"This isn't a history book," he whispered, the words strained, as though every syllable physically hurt him. "It's a manual."
The sheer terror in his tone sent a cold shiver down my spine. Kyrion was never shaken easily. Seeing such fear in his eyes gave frightening weight to the implications I'd already begun to grasp. I could feel the puzzle pieces aligning in my mind, revealing a darker picture than I'd ever imagined possible. This chamber wasn't merely protective—it was functional. These leylines were not random veins of magical energy; they were engineered conduits, deliberately crafted to serve a hidden purpose—a purpose that someone, or something, had hidden away beneath layers of secrecy and wards.