The Living Witness

The woman's home smelled of dust and parchment. The air was still, stale from disuse. Faint traces of smoke lingered in the corners, like someone had tried to mask the scent of years gone by. The shutters had been closed for so long that the sunlight bled in only around the edges, casting the room in amber shadows.

Seraphina stepped in first, alert but unthreatening. Caelan followed, eyes scanning instinctively, window hinges, broken floorboards, a fireplace long gone cold. His hand hovered near his side, the way it always did when he didn't trust the quiet.

The floor creaked behind them as the door shut. A heavy sound, more final than it should've been. No one spoke. Caelan entered behind Seraphina, saying nothing as he scanned the room once more. There were no formalities. No bow. No questions.

The woman set a wooden box on a battered table and opened it with steady, deliberate hands. Her fingers, though lined with age, moved with the practiced rhythm of someone used to being unnoticed. She didn't speak at first. She simply watched them both, testing their presence, weighing their intent.

"Name?" Seraphina asked.

"I was once called Maren. Servant class, House Vessant. I cleaned floors, served wine, and kept my eyes down. Until the night they killed my mistress."

Seraphina didn't flinch. "Who was she?"

"Lady Calis Vessant. Alaric's mother."

Caelan stilled, his jaw tightening. He hadn't known her, but he'd heard of her, quiet, politically shrewd, but absent from the court before Alaric's rise.

Maren retrieved a faded letter from the box, her movements calm but purposeful. Her shoulders squared like someone who had been holding back too long, and once the words started, she wasn't going to stop. "They said she fell ill. But I was there. I saw what happened. She wanted out. She wanted the House to step away from court politics. Said the blood had already cost them too much."

"And someone silenced her," Seraphina said.

Maren nodded. "It wasn't Alaric. He was still young then. Still pliable. It came from outside, an order, sealed and delivered, meant for someone else but opened by accident. I read enough before it vanished. The instructions were clear: she was to die quietly."

"Do you know who sent it?" Caelan asked.

"No name. No crest. Just a symbol I've never seen again, a serpent wrapped around a broken crown."

Seraphina exchanged a glance with Caelan. "You think someone outside the Vessant line orchestrated it."

"I don't think," Maren said. "I know. House Vessant thought they held power. But there's someone else, older, or maybe hidden within the court. They gave the order, and House Vessant obeyed."

"A higher command," Seraphina whispered. "Possibly royal."

"Could be old blood. Could be a new lineage trying to reclaim something. I don't know. But Calis knew. And they ended her before she could speak."

Maren placed another page on the table, a sketch, drawn from memory. The same serpent and crown.

Caelan examined it. "This changes the pattern. It's not just Vessant."

"No," Seraphina agreed. "It's bigger."

Maren sat across from them, shoulders firming. "I'll testify. I'll say everything I know. Even if I don't have names, I have timelines. Conversations. Orders I carried. I remember."

"You don't have to do this," Seraphina said gently.

"But I do. Because you lived. And because she didn't."

They stayed a while longer. Maren's voice grew steadier as she spoke. She described hushed conversations behind closed doors, where nobles argued about bloodlines and succession under candlelight. There were nights when she was sent to deliver trays to rooms where no one should have been, rooms that had been sealed days before. Noble guests came at odd hours, always cloaked, their rings turned inward to hide their crests. Deliveries bypassed records, often carried by the same two silent men who never gave names.

"They spoke as if House Vessant was only a chess piece," Maren said. "Something to be sacrificed when needed."

She opened a drawer beneath the box and handed over a folded list. Servants, guards, minor clerks, people who had worked in the household the week Calis died. Each name had a red mark beside it.

"Not all of them died," she said. "But none of them stayed. Some left the capital. Some just... vanished."

Seraphina scanned the list. One of the names was vaguely familiar, a courier from her early days in the palace.

"This is good," Caelan said, tapping the paper. "It gives us a place to start."

"Do you think any of these people are still alive?" Caelan asked.

"One or two," Maren said. "But only if they've kept hidden. Like I did."

