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“But it’s not enough,” I say, my voice rising.

“The suffering will never end unless someone defeats the source behind those mountains. Izadeon doesn’t need a shield at the border.

They need a sword. A force strong enough to break through the heart of the problem. And you claim to possess that power.”

I force myself to ignore the tremor of fear I feel at challenging the most powerful woman on the continent.

“Even with the power of the fragment, I am not invincible, Arien. I cannot single-handedly defeat tens of thousands of Daevas and who knows how many sorcerous ones among them,” Lirael replies, her voice still calm and measured but with a hint of steel beneath the surface.

“Even Jiva understood the limitations. She wisely decided not to venture behind the mountains. Her family was refugees from Izadeon, but she didn’t allow sentiment or personal ties to cloud her judgment.

She focused on the long game, on finding the remaining fragments of the Star.

She believed, and I believe, that only with the combined power of all the elements can we hope to achieve a lasting victory and finally eradicate the Daeva’s threat. ”

“But Jiva failed,” I say sharply. “She died without finding the fragments. And for three hundred years, Izadeon has suffered and bled while Martysh searched and searched, while the power of that one fragment lay dormant and unused! And now that you can wield it again, you’re choosing the same path?

Another three hundred years of pointless sacrifice while chasing a tale? ”

I stop, breathless, my chest heaving, the outburst leaving me shaken. I didn’t know that I cared this much about this. But, I feel deeply disappointed that my faith in Martysh and my belief in their commitment to helping the weak were misplaced.

Have Darian and Faelas been right all along? Am I sacrificing my life for a quest that may never end, just as Zanyar said? Instead of actually helping people in need?

Even though I had questioned my trust in Martysh before, it’s now, for the first time, that I truly and seriously doubt if joining their order is the right path.

Martyshbod Lirael regards me seriously, her expression a blend of faint displeasure but also understanding.

“The entire continent suffers from the scourge of Daevas and the monsters they breed, not just Izadeon. Izadeon bears the brunt of it, yes, but it hasn’t always been this dire.

The last decade has seen an unusual surge in danger. ”

“So, you’ve had access to this life-bending power for the past decade, precisely when Izadeon’s situation has become increasingly dire?” I challenge, my voice sharp with accusation.

Lirael doesn’t flinch. She simply smiles, a small, knowing curve of her lips that makes me uneasy. “It seems that the Izadeonians have truly captured your heart.”

Her dismissive tone ignites a spark of anger in me. “Their suffering is impossible to ignore.”

“Oh, I’m sure their story is quite compelling,” she replies with a hint of sarcasm. “But I suspect they’ve been rather selective in what they’ve shared with you. A curated tale, designed to elicit sympathy.”

I frown. “What are you implying? ”

“Simply that there are many aspects of their true intentions that you may have failed to uncover.”

“What intentions?”

Lirael takes a sharp breath in. She’s been weighing every word so far, but now, there’s a decisiveness in her eyes. “They neglected to mention, I presume, that they never had any intention of joining Martysh.”

“They’re reconsidering… because they were worried Martysh would not use the power of the Star to help them. And after what you’ve told me, I… I’m not so sure Martysh is the right path either.” My words are a half-truth spoken more to provoke a reaction than out of genuine conviction.

But Lirael doesn’t rise to the bait. “Have you really? Good. Loyalty is a commendable trait. But true loyalty requires more than a few shared meals and a common enemy. It requires trust. And trust is a fragile thing, Arien. Easily broken. Wouldn’t it be wise to first ensure they are worthy of such devotion before abandoning your dreams for theirs? ”

“They are my friends,” I force the words through gritted teeth.

“Are they? What if I told you that, from the very beginning, your friends never intended to join Martysh?”

My heart sinks, but I fight against the doubt creeping in. “I… I don’t believe you. They’ve been fighting harder than anyone to win.”

“To stay ,” Lirael corrects with a smooth voice. “To remain in the game long enough to complete the mission they came here to accomplish. And to ensure you remained as well. Because, Arien, you are, undoubtedly, a valuable asset. A remarkably useful tool in their arsenal.”

No. It can’t be true. My heart plummets, a sickening drop into a cold, empty void.

My palms grow clammy and numb. Darian, Bahador, Faelas…

they are my friends. The first friends I’d ever had.

The only people who’d ever accepted me in their company.

This… this is a lie. It has to be. But the doubt, that insidious whisper, is growing louder, harder to ignore.

“I don’t believe you,” I whisper as a plea more than a statement, my hands trembling.

“Then tell me, Arien. Why would the sole heir of Izadeon, the last remaining Dartheon, a young man with a duty to his people and his lineage, abandon it all to join Martysh? An order he has publicly despised for years?”

“Bahador isn’t High Lord Dartheon’s son.” The words are a desperate attempt to steer the conversation away from the dangerous precipice it’s teetering on.

“No, he’s not,” Lirael agrees. “His father is the High Lord’s chief advisor. And Faelas is indeed the son of the late Chief Commander of Izadeon.”

Deliberately and methodically, she’s laying out the pieces of a puzzle, forcing me to face a reality I desperately don’t want to see.