Gordon clenched his jaw, the sinews in his neck tight with tension. His eyes flicked between the women, then locked onto Liam, who stood silently behind Mystica. "This is a damn setup," he growled. "You're all in on this—parading me like some traitor—"
"You are a traitor," Lucy said, her tone cold and unwavering. "A traitor not only to the crown, but to your blood, your people, and to everything Omer tried to protect. So now, Gordon Rvack… you're going to tell us why."
Mystica crossed her arms, her gaze sharp as glass. "Let's start with how you came into contact with Sylvathar. What conditions came with the power he gave you? How do you speak to him? And Gordon—don't waste our time with lies. I promise, you won't like where that leads."
Gordon's expression tightened, a bitter blend of fear and defiance twisting across his face. "You think you understand fear," he sneered. "You think you're in control. But none of you have the faintest idea what Sylvathar is building—what's coming."
"Then why don't you enlighten us?" Lucy said, her voice like frost creeping over steel.
For a moment, Gordon was silent. Then he laughed—low and hollow, a sound closer to dread than amusement. "It's already too late. None of this changes anything. You're already exactly where Lord Sylvathar wants you. You just haven't figured it out yet."
Dove rolled her eyes and gave a short, derisive snort. "Gods, you zealots are all the same. 'The plan is already in motion,' 'You're playing right into his hands,' blah, blah. Spare us. Just start talking before I get bored and test a few scalpels on your ribs."
"Dove," Lucy warned, though the faint curl of her lips betrayed mild amusement.
But Gordon didn't look at her. His eyes fixed once more on Liam, gaze intense, like he saw something no one else could. "He's watching you, Liam Hunter. The Lord of Stone and Root. He knows all about who and what you are. And he will take your life."
Liam didn't flinch. His expression remained unreadable.
'So dramatic,' he thought. 'If Sylvathar really knew me— knew what I am—he'd have made his move long ago. He wouldn't rely on pawns fool. He'd strike openly, decisively. This bastard's just stalling.'
Gordon's smug smile widened at Liam's silence—until Mystica stepped forward.
Her voice dropped, low and razor-edged. "Let's be very clear, Gordon. We're not here to hear sermons. We're here to carve truth out of your skull—about Sylvathar, the hybrids he's crafted, and what he's planning for Sheila Granger."
"Why her?" Lucy added. "You always lived in Omer's shadow, but even he wouldn't have gone so far as to sell out the Crescent Princess."
Gordon's shoulders slumped. A fracture spread across his arrogance. His breathing grew shallow, uneven.
Then, barely above a whisper: "Because she's the key. Not just to Sylvathar's rise... but to the Fall."
Lucy's brows knit. "The Fall?"
Gordon nodded slowly, his voice turning brittle. "The Great Fall. It's not a war. It's not conquest. It's collapse. Of the realm. Of the balance. Sylvathar isn't trying to rule Amthar…"
He lifted his eyes to Mystica, voice empty.
"…he's trying to end it. And build something new. A world without weakness. A world without people like you."
Mystica's eyes narrowed, and with it, the air grew sharp with frost—a cold that seeped deep, settling into bone. "A world without people like us?" she echoed, her voice soft and laced with poison. "So Sylvathar isn't forging an army of Gaia demons to storm the Demon Realm and challenge its hierarchy?"
Gordon flinched. Just a blink—subtle, but telling. A moment of genuine confusion. Then, quickly, the mask returned. "That's… part of it," he said, grasping at the thread. "Once Amthar falls, the Demon Realm is next."
The three women exchanged quick, skeptical glances. None of them looked convinced. Liam, meanwhile, stood still as stone, his mind churning. The Fall. Gaia demons. Demon hierarchy. None of this is lining up.
Lucy cut in, her voice slicing through the silence. "And Sheila? What's her role in this so-called 'Great Fall'?"
Gordon licked his lips, slowly lifting his eyes. "She was born with an impossible purity. Light magic fused with both ice and water. Her body resonates with divine frequency. It's not natural—she's one of a kind. Sylvathar needs her. She's the anchor. The keystone to unravel this realm and rebuild something new."
"A living conduit," Mystica murmured. "Not a bargaining chip. A sacrificial core."
"She won't live through it," Gordon said flatly. "Her body will break. But it won't matter. Once Amthar collapses, Sylvathar will rise from its ashes. That's the plan. That's why I followed him."
Dove tilted her head. "And look where that got you. Bleeding, bound, and babbling. Doesn't scream visionary to me."
Gordon gave a crooked grin. "You think these chains matter? Spells? None of it matters. You don't even know what he is."
"They might not," Liam said at last, stepping forward, his voice calm but steady. "But I'd like to. So how about you educate me?"
Gordon's expression twisted with fury, a savage glint flaring in his eyes. He leaned forward, as if raw hatred alone could shatter his bindings. "You've got the gall to stand there, you arrogant little bastard?"
Liam didn't even blink. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Liam, back away from him. Now.," Lucy snapped, a queen's command sharpened by genuine concern.
"Forgive me, your Majesty," Liam said, not breaking eye contact. "But I'm genuinely curious."
He turned fully toward Gordon. "Let's reason this out. Could Sylvathar take Amthar alone? Doubtful. Maybe I don't know him like you do, but isn't he just one of the ten Demon Lords? The tenth one?"
Mystica arched a brow. "Where are you going with this?"
"I'm saying—if this 'Great Fall' is really happening, wouldn't all the Demon Lords be descending on us? No schemes. No pawns. Just open slaughter. If all ten came at once, let's be honest—Amthar wouldn't stand a chance. No heroics, no legends. Just ash."
He let the weight of that settle.
"But maybe it's just Sylvathar. Maybe he wants his own domain—his own crown. But would the other Lords let that slide?"
Then he looked at Lucy. "Who rules the Demon Realm? A Lord?"
"No," Lucy said quietly. "A King. Volgath."
Liam's eyes returned to Gordon. "Exactly. And what makes you think Volgath would tolerate a Demon Lord rising to equal footing? Ruling his own realm? That's not ambition. That's treason."
He glanced around the chamber.
"Exactly—nothing would stop Volgath from erasing him."
Then his gaze locked back on Gordon, sharp and cold. "So this 'Great Fall' you're preaching? I think it's a story. A myth Sylvathar fed you. And when Mystica brought up the Demon Realm hierarchy… you slipped. You hesitated. That tells me one thing."
Liam stepped closer, eyes glowing faintly with restrained power.
"You don't know the truth. You just believe the lie."