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I nod because I do know. I had figured it out back when he revealed the truth to me, when I walked out on him. “Yeah, I figured as much. You’re the Dark Elder that leads the final war against the Society Elders.”
He stops and turns to me, as if he didn’t expect me to say that. “Amelia…” I can tell that he’s trying to pick his next words carefully, and my nerves resurface. “I’mnot the Elder that leads the war.” He leads me the final few steps until we reach a door at the end of the hall.
I look up at him in confusion. “What do you mean, it’s not you? Everything that’s happened is literally just like the prophecy.”
He stares at me for a long moment before pushing the door open. “You’ll find your answers in there. And before you ask: no, the Society Elders don’t know. They certainly lie to their citizensoften, but this is a secret of ours.” He motions for me to enter, and when I see him swallow nervously, I falter. He notices and schools his features. “Go on, love.”
I hold his gaze for another moment before stepping into the room. I’m left perplexed as I take in my surroundings; the room is completely empty, save for a giant mural on the far wall.
I hear Arman stop behind me, his chest barely grazing my shoulder. “One of our seers drew this. It’s meant to be the final battle.”
I take it in. The background of the mural is a mixture of pastel colors, no terrain in sight. The sole focus is on the two beings in the middle. On the right there is a clear depiction of Jedaya, sword raised, angry righteousness written all over his face.
On the left, though, is not Arman. It’s an oddly familiar woman, her own sword raised in return.
Why is she so familiar?
I’m confused that a woman is pictured, at all. The prophecy talks of a man.
But Arman said the Dark Elders forged documents prior to their capture.
I take a couple steps closer, eyes squinted as I analyze her features. She’s got long, dark hair and olive skin, her bulbous nose scrunched in disdain. She’s covered in wounds, but it’s almost beautiful in complement with the battle-hungry gaze in her hazel eyes that lean more gold than green—
My stomach drops as I recognize those eyes.
The woman is me.
To Be Continued…
