While the uprising in the Commoner District was being meticulously prepared, deep within the Noble District—the Well of Stars, the Pale Tower—
This was the very heart of Sendarra.
The air was thick with almost viscous arcane energy; every breath felt like swallowing a mana crystal, cold yet intoxicating.
Luxurious enchanted tapestries hung on the walls, imbued with a deep violet glow.
Giant crystal chandeliers descended from the ceiling, casting a soft yet chilling light that draped the space in an opulent and detached aura.
However, amidst this meticulously crafted atmosphere of extravagance, Council Leader Gilvaradin Starweaver seemed somewhat out of place.
Dressed in an intricately patterned purple robe, he paced anxiously outside the meditation chamber, each step a struggle to control his emotions.
With each stride, the hem of his long cloak gently dragged across the marble floor.
Inside the meditation chamber, three of the most brilliant experts in mind magic were treating his daughter, or rather, performing the most thorough magical intervention.
Half a month ago, Sylvani lost contact.
She had been personally assigned by him, along with her partner, to go to Ital'ruk to investigate the barbaric Ice Trolls and their so-called "Dragon God."
Ital'ruk was merely a newly emerging, weak force; the mission was ordinary, and the risk was minimal.
She had never made a mistake—she was the most excellent investigator and his proudest daughter, even capable of inheriting his position one day.
However, the result was that only half of her partner was teleported back.
Literally half.
Half a body, one hand, one foot, and half a head and torso; blood splattered across the entire teleportation hall, causing a considerable commotion.
But Gilvaradin cared nothing for this; he was more concerned about what had happened to his daughter.
He mobilized Sendarra's intelligence system, hoping to infiltrate Ital'ruk again for information, but only received fragmented, unsystematic intelligence.
This was because the Ice Trolls had reinforced their security system, checking for transformation magic on anyone entering or exiting core areas.
Thirteen days later—she returned.
Her appearance was unchanged, her demeanor serene, and she exuded an unprecedented divine majesty.
She stood in the fountain plaza of the Commoner District, clad in a faded white linen gown, calling herself Liriel, and solemnly declared:
"The Emberglow Dragon will bring salvation; only faith can end the spell addiction."
She did not return to the Noble District, nor did she contact him, her father, as if she had completely transformed into another person.
Instead, she chose to mingle with those lowly commoners and fully integrated among them.
This was unacceptable to him.
He immediately deployed his direct guard, forcibly brought her back to the Well of Stars, and suppressed all news.
Then, he secretly summoned these three experts to try and treat his daughter.
"We have never encountered this method of mental brainwashing; we can only try."
That was their answer.
What could Gilvaradin do? He could only trust them and try.
Just as he was still anxious about his daughter's fate, the situation inside the meditation chamber changed.
The arcane glow that had been flickering gradually subsided, finally echoing a short incantation…
Gilvaradin abruptly stopped, his gaze fixed on the door curtain like a torch.
He keenly sensed this change, and a layer of cold sweat beaded on his forehead, yet he held his breath, daring not to make a sound.
A moment later, the door curtain was gently pulled aside by an elderly female mage.
She bowed and whispered, "Mission accomplished."
Gilvaradin let out a sigh of relief and stepped inside.
The meditation chamber was warm as spring, and the floating illumination crystals were softer than outside the tower, creating an atmosphere of peace and serenity.
She sat quietly in the center of the white stone circular platform, eyes closed, breathing evenly.
No longer exuding that unfamiliar aura and glow.
It was a profoundly pure tranquility.
As if she had returned to her childhood self, meditating and practicing within the tower.
"Sylvani…" He softly called her name, as if afraid to disturb something.
She slowly opened her eyes.
Those were familiar, gentle eyes.
No longer the unsettlingly serene divine presence.
"Father, I—"
She spoke softly, but before she finished, her brows instantly furrowed.
She raised a hand, gently pressed it to her forehead, and let out a pained, soft "hiss."
Gilvaradin quickly stepped forward, sat before her, and reached out to grasp her other hand.
Feeling his daughter's familiar body temperature, he was transported back many years.
It was a morning, his wife had just passed away, and the little girl was sobbing in his arms, yet in her dazed state, she gently clasped his fingertips.
"Are you alright, my little pumpkin?" he asked in a low voice, full of concern.
She smiled faintly, her voice soft: "I'm sorry, Father, for making you worry about me."
"I'm back."
He looked at her contentedly, unconsciously stroking the top of her head: "It's good that you're back—it's good, Sylvani."
His eyes were even a little moist.
This should have been a heartwarming scene of a loving father and devoted daughter, until—until she gently hugged him.
Her movements were incredibly fluid, completely like a natural outpouring of emotion, but Gilvaradin felt a chill crawl up his spine.
She leaned on his shoulder, her forelocks brushing his neck and shoulder, her voice still so docile: "Thank you, Father."
"I will remember you."
Before her words faded, a faint golden-red spark flashed in her palm.
A sharp divine flame blade silently condensed—without physical form, yet imbued with the judgment of a god.
She suddenly raised her hand and plunged it directly into his ribs!
"Ngh!"
Gilvaradin let out a short cry of pain; the intense agony made his eyes widen instantly, but he had no time to react.
The flames did not burn a wound, but instantly detonated within his body, injecting divine power, raging wildly!
"Why—?"
He looked at his daughter, who was once again a stranger, his voice hoarse and weak, almost drowned by the pain.
He trembled as he reached out a hand, wanting to touch her face again, as if that could bring back the gentle little girl—his daughter, Sylvani.
Liriel simply watched him quietly; in her eyes, there was no hatred, not even anger, only a transcendent calm.
"For him, and for me," her voice was soft as wind, clearly reaching his ears, "and even more so for the Queldorei."
"You have led Sendarra for too long, made too many wrong decisions; it's time for you to rest—"
She slowly rose, the divine flame blade long since dissipated.
Gilvaradin's body twitched slightly, blood trickling from the corner of his lips, staining his robe.
"You will understand," Liriel whispered, "on the day of judgment."
Just then, alarms blared.
"Intruder! Someone is attacking the Council Leader! Quick—seal off the Well of Stars!"
Barriers rapidly rose, and dozens of guards and mages swarmed in.
"Don't move!" A high-ranking Archmage's staff pointed directly at Liriel, the gem at its tip emitting a dangerous glow, "Surrender, or be killed on sight!"
Liriel showed no resistance.
She calmly accepted arrest once more.
Two rangers ferociously pounced, slamming her to the ground, roughly twisting her arms behind her back, and the heavy anti-magic shackles clicked securely into place.
The moment the shackles closed, the divine glow that had surrounded Liriel seemed to instantly extinguish.
A few strands of her white hair fell limply, and her body trembled slightly under the brutal suppression.
But she remained compliant, without a hint of struggle.
"Take her away!" someone ordered, "Send her to the dungeon, awaiting the Council's judgment!"
Liriel was roughly dragged up and escorted through corridors, rotundas, and staircases, silent the entire way.
Only one last step remained in the plan, but for this step, she needed Sindaiseth's help.
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