For a moment, no one spoke.
The wind outside moaned softly against the windowpanes. Somewhere in the manor's halls, a clock chimed — slow, deliberate, as if measuring the seconds between one breath and the next.
Zelene's eyes flicked to Cassian again. His words replayed in her head.
The Aether responded to you.
Her brows furrowed. "Lord Cassian…"
Her tone shifted, low and sharp. "How do you know about my gift?"
Cassian froze. Even Ray and Kael glanced up, sensing the sudden shift in her voice.
Zelene's gaze didn't waver. "I didn't tell you. I didn't tell anyone except—"
Her eyes flicked toward Kael, then Ray. "—them."
Cassian's expression didn't change, but his silence was enough of an answer. Zelene's hands curled weakly around the bedsheets. "Who told you?"
Kael's voice was quiet, guilt threading through it. "I did."
She looked at him — hurt flashing across her face. "Kael—"
"I had to," he said, his tone low, pleading. "You were dying, Zelene. He needed to understand what you were doing, what might happen if you—"
She looked away, jaw tight. "It's not something to understand," she said bitterly. "It's something to fear."
Cassian stepped forward then, tone level but earnest. "Lady Zelene. I swear to you — your secret is safe with me. I will not speak of your gift to anyone."
She looked at him, wary. "And why should I believe that? Lord Rosanwald"
"Because I know what it is to be hunted for what you are," he said simply.
For a moment, something unguarded flickered across his face — not pity, not curiosity, but understanding.
Zelene's breath caught.
"You... Do you know what this is?"
Cassian's eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Not in your form. But I've studied its echoes in history — records of a light that judges sin, that weighs the living and the dead. The Aether's oldest song calls it the Requiem of Truth. It appears when the balance is broken — not by gods, but by what the gods create."
Zelene's heartbeat faltered. "Then it isn't mine," she whispered. "It just… chose me."
Cassian inclined his head. "And that is precisely what makes it terrifying."
Zelene's gaze fell to her trembling hands, faint gold still tracing beneath the skin. "It doesn't feel like a gift."
Cassian's tone softened, but his words carried a weight she couldn't ignore.
"It never is. Powers born of judgment were never made to comfort — only to correct."
She went still, staring at the light pulsing faintly between her fingers.
For a moment, she thought she heard it — that same low hum, distant, hollow, like a bell tolling through her bones.
Outside, thunder rolled faintly again — yet no storm touched the sky.
Kael sat beside her in silence, watching her wrestle with truths she never wanted to face. His hand brushed hers, grounding her. "Whatever it is," he murmured, "you're still you."
Her breath hitched. "Am I?"
Cassian turned toward the door, his cloak shifting behind him. "Rest, Lady Zelene. The world hasn't caught up to what you've done. And until it does… you must gather your strength."
He paused, looking back at her once more.
"And remember this — even judgment must answer to something."