Chapter 6 Keeper of truth

Elara's gaze remained fixed on Lyra, her mind racing. A 4th-year Illusionist, nineteen years old. Young, yet already possessing a chilling intuition and a disturbing knowledge of arcane secrets. The Vance family ritual Lyra had just identified was known only to the highest practitioners of Life Magic, and certainly not something taught in the academy's general curriculum, much less to an Illusionist student.

"My family, Professor, also has a history," Lyra had said. The words echoed in Elara's mind, heavy with unspoken meaning. Was Lyra's family part of the network of ancient houses that had either participated in, or been affected by, the conspiracy against the Vances? The implications were staggering, and dangerous.

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken questions. Elara forced herself to break it, her voice taut. "What is your family, Lyra? And how do you know of such esoteric rituals?"

Lyra's gaze did not waver, her amethyst eyes holding a wisdom that belied her nineteen years. "My family are the Moonshadows, Professor Thorne. We are… keepers of certain truths. Observers, often. And our history is deeply interwoven with Eldoria's, perhaps more intimately than most realize." She paused, a faint, melancholic smile touching her lips. "As for how I know… let's just say some knowledge is not learned in classrooms, but inherited through blood and whispers."

The Moonshadows. Elara searched her memory. The name wasn't on her conspirator list, nor did it immediately ring a bell from her broader research into the noble houses. They were known, she vaguely recalled, as a reclusive, somewhat eccentric family, living in a secluded estate on the outskirts of Eldoria, rumored to possess a profound connection to moon cycles and elusive magical arts. Illusion, certainly. But to know the Vance family's most sacred ritual? That suggested a connection far deeper than mere rumor.

"Inherited knowledge can be a heavy burden," Elara said, her voice softer than she intended, a shared understanding flickering between them.

"Indeed," Lyra replied, her gaze softening. "As can a desire for justice, I imagine." Her eyes seemed to bore into Elara, seeing past the coarse tunic, past the gruff demeanor of Elias Thorne, to the raw, aching core of Elara Vance.

A cold shiver ran down Elara's spine, not of fear, but of profound exposure. She was a master of disguise, physical and magical, yet Lyra seemed to peer through every layer. It was terrifying, and inexplicably, exhilarating.

"You speak in riddles, Lyra," Elara finally managed, trying to regain control. "What 'justice' do you refer to?"

Lyra stepped closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "The kind that fuels one's every breath. The kind that reshapes identities. The kind that brings one to the very heart of the wolf's den, disguised as one of its own." Her gaze was unwavering, direct, and unnervingly empathetic. "You seek answers, Professor. I know what that feels like. My family, too, carries a burden of unspoken wrongs."

The unspoken words hung in the air: I know who you are, Elara Vance. I know why you are here.