Maren reached into the box again and handed them a small, sealed pouch. Caelan opened it carefully. Inside were the remnants of a scorched crest ring—already described, yet still chilling to see in person. They didn't comment again. The damage told its own story, and they all understood what it meant: Calis hadn't gone quietly, and someone wanted this forgotten. Caelan accepted it and opened it carefully. Inside were the broken remnants of a crest ring. The metal was scorched and warped, the outer band cracked as if someone had torn it off fast and without care. Most of the design had melted, but a piece of a serpent still caught the light, clear enough to recognize.

"It was found near her bed," Maren said, her voice distant. "Hidden under the floorboard. Wrapped in cloth. I didn't know what it was until years later. It doesn't belong to House Vessant. I would know."

Caelan turned the metal over in his palm. "Not court-forged," he said. "It's older. Cruder. But the detail, whoever made this didn't want it recognized. They wanted it destroyed."

Seraphina leaned in. "But it survived. That means someone wanted it found."

Maren nodded. "She must've hidden it herself. Her last move."

They both looked at the ring again, understanding what it was now: a clue that Calis hadn't gone down quietly.

They left before dawn. The sky was still dark, the air cold. Maren rode in a carriage with a sealed escort. She had never left her home since the day Calis died. Her hands trembled despite the blankets around her. She didn't speak. She looked out the window the entire time.

Seraphina and Caelan rode ahead. Neither spoke much. The silence was shared, not strained. There was nothing more to plan. They were delivering truth into a machine that hadn't wanted it for years.

They returned to the capital by morning. The carriage entered through the southern gate under escort, moving slower than usual to avoid drawing attention. Maren sat tucked between layers of blankets, her eyes scanning the city she hadn't seen in over two decades.

As they crossed the stone bridge toward Emberkeep, she whispered, "It hasn't changed. Not really. Still looks like it's pretending not to rot."

Inside Emberkeep, Maren was taken through back halls and sealed corridors to a small room two levels below the public halls. It wasn't a prison. But it was secure. One window, no public access. Lyria met them at the door, her coat already dusted with parchment shavings and ink.

She gave Maren a warm nod, then turned immediately to Seraphina. " No one touches them without your seal. Not even me."

Seraphina nodded. "Include the Empress. She sees them first."

Lyria hesitated. "Then she needs to see them today."

Seraphina gave a curt nod. "We won't wait."

Caelan stood near the door, arms folded. "We're already being watched."

"Let them watch," Seraphina said. "It won't change what happens next."

Thalion arrived that evening. He had read the summary of evidence and requested an audience with the Empress.

The meeting was private. Only Seraphina, Thalion, and Eleanor.

Eleanor sat at her writing desk, her fingers steepled as she read each page. She didn't interrupt. Didn't ask questions. Her eyes lingered on the symbol, the serpent wrapped around the broken crown, and her lips pressed into a firmer line.

When she was done, she placed the documents down carefully, one by one, like something that could change everything. The room stayed silent for another beat.

"You bring the truth," she said.

Seraphina said nothing.

"You do not bring proof. Not yet. But I believe you."

Thalion remained still.

Eleanor turned to her son. "You support this?"

"I do."

"Then we begin the inquiry. Quietly. Without public noise. Until the foundation is solid."

Seraphina inclined her head. "Thank you."

"Do not thank me," Eleanor said. "You are not safe yet. None of us are."

Outside the chamber, Thalion waited beside Seraphina. His expression was unreadable.

"You know this will be war," he said.

"No. War is what they want," she replied. "I'm going to give them something worse. Accountability."

They walked the palace corridors in silence. Their steps echoed in the marble halls, louder than either of them liked. As they turned a corner, Seraphina saw Caelan waiting by the stairwell.

He didn't speak. Just nodded once.

She returned it.

They were moving forward. And the court would have to follow.

Later that night, Seraphina returned to Maren's room.

The old woman sat in the corner, staring at the fire.

"Thank you," Seraphina said.

"Don't thank me until it's done," Maren replied.

Seraphina hesitated. "What if they come after you?"

Maren smiled faintly. "Let them try. I have nothing left to lose. But I do have something to say. And I won't die quiet."

Seraphina placed a hand over hers. "You won't stand alone."

Maren's eyes shone. "Then we may have a chance."

She turned back to the fire.

Every word, every shadow, every warning—she remembered it all.

And she was ready to speak.