The Price of Knowledge

Evelyne's breath was unsteady as she pushed herself upright. The cold stone beneath her palms grounded her, but the memory of Veythar's destruction still clung to her skin like smoke.

Azrael's golden eyes bore into hers. "Tell me everything you saw."

Evelyne swallowed hard. "It wasn't war that destroyed Veythar." She looked at Lyria, then back to Azrael. "There were necromancers. Not human ones—something worse. Their magic didn't just kill. It unmade everything it touched."

Lyria's face paled. "That's not possible. Necromancers deal with corpses, spirits, the dead. They don't erase entire cities."

Evelyne shook her head. "These did. The sky cracked. The ground split apart. The city wasn't just destroyed—it was like it was wiped from existence."

Azrael's expression remained unreadable, but there was a tension in his posture.

"This changes things," he murmured.

Evelyne frowned. "What do you mean?"

Azrael exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "If necromancers were behind Veythar's fall, then someone went to great lengths to erase them from history." His voice darkened. "And the Elders would have ensured that."

Lyria cursed under her breath. "Which means if we start digging too deep, we'll have more than just whispers and spirits to deal with."

Evelyne's pulse quickened. The Elders—powerful demons who had existed for centuries, who had ruled long before Azrael had taken the throne—they had erased Veythar from history?

And if they had done that… what else had they hidden?

Azrael turned toward the iron doors. "We need answers."

Lyria folded her arms. "And how do you suggest we get those? The Archives are already sealed off from us. What's next, breaking into the Elder Council's chambers?"

Azrael didn't answer.

Because he was considering it.

Evelyne's heart pounded. "You're serious."

Azrael's golden gaze met hers. "You want the truth, don't you?"

Evelyne hesitated, but only for a moment.

Then she nodded.

Azrael turned to Lyria. "Gather whatever information you can. Discreetly. We need to know if there are any surviving records of Veythar outside the Archives."

Lyria sighed, rubbing her temples. "You're going to get us all executed."

Azrael's lips quirked, just slightly. "Only if we fail."

Lyria muttered something under her breath before vanishing into the shadows.

Evelyne exhaled sharply. "And what about us?"

Azrael's gaze darkened. "We go where the Elders don't want us to."

The Elder Council's chambers were deep within the fortress, hidden behind towering obsidian walls that pulsed with dark magic. Few dared to tread these halls uninvited.

And for good reason.

Evelyne followed Azrael closely, her pulse hammering in her ears. The corridors were deathly silent, the air thick with an energy that felt almost alive.

"What exactly are we looking for?" she whispered.

Azrael didn't break stride. "The Elders have kept records of every major event in our history. If they erased Veythar from the Archives, then their private records may still hold the truth."

Evelyne wasn't sure if that was reassuring or terrifying.

As they reached the chamber doors, Azrael raised a hand. Shadows curled around his fingers as he traced an invisible pattern across the surface. The air around them tensed—then the doors shuddered and creaked open.

The room beyond was dimly lit by floating orbs of pale blue light. Rows of black stone tablets lined the walls, each inscribed with glowing symbols. Tomes bound in leather sat upon heavy iron shelves, untouched by dust.

Evelyne stepped inside, her skin prickling with unease. It felt wrong being here, like they were trespassing somewhere they were never meant to be.

Azrael moved swiftly to one of the shelves, scanning the bindings with narrowed eyes. "Help me look for anything mentioning Veythar."

Evelyne nodded, running her fingers along the books. Most bore titles in ancient demon script, unreadable to her.

Until—

She stopped.

One book, thinner than the others, sat tucked away in the shadows. Unlike the others, its cover bore no markings, no title. Just plain, blackened leather.

Something about it made her stomach twist.

Hesitantly, she reached for it. The moment her fingers brushed the cover—

Pain lanced through her skull.

She staggered back with a sharp gasp, clutching her head as a voice hissed through her mind.

"Do not seek what is buried."

Azrael was at her side in an instant. "Evelyne?"

She gritted her teeth, the voice fading as quickly as it had come. "The book—"

Azrael turned to it. Unlike her, he showed no hesitation. He pulled the book from the shelf, flipping it open.

The pages were filled with dense, handwritten text—except it wasn't in demon script.

It was in Solmere's royal language.

Evelyne's breath caught.

Azrael frowned. "This is—"

A sudden pulse of energy surged through the room. The floating lights flickered. The air shifted.

Then—

A presence.

Not just watching. Approaching.

Azrael slammed the book shut. "We need to leave."

Evelyne didn't argue. They turned sharply, moving toward the doors. But the moment they stepped forward—

The chamber locked.

Darkness swept over the room like ink spilling from the walls, thick and suffocating.

And then a voice—low, ancient, and full of quiet menace—spoke from the shadows.

"You should not have come here, Demon King."

Evelyne's heart lurched.

The darkness moved.

Azrael's magic surged to life around him, but the presence in the room only grew stronger, denser.

The Elders weren't just watching.

They had come to stop them.

And this time—

They weren't using whispers.