council claims to uphold order, yet the city rots beneath its feet. You think the Shadow Syndicate is your enemy, but tell me, Celestine—when was the last time you looked at the cracks forming within your own palace?"
She bristled, but before she could speak, a mechanical whir echoed in the distance. Alistair's hand went to his weapon, his eyes scanning the ruins.
"We're not alone," he muttered.
Elias exhaled. "No, we're not."
From the darkness of the rail tunnels, figures emerged—cloaked individuals with intricate, mechanical gauntlets glinting under the flickering lamplight. Their movements were precise, disciplined. Not scavengers. Not Syndicate.
Celestine's pulse quickened.
Elias glanced at her, his voice quieter now. "You wanted answers? Then it's time you see the truth for yourself."
The figures moved forward, and for the first time in years, Celestine felt the stirrings of something she thought she had buried long ago.
Doubt.