The days after their retreat were heavy with grief. Aurora's name was spoken in hushed tones, her sacrifice weighing on every Guardian who had followed Christopher and Ariel into the Hollow. Yet beneath the sorrow, a new fire burned — suspicion.
Christopher could not forget the words whispered by the elder Guardian before their first council meeting: Not all that you believe of Malric is true.
Determined, Christopher sought out the archives of Caelum — vast halls of stone and light where the histories of the Guardians were etched into crystal tablets. Ariel followed, her grief tempered by a need for answers.
They searched for Malric's trial, for the record of his banishment. What they found was… incomplete. The tablets spoke of betrayal, of Malric breaking the first law, but the details were vague, the testimony fragmented.
"Why is it so thin?" Ariel whispered, running her fingers over the glowing script. "Every other trial is recorded in detail. Witnesses, evidence, verdicts. But this… this is nothing but shadows."
Christopher's jaw tightened. "Because they don't want us to know. The council has hidden the truth."
That night, the elder Guardian who had whispered to Christopher sought them out again. His eyes were weary, his tattoos faded, but his voice carried weight.
"Malric was not banished for evil," he said softly. "He was banished for compassion. He saved humans when the law forbade it. He defied the council, not to gain power, but to protect lives. And for that, they cast him into the Hollow."
Ariel's breath caught. "You mean… he is not the monster they say he is?"
The elder nodded. "The council feared him. Feared that his defiance would spread. So, they painted him as darkness, and the world believed."
Christopher's fists clenched. "And now he has Isabella. If what you say is true, then perhaps he does not mean to harm her. But if the council has lied to us once, how many other lies have they told?"
The revelation shook them both. Ariel's heart warred with itself — the image of Malric as a villain, the thief of her daughter, against the possibility that he was her protector.
"I don't know what to believe," she whispered. "But I cannot trust the council anymore."
Christopher placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice steady. "Then we trust ourselves. We will uncover the truth, piece by piece. And when we are ready, we will return to the Hollow — not just to save Isabella, but to expose the lies that have bound us all."
The veil of Caelum shimmered above them, its light fragile against the encroaching dark. Ariel and Christopher stood together, their grief tempered by resolve.
They had lost their daughter once. They had lost Aurora to the Hollow's shadows. But now, armed with doubt and the beginnings of truth, they carried a new vow: they would not only fight for Isabella, but for the redemption of all Guardians.
The council's silence had become unbearable. Days turned into weeks, and still no aid was offered, no plan devised. Ariel and Christopher knew now that the council's words were hollow, their truths fractured. If Isabella was to be saved, it would not be by decree of Caelum's rulers, but by the will of those willing to defy them.
In the quiet corners of Caelum — beneath the radiant towers, in the shadowed halls of the archives, and in the gardens where the veil shimmered faintly — Ariel and Christopher began to gather allies.
They spoke to Guardians who had lost faith in the council, those who had seen too many laws twisted into chains. Some were young, their tattoos still bright, eager to fight for something greater. Others were old, weary of silence, ready to risk everything for truth.
"We cannot wait for permission," Christopher told them. "The Hollow has our daughter. The council hides the truth of Malric's banishment. If we do nothing, the prophecy will be lost to darkness."
Ariel's voice carried the weight of grief and resolve. "You saw what happened in the Hollow. You felt its cold. But you also saw the council's lies. Malric was not banished for evil — he was banished for compassion. And now he has Isabella. If he means to protect her, then perhaps he is not our enemy. But if he means to use her, then we must be ready."
The Guardians listened, their eyes troubled. Doubt had already taken root in their hearts, and Ariel's words gave it voice.
Slowly, a small band formed — Guardians who would follow Christopher and Ariel, not the council. They trained in secret, their blades sharpened, their wings strengthened. They studied the Hollow's history, searching for cracks in its defenses, for paths unseen.
Among them was Seraphiel, a warrior of great renown, whose faith in the council had long been shaken. "I will fight with you," he said. "Not for the council, but for the child. For the light she carries.
One night, beneath the veil's shimmering glow, Ariel and Christopher stood before their allies.
"We are few," Christopher said, "but we are enough. The council will not aid us, but we will not wait. Isabella is our daughter, and she is the key to the prophecy. We will not abandon her to the Hollow."
Ariel's eyes burned with determination. "We will strike again. And this time, we will not retreat."
The Guardians raised their blades, their tattoos glowing faintly in the night. A vow was made — not to the council, but to each other, to the light that Isabella carried, and to the truth that had been hidden for centuries.
But that night while the guardians slept, the council had a secret meeting. And Christopher and Ariel woke to screaming and fighting. They jumped up, threw on their clothes and were just about to run down the stairs when they heard a loud crash and what sounded like footsteps running up their staircase towards them. They grabbed their weapons and waited ready for whoever would come through the door.
But neither one of them could have anticipated what happened next. Seraphiel, came running into their bedroom, he was covered in blood. Christopher and Ariel could not tell if it was his, there was so much blood. But they soon found out. Seraphiel collapsed on the floor. They ran to his side, he was trying to tell them something, but he was so weak it was hardly a whisper.
"Run he whispered." Blood running out of his mouth now. "They are coming for you" before he could say anything else, his light was gone, and he was no more.