Trapped In Don's Web

The knife trembled in her hand—not from fear, but from memory.

Elena stood alone in the high atrium of Eldoria's newly restored Citadel, bathed in cold morning light. Before her, laid across a velvet-draped table, was the ceremonial dagger of the Founding Order—its blade forged from the alloy of the first Guardian era. It gleamed, flawless. Untouched. Like a lie polished to perfection.

But today, she would stain it with truth.

The Guardian Council had summoned her. Not for questioning. Not for blame.

But for ascension.

After the fall of the Prophet, the old order—fractured and bloodied—needed a face. A symbol. And they'd chosen her.

Not because they trusted her.

Because she survived.

She reached forward and gripped the dagger's hilt.

Footsteps echoed behind her.

"You don't have to do this," Ayla said softly.

Elena turned slightly. "If I don't, someone worse will."

"They want a leader, not a puppet. Don't let them turn you into both."

Elena's jaw tightened. "They'll try. But I know who I am now."

Ayla stepped forward, placing a folder on the table beside the dagger. "This came from the southern ruins sweep. Adrian found something—encrypted files buried in an old Eclipse server. The signature matches someone from your father's inner circle."

Elena raised a brow. "Who?"

Ayla hesitated. "Your mother."

The air snapped with silence.

"My mother died before the Council fell," Elena said slowly.

"We thought so," Ayla replied. "But this data… suggests otherwise. It's fragmented. But the name on the recovery ID is Maris Moretti. And it's dated two weeks ago."

Elena stared at the folder like it might catch fire.

First Cassian… now this?

Before she could speak again, a chime rang through the chamber.

The door opened.

Councilor Revas entered, robed in silver, flanked by three silent aides. "Commander Moretti. It is time."

Elena straightened, tucking the folder under her arm, and slid the dagger into its sheath at her side.

She walked with Ayla down the long corridor toward the Ascension Hall, where rows of Guardians and delegates filled the chamber—everyone watching, waiting.

Some with hope.

Some with suspicion.

Some just with fear.

As Elena stepped onto the dais, the Councilor raised his voice to the gathered hall:

"Elena Moretti, do you swear to uphold the legacy of the Guardians, to protect the people of Eldoria, and to never let the fires of tyranny rise again?"

She looked out at them all.

And for a moment, she saw him—Vex—watching from the shadows of her memory, smiling that sad, broken smile.

Then she drew the dagger, sliced her palm, and pressed it to the oath stone.

"I swear," she said, voice like steel.

As the crowd erupted in applause, she whispered only to herself:

"But I'll find out the truth. About my mother. About all of it."

Because the war wasn't over.

It was evolving.

The applause still echoed in the vaulted ceilings of the Ascension Hall, but Elena barely heard it.

Her hand, still smeared with blood from the oathstone ritual, pulsed with heat beneath the fresh wrap Ayla had just secured. The pain was sharp—but grounding. It reminded her this was real. That she had chosen this path.

That the legacy was hers now.

Not her father's.

Not Cassian's.

Not the Council's.

Hers.

She stepped down from the dais, cloak brushing marble, her shoulders straighter than they had felt in weeks. Luca met her at the base of the steps, his face unreadable—pride and concern buried beneath his usual cool control.

You didn't flinch," he murmured.

"I couldn't afford to," she said, eyes scanning the crowd.

Because in that crowd—behind the mask of protocol and cheers—Elena had seen something else.

A woman in gray robes. Hood drawn. Watching from the mezzanine.

She was gone now.

But Elena would know that face anywhere.

Her heartbeat surged.

Maris.

The folder in her arm suddenly weighed ten times heavier.

Ayla stepped beside her again, lips tight. "You saw her too?"

Elena nodded slowly. "We need to secure the south quarter. If she's alive, she's not alone."

"She's already moving," Ayla said. "Which means so are we."

Luca touched her elbow gently, grounding her. "This doesn't change who you are."

Elena shook her head. "It changes everything."

That night, the streets of Eldoria glowed under soft lanterns. Peace clung to the city like mist—but only on the surface.

Inside the war room, the Guardian leadership gathered again.

Elena stood at the head of the table, flanked by Luca and Ayla. Adrian, Calen, and the others leaned in as the decrypted images flickered across the holo-display.

Coordinates. Underground facilities. Ship logs.

And one phrase repeated across each line:

Project: Ember Womb

Ayla looked up. "It wasn't just Vex's ideology. It was blood. Genes. Heritage. A rebirth project."

