Chapter 33
“Lies are the seed of rot; from rot comes ruin,
and ruin claims all.”
- The Old Book
The library was quiet, and as usual, it was just me and the librarian. I could tell that he was growing accustomed to having someone else in his library, because his eyes were less watchful each time I visited.
But I wasn’t there to browse today. I was hunting. I searched every participation log, roster, and mission record I could get my hands on—but none of them had a whisper of Willam. It was as if he had never existed. Like someone had erased him from the world.
I was growing weary in my search. Every day I lost a piece of hope. And truthfully, I didn’t know how much longer I could keep looking.
The librarian sat at his front desk, slumped back in his chair, reading. I watched him for a moment, waiting for a flicker of awareness, a sign he’d noticed me. Nothing.
Good.
I had a feeling that the information surrounding the culled was tucked away, hidden in one of the back rooms I had yet to enter. I had made it through nearly every room, but one remained.
As I made my way deeper through the rooms of towering shelves, I noticed that the pristine covers began to age. Some books looked to be nearly completely disintegrated, their spines coming undone, words almost illegible.
That’s when I saw it.
My breath hitched, and my feet planted, unmovable.
It was the door from my dream.
The exact one, with the rounded top and the old metal latch. It was tucked away next to ancient territorial maps and left slightly ajar. Just enough for a whisper of shadow to seep out.
It felt like fate.
I wanted to turn around. The eeriness of it all gnawed at me. But curiosity clawed at my ribs. Something was pulling me toward that door, and I didn’t know what I feared more.
The pull itself, or what I was being pulled toward.
My chest tightened as I slipped through the gap.
The air changed the moment I stepped inside—colder, heavier, like I’d crossed an invisible threshold. The room was small, crowded with narrow shelves and stacks of books too brittle to touch. But the centerpiece was impossible to miss.
It was another glass showcase.
Inside, resting like a relic in a tomb, was a book bound in cracked leather and frayed cloