Page 288 of Elemental Becoming

He shakes his head, flipping to another page, his movements sharp and tense.

“The Unmaking was real. The war against it was real. But what the Fire Clan did afterward?” He exhales, his grip tightening on the fragile parchment. “That wasn’t survival.”

The truth hits me like a slow-moving storm, relentless and impossible to stop. I swallow hard, my throat dry.

“You’re basing this on one journal entry? It was written in the middle of a war. Maybe based on fear. Or it could have been propaganda from the other side.”

Valen’s eyes flash. “One source isn’t evidence. It’s a question.”

He reaches for another stack of documents. Fire Clan military records. Battle logs. Letters.

“I’ve spent the last two weeks cross-referencing everything I could find since arriving at the Capital,” he says. “Look at this.”

He pulls out an official Fire Clan war report and flips to a dated entry.

I skim the page. Then stop, my stomach dropping.

“This . . . ” My eyes move back over the figures. “This doesn’t match.”

“Exactly.” Valen leans forward, tapping the document. “The official records claim the war began because the Shadow Clan attacked first.”

“That’s what’s been taught for generations.”

“But remember,” Valen says, flipping another page, “history is written by the victors.”

He slides a document toward me and I scan the page. A list of troop movements. Supply routes. Orders bearing the Fire Clan seal.

My stomach tightens.

“This was issued before the attack.”

“Two weeks before,” Valen confirms. “The Fire Clan had already begun mobilizing troops along the border.”

I look up sharply. “Then they expected war.”

Valen nods. “Or intended it.”

“Then it wasn’t a response.”

“No.” His voice is quiet. “It was a premeditated campaign.”

I drag my hands through my hair, trying to make sense of this.

“Why? Why go through the effort of making the Shadow Clan the enemy?”

Valen presses his lips into a thin line. “If Veyne is telling the truth, they needed justification.”

I fill my lungs, willing my pulse to settle as my thoughts spin. This is too big.

“But we still don’t have undeniable proof,” I argue. “The troop movements are suspicious, but they’re not evidence of intent.”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reaches for an aged, yellowed letter and slides it across the table. The parchment is delicate, its edges worn with time. The ink has faded, but the words remain legible.

“I found correspondence between General Sylas Veyne and General Cassian Dain among the records. This is what finally convinced me.” His voice is flat. “They tried to negotiate peace.”

My body goes rigid. Slowly, I lower my gaze to the page. The names jump out at me first.

General Sylas Veyne.