Alaric Valen D'Aragon bent over an old, dust-covered map. His fingers slowly followed the faded lines drawn across it. Each line told a story of past trials… victories… and secrets buried so deeply that almost no one remembered them anymore.
"You're sure the council never spoke about this?" Lord Cassian asked quietly. His voice was calm, but sharp with suspicion. He had lived long enough to know that silence often hides the truth.
Alaric shook his head.
"Not a word. Every official record about the trial has been cleaned. Edited. Made safe. The real truth survived only in the oldest archives… hidden where no one bothers to look."
Cassian narrowed his eyes.
"Hidden for what reason?"
Alaric rested his hand on a fragile scroll lying on the table. Strange symbols were inked along its edges.
"Control," he said softly. "Power. The elders wanted a way to shape the trial without anyone interfering. But something went wrong."
Cassian frowned.
"Wrong… how?"