Luca frowned. "A second generation of Crimson heirs?"

Elena's hand curled into a fist.

"No," she said. "A replacement for us."

Silence blanketed the room.

Then, Elena lifted her chin.

"If my mother's involved, then she's not just a survivor. She's a founder of whatever comes next."

She met each of their eyes, her voice low but firm:

Tomorrow we find her. And we end what they started… for good."

The others nodded.

But deep down, Elena already knew:

This wasn't just about finishing a war.

It was about unearthing everything buried beneath the bloodline she was born into.

And as she looked once more at the flickering image of her mother—alive, cloaked, and watching—she felt it.

This was only the beginning.

Later that night, Elena sat alone beneath the stars.

The rooftop garden of the De Rossi estate was quiet—an oasis of old stone, flowering vines, and the distant hum of the city below. Wind rustled the lanterns above her head, their soft light dancing over her face as she studied the photo again.

It was the same one from the recovered data:

Maris Moretti, her mother. Alive. Cloaked. Watching from the shadows at the ceremony.

Her face hadn't aged as much as Elena expected. There was silver in her hair now, but the sharpness in her eyes was unchanged. The same eyes Elena had inherited.

And the same secrets.

She let the photo fall into her lap and stared up at the stars—the same stars she used to trace with her father on long walks across the rooftops, years before war, before betrayal, before she became a Guardian.

Behind her, soft footsteps.

Luca.

He approached quietly and dropped to one knee beside her, placing a steaming mug in her hands without a word. Elena didn't have to ask—strong tea, a hint of honey. The same blend her father used to brew.

She gave a small, tired smile. "You always know."

"I try," he said. "Even when I don't know what to say."

She took a sip, then let out a long breath. "What if she's not who I remember? What if I'm chasing a ghost that doesn't want to be found?"

Luca's gaze didn't waver. "Then you confront her anyway. Because ghosts have a way of haunting everything until you do."

Elena nodded slowly.

A beat passed between them. Rain misted gently over the garden walls.

Then Luca reached into his coat and pulled out a small, glass vial—faintly glowing red.

"The last trace of the relic's core," he said. "Riven extracted it before the shell collapsed. It's inert now. Harmless."

"But still a piece of it," she murmured.

He nodded. "We'll need it if your mother is truly working with what's left of the Eclipse."

Elena studied the vial for a long moment before tucking it into her pocket.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Luca leaned back against the stone ledge beside her. "For what?"

"For reminding me this war didn't end with Vex. And that I don't have to face what comes next alone."

He didn't smile, but the warmth in his voice said enough. "You never did."

The clouds above parted for just a moment, revealing the moon—silver and sharp.

Elena stood.

"Tomorrow," she said, "we hunt the truth. Not for vengeance. Not for legacy. But for the world we still have left to protect."

Luca stood beside her.

The night deepened, but there was no fear in their hearts now.

Only resolve.

And beneath the stars, Elena whispered one last vow to herself:

No more running.

No more hiding.

Only the truth.

Even if it came wrapped in the face of her mother 

The next morning, the De Rossi estate stirred with quiet urgency.

Guardian agents moved through the halls, compiling mission reports, coordinating relief efforts, and scanning new intelligence streams from the ruins of former Crimson Eclipse strongholds. The city had begun to rebuild, but unrest still crackled at the edges—old wounds didn't close overnight.

Elena stood in the central briefing chamber, facing a wide holomap of Eldoria and its bordering territories. Red markers blinked faintly along the southern edge—small, scattered, but present.

Remnants.

Not gone. Just hiding.

Behind her, Adrian and Ayla entered, both dressed in dark recon gear. Ayla's arm had healed faster than expected, and she moved with renewed purpose. Adrian carried a data pad, his jaw set.

"Two encoded messages intercepted this morning," he said, handing her the pad. "Both from the same source. One bounced through Crimson encryption protocols. The other… came from a dead relay tower in Sereva."

Elena frowned. "No movement's been reported in Sereva since the war ended."

"Exactly," Ayla added. "But this wasn't movement. It was a name."

Elena looked at the screen.

One word, in bold red text:

"Maris."

Her blood ran cold.

"She's not hiding anymore," Ayla said. "She's calling you."

Elena didn't speak. Not right away. She felt the pull again—that tight thread winding between past and present.

Her mother wasn't just alive.

She was involved.

Possibly orchestrating what Vex had merely started.

Luca entered quietly, a travel pack already strapped to his back. He gave her a slight nod.

"We have a lead," Adrian said. "Southwest through the Jade Expanse. There's an old research observatory there. Remote. Untouched by the war. It's where the relay bounced."

Ayla stepped forward. "We'll go with you. But this… it's your call."

Elena stared at the blinking name one last time.

Maris.

Her mother.

Her mystery.

Her unfinished war.

She turned to the team.

"No more waiting. No more ghosts," she said. "We move at dusk."

That evening, as the sun dipped behind Eldoria's skyline, casting the city in golden fire, the Guardians set out once more.

Not into battle.

Not for vengeance.

But for answers.

Elena walked at the front, wind tugging at her coat, the past heavy on her shoulders but no longer weighing her down.

Luca beside her.

Ayla, Adrian, and Calen just behind.

And in the fading light, she whispered the last line of her father's journal—now etched into memory:

"When the stars forget their names…

We must remind them who we are."

The journey to truth had begun.

The journey south was long, marked by silence and the weight of the unknown.

The Guardians' shuttle cut through low cloud cover as dusk fell over the Jade Expanse. Below them stretched a vast terrain of silvergrass plains, deep ravines, and scattered ruins swallowed by time. It was land few dared cross—untouched by both war and civilization.

Elena sat at the front, her eyes locked on the jagged horizon where the ancient observatory towered like a lonely sentinel. Wind-swept and blackened by storms, the structure looked half-dead. But the signal had come from there. And so had the name.

Maris.

She'd buried her once—emotionally, if not literally. Buried the truth behind her mother's disappearance. Her betrayal. Her silence. But now the past was clawing back to the surface.

Luca sat beside her, his fingers resting near hers but not quite touching.

"You know what we're walking into?" he asked.

"No," she admitted. "But I know what we're walking for."

That was enough.

The shuttle touched down just before nightfall.

Alya and Calen took perimeter while Adrian scanned the tower's defenses. To their surprise, there were none. No guards. No barriers. Just a door, slightly open, the faintest light flickering within.

Elena took the lead, stepping through without hesitation.

The air inside was cold and dry. Dust hung in beams of gold as their lights cut through the gloom. But the center of the observatory glowed—soft amber from dozens of hanging lanterns, casting long shadows on cracked mosaic tiles.

And there, seated behind a long, curved table, was a woman cloaked in navy silk, her face turned slightly away.

"Elena," the woman said, her voice unmistakable.

Soft. Commanding. And not aged a day.

Elena's chest tightened

"Maris."

Her mother turned, and for a heartbeat, time fractured.

She looked exactly as Elena remembered—same high cheekbones, same severe grace. But her eyes… they held centuries now.

"I thought you were dead," Elena said, stepping forward.

"I was," Maris replied. "To the world. To you. But I had to disappear."

"Why?"

A long pause.

Maris rose, walking slowly around the table, her hands clasped. "Because I knew what was coming. I saw what the Crimson Eclipse was becoming. What Vex was becoming. And what you… were destined to stop."

"You let him hurt us," Elena snapped. "You left. You left me."

Maris stopped, eyes flickering.

"I stayed hidden so you could become what you were meant to be. Because if I stepped in… you wouldn't have."

Luca stepped forward, his voice cold. "Convenient excuse."

Maris met his eyes without flinching. "I don't expect you to understand. But I do expect you to listen. Because there's more. Vex wasn't the end. He was the beginning."

"What do you mean?" Elena asked, low and wary.

Maris opened a drawer in the table and placed something down.

A shard of black crystal, pulsing faintly with red light.

"Vex wasn't the only one obsessed with the Crimson Network," she said. "There's another faction. Older. Deeper. The Founders. They never revealed themselves. They let Vex fall so they could rise without resistance."

Elena's heart pounded.

"This never ends," Ayla whispered from behind.

"No," Maris said quietly. "But it can. If you're willing to go farther than your father did. Farther than I ever could."

Elena stared at the shard. Then at her mother.

And then she asked the only question that mattered.

"What do I need to do?

Outside, the wind shifted.

Above the observatory, the stars began to flicker—one by one—as if remembering something ancient. Something forgotten.

And below, in the shadows of that dying tower, a new war stirred. Not with armies. Not with prophets.

But with truth.

And the girl who would become the fire that refused to die.