**The Purification Pool: A Veil Lifted** The door creaked open, revealing a chamber bathed in cerulean luminescence. At its center y a circur pool, its waters shimmering like liquid sapphire under the glow of enchanted runes etched into the walls. Wisps of steam curled upward, carrying the scent of crushed mint and elderflower—a fragrance that prickled at Bel’s skin, coaxing her tense muscles to unwind. As she stepped inside, the weight of fatigue dissolved; color returned to her pallid cheeks, as if the very air here conspired to mend her.

  Illiya was already perched on the pool’s edge, uncing her boots with practiced ease. “Well? Strip already,” she teased, tossing a shoe aside. “Or do you need a formal invitation?”

  Bel said nothing, shedding her grime-stained clothes with stiff movements. The moment her toes breached the water’s surface, warmth surged through her—not the scalding bite of a forge, but the embrace of sunlight after a winter storm. It climbed her legs, her spine, until it cradled her skull like a lover’s hands. Tendrils of inky smoke began to rise from her shoulders, the remnants of Kiki’s venom purged by the pool’s alchemy. She exhaled, eyelids fluttering shut.

  “Divine, isn’t it?” Illiya sighed, sinking deeper until the water pped at her colrbones. “I sneak in here whenever the council isn’t looking. Almost makes you forget the world’s rotting outside.” When Bel remained silent, she added, “Last time we did this was… what, that mission in Feron? Gods, how long has it been?” A mischievous grin. “Remember when Guann walked in on us *and* Lias mid-purification? His face—”

  Bel’s lips twitched. “That idiot didn’t even *try* to lie.”

  “Right? Just stared us dead in the eye and said, *‘I’d like to join.’* Like he was asking for tea!” Illiya’s ughter echoed off the tiles, and for a heartbeat, the years of rivalry between them evaporated. They drifted closer, trading jabs about old missions, fallen comrades, the absurdity of the Apostle Council’s bureaucracy.

  But as the steam thickened, so did the weight in Bel’s chest. “Illiya,” she murmured, tracing the water’s surface with a fingertip. “When does it end? How many more friends do we bury before you ask if it’s worth it?”

  The ughter died. Illiya’s gaze slid away, fixating on a mosaic of intertwined serpents coiled along the far wall.

  “Even if Guann’s life is the price?” Bel pressed.

  A pause. Then Illiya turned, her amber eyes reflecting the pool’s glow like smoldering embers. “Do you recall what the elders of *Skyridge* taught us about the Green King’s Tree?”

  Bel frowned. “That after quelling the abyssal hordes, Green expended his strength and transformed into the World Tree—sharing his power through its fruit to the Apostles and their chosen.”

  Illiya’s fingers clenched. “A pretty lie. Green didn’t *quell* the abyss. He *commanded* it.”

  #### **The Fractured Truth** The words hung between them, poison seeping into clear water.

  “What?” Bel’s pulse spiked.

  “Green was never a savior. He was the camity.” Illiya’s voice dropped to a whisper, though no ears but theirs could hear. “The Sage Saya and his coven sealed him within the tree, splintering his essence into those cursed fruits. Every ‘chosen’ wielder is just a vessel—a pawn to reassemble his power.”

  Bel recoiled. “That’s impossible. The elders would’ve—”

  “*Known?*” Illiya’s ugh was bitter. “Green died millennia ago. The Council’s leadership has changed hands a hundred times over. Do you truly think *any* of them care about truth when they feast on the tree’s power?”

  The logic was a knife twisting in Bel’s ribs. She’d seen the corruption firsthand—Apostles hoarding fruits to elevate their bloodlines, “chosen” champions razing vilges for sport. And who cleaned up the mess? *Their* faction. Always.

  Illiya leaned in, her breath hot against Bel’s ear. “We’ve spent years chasing fragments of a lie. My parents died retrieving a fruit in the Wastes. Your brother was sughtered in Yrin Pass for one. And for *what?* To sustain a system that breeds monsters?” Her nails bit into Bel’s wrist. “I’m ending this. Permanently.”

  #### **The Dark Revetion** Bel’s throat tightened. “You’ve… found a way?”

  A nod.

  “Does Guann know?”

  Illiya’s expression fractured. “He was the first I told. But you know him—always searching for a third path where none exists.” Her voice softened. “He doesn’t care about empires or prophecies. Only the people he loves. If Lias hadn’t forced him into the Council’s service…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

  Bel exhaled. “How did you learn all this?”

  Illiya raised her palm. A flicker of obsidian light danced above it—not the absence of illumination, but a *hunger* that devoured the very air.

  “Shadow is the womb of creation,” she murmured. “Even light is born from it.”

  The room *warped*.

  Stone, water, and stained-gss windows dissolved into void. Infinite darkness swallowed them, a realm where gravity and time lost meaning. Bel gasped, but no sound escaped; her body felt both weightless and anchored, as if she floated in the heart of a dying star.

  Illiya’s voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere: *“Walk forward. See the truth for yourself.”*

  A path materialized beneath Bel’s feet—a bridge of shimmering bck gss stretching into the abyss.

  *“If you choose Guann’s side after this, so be it. You’ll remain here until the reckoning is over. But when the dust settles…”* A pause, almost tender. *“We’ll drink together like old times.”*

  Then—silence.

  Alone in the dark, Bel clenched her fists and stepped onto the gss. It trembled like a living thing, each footfall sending ripples through the nothingness. Ahead, shapes began to coalesce: towering figures locked in battle, a tree with roots dipped in blood, a crown of thorns descending upon the world—

  And then she *saw* it.

  The *real* history.