Ellie paced the length of the academy library, her footsteps muffled by the thick, dusty rugs that covered the stone floor. The room was dim, the lamps casting pools of golden light over ancient tomes and curling maps. Outside, the wind battered against the high windows, a restless murmur that seemed to echo her own turmoil.

  Elladora leaned against a heavy oak table, her arms crossed, her expression sharp with frustration. “You can’t just stay quiet, Ellie. Not after what you saw.”

  Ellie stopped mid-step, turning to face her. “I don’t have proof—at least, not the kind they’ll believe. And you saw how they look at her. They worship her. If I’m wrong, if I make a mistake again, I’ll just—”

  “You’re not wrong,” Elladora interrupted, her voice cutting through Ellie’s protests. She took a step closer, her gaze intense, the shadows deepening around the angles of her face. “You saw the ritual. You saw what she’s doing to them. Eloise has been playing with powers she has no right to touch. And you are the only one who can make them see that.”

  Ellie looked away, her throat tight. Her mind still pulsed with the memory of the hidden chamber, of the altar with its dark, gleaming runes. But she remembered, too, the sea of desperate faces, the flicker of hope that had bloomed when Eloise’s hands began to glow again, after Ellie’s interference.

  How easily they had forgiven that momentary stumble, clinging to their belief in the saintess.

  “They’ll turn on me,” Ellie murmured, almost to herself. “If she denies it, if she accuses me instead...”

  Elladora stepped forward, her voice softening, but losing none of its urgency. “If we do nothing, more people will suffer. Eloise is using them—using their faith against them. You saw what she’s hiding. We have seen enough. Isn’t that worth the risk?”

  Silence stretched between them, heavy as a shroud. Ellie turned, glancing out the window to where the moon hung low over the city, pale light spilling across the rooftops of Lorthraine. She felt Elladora’s gaze on her, steady and unyielding, like the weight of the night pressing down on her shoulders.

  ‘She’s right. I can’t keep hiding from this.’ Ellie drew a slow breath, feeling the air chill in her lungs, and nodded. “Fine. But we do it quietly. If she has the chance, she’ll twist this against us.”

  Elladora’s expression softened, just a fraction, before she nodded briskly. “Agreed. But we have to move now—before she tightens her hold again.”

  *****

  The palace corridors were dark, save for the occasional glimmer of torchlight casting flickering shadows against the high stone walls. Ellie and Elladora moved swiftly, the hush of their footsteps swallowed by the vastness of the halls.

  When they reached the entrance to the hidden stairwell beneath the palace, Elladora placed a hand on Ellie’s arm, stopping her. “Are you ready?”

  Ellie nodded, though her heart pounded in her chest, a frantic beat that seemed to echo through the darkness. She could feel the weight of the pendant she had taken from the hidden chamber earlier, its cold shape pressing into her palm like a reminder of the truth she carried.

  The stairwell plunged into the earth, winding down into the deeper shadows beneath the palace. Each step creaked beneath their weight, ancient wood groaning as if protesting their intrusion.

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  At the bottom, a heavy wooden door loomed before them, iron-banded and thick with the scent of old magic. Faint whispers bled through the cracks, the rhythmic cadence of a ritual already in progress.

  Elladora pressed her ear to the door, then glanced back at Ellie. “She’s in there. And she’s not alone—listen.”

  Ellie strained to hear, picking out the soft, fervent chanting, a murmur that made her skin prickle with unease. She could sense the energy beneath the words, a subtle vibration that hummed in the air like a plucked string.

  Elladora’s hand tightened around the hilt of the knife she carried, but Ellie shook her head. “We go in, confront her, and show them what she really is. We don’t... we don’t need to hurt anyone, not unless we have to.”

  Elladora’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. “All right. Your way, then. But be ready.”

  Together, they shoved the door open. It swung wide, revealing a hidden chamber far larger than the one Ellie had found before, its vaulted ceiling lined with shadowed alcoves.

  At the center, Eloise knelt before an elaborate altar, surrounded by flickering candles and strange symbols that glowed faintly on the floor—sigils that seemed to writhe in the firelight. A group of cloaked figures stood nearby, their faces hidden, their voices mingling with Eloise’s in the low chant.

  Ellie stepped forward, her voice ringing out across the chamber. “Eloise! Stop this.”

  The chanting faltered. Eloise turned, rising slowly, her white robes trailing over the stone like spilled light. For a moment, she seemed to gather herself, smoothing her features into a mask of calm. But her eyes glinted with a dark light, sharp and calculating as they swept over Ellie and Elladora.

  “You should not be here, Ellie,” she said, her voice as soft as a sigh. “You’ve stumbled into matters you do not understand. Go back to your place, before you ruin everything.”

  “We understand enough, saintess.” Elladora spat the word like a curse. “You’re using dark magic. You’ve been using it to keep these people sick—to keep yourself powerful.”

  A murmur rose from the cloaked figures, a ripple of unease. Eloise’s lips curved into a smile, though her eyes remained cold. “They would never believe such lies. Look at you—frightened, confused. What do you think will happen when I call the guards?”

  Ellie took a step closer, lifting the pendant she’d hidden beneath her cloak. Its dull glow cast an eerie light over her face, revealing the exhaustion in her eyes, the determination that lingered beneath it. “I found your ritual, Eloise. This pendant is part of it, isn’t it? I know what you’ve been doing—how you siphon their energy, how you twist it into those... miracles.”

  Eloise’s smile faltered, her gaze darting to the pendant, then back to Ellie’s face. Something shifted in her expression, a flicker of anger that she quickly suppressed. “You know nothing, but you’ll pay for your insolence all the same.”

  Before Ellie could react, Eloise reached for one of the artifacts on the altar, a crystal vial that shimmered with a deep, crimson glow.

  But Ellie lunged forward, her hand closing around a different relic—a brass sphere inscribed with runes. She didn’t know what it would do, but she pressed down on the markings, desperation guiding her movements.

  The artifact activated with a pulse of energy, and the chamber shuddered. Ellie staggered back as a crackling surge of magic leapt from the sphere, striking the altar and rebounding through the air. The candles flared and guttered, shadows leaping wildly against the walls as the gathered energy twisted out of control.

  And then, with a blinding flash, the gathered magic exploded outward, a shockwave that sent Ellie sprawling. She hit the stone floor hard, the air driven from her lungs.

  When the dust began to settle, she looked up, blinking through the haze, and saw Eloise standing in the center of the chamber—her robes scorched, her hair wild, and her eyes burning with an unholy light.

  The last of the shadows peeled away, revealing the truth of her form—gaunt and angular, her hands stained with dark runes that pulsed against her skin. The ethereal glow of her miracles was gone, replaced by a raw, hungry power that seeped from her like poison.