The map lay spread across the cracked stone table, faint violet light pulsing through the intricate lines and runes like a heartbeat struggling to survive. Kael's fingers hovered over the next vault's location, the glow intensifying beneath his touch.
Juno leaned closer, eyes shadowed and serious. "This place... it's the Imperial Archives of Ji'an. Once the grand repository for all knowledge of the dynasties. Not just history—power itself was inscribed here. Every spell, every contract, every curse sealed or broken was written down."
Kael swallowed hard. "If Hanluang was the throne's prison... then Ji'an is its library. A place where kings twisted threads like puppets. Where the very fabric of reality was edited."
Rin cracked her knuckles and smirked. "Great. So, a haunted library where the books fight back. My kinda vibe."
Mace let out a low chuckle, sheathing his twin sabers with a sharp snap. "Hell yeah. And we're the unwelcome guests who just walked into the lion's den with a steak tied to our backs."
Juno's gaze lingered on the map, voice dropping. "Zeyrox said you aren't his heir. But that doesn't mean you're free of the legacy he left behind."
Kael's eyes dropped to Threadcutter, still strapped to his back, humming softly as if alive. The sword wasn't just a weapon—it was a weight. A constant reminder of the war within him, and the one that waited in the shadows beyond.
"Legacy's a damn chain," Juno said grimly. "You carry the blade that ended kings, yes—but also the curse that comes with it. It's a tether not just to power, but to a past soaked in blood and betrayal."
Kael's fingers clenched around the map's edge. Power didn't come free. It wasn't a gift or a prize. It was a war you fought inside yourself every day. And sometimes the war was losing.
Rin's voice cut through the tense silence. "But who was Zeyrox before the exile? Not the warrior. Not the ghost with the silver mask. The man beneath."
Juno's expression darkened, a flicker of something like sorrow passing over his features. "He was a king who dreamed of peace—too strong to bow to the rulers of light, yet too bright to be accepted by the shadow lords. A tether torn between worlds, caught in the endless war of gods and mortals."
Kael's mind swirled with questions no one had answers for. If Zeyrox had once ruled, if he had fallen not by weakness but by the unbearable weight of his strength... then what did that mean for Kael? Was he doomed to repeat the same cycle?
The soft hum of Threadcutter reminded him the answer was no.
He was no heir. He was something new.
"Then it's on me," Kael said, voice low but fierce, "to finish what he started. To break the throne's grip—not just on me, but on every tether chained by these wars."
Outside, the wind rose, snaking through the broken windows like a ghost. It carried whispers—fragments of ancient battles, half-remembered promises, and the faintest echo of a silver-masked figure watching from the shadows, waiting.
Kael's gaze lifted to the darkened sky beyond the shattered ceiling. The stars had shifted again. Threads pulsed inside him—tangled, frayed, but alive.
His voice dropped to a whisper. "This war isn't just about swords or tethers. It's about who gets to write history. Who decides which stories live, and which die."
He folded the map with deliberate calm, resolve hardening in his eyes.
"And I'm not about to let anyone else hold the pen."
---
Juno's voice broke the quiet, cautious but firm. "We need to prepare. The archives won't be empty—and whatever guards those memories won't go down without a fight."
Mace cracked his knuckles. "Good. I was starting to get bored."
Rin gave a grim nod. "Let them come. We're not just fighting for survival anymore. We're fighting to reclaim the story."
Kael's hand brushed Threadcutter's hilt. The blade pulsed softly, as if acknowledging the unspoken vow.
The path ahead was tangled with shadows and lies, but also with hope.
And as they turned away from the broken table and stepped into the cold night, Kael felt it deep in his bones—