Chapter Thirty-Five: The Pages of the Forgotten

The air inside the manor was thick with an unsettling stillness. The only sound was the slow, deliberate turning of ancient pages as Leon Blackwell sat across from Elena, the book resting between them on the grand wooden table.

His fingers hovered over the leather cover before finally opening it, revealing pages aged to a fragile yellow.

Elena watched him closely, her heart pounding.

For so long, Leon had been the one hiding things. But now, he was about to reveal something.

The text inside was dense, written in an old dialect that Elena couldn't immediately understand. Symbols and inscriptions ran along the margins, twisting like veins through the manuscript.

Then, she saw it.

A name.

Leon Blackwell.

It stood out among the fading ink, as clear as if it had been written yesterday.

Elena's breath hitched. She looked up at Leon, her pulse quickening. "Your name is in here."

Leon exhaled, his expression unreadable. "I know."

The Man Who Wouldn't Die

Elena's fingers trembled as she traced the letters. "What does it say?"

Leon didn't answer immediately. His gaze flickered over the text, his jaw tight.

"It speaks of a man who built an empire," he finally said, his voice measured. "A man who should have perished… but never did."

Elena swallowed. "You think this is about you?"

Leon let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "I don't think, Elena. I know."

She shivered. He wasn't denying it.

Her mind raced with questions, but before she could press further, she noticed something else.

A second name.

It was faded, barely legible. But when she squinted, the letters became clear.

Elena.

Her own name.

Her heart pounded against her ribs. This wasn't just about Leon.

"Leon…" she whispered. "Why is my name in this book?"

He shut the book with a quiet finality, his fingers lingering over the cover.

"Because," he murmured, "this isn't just my story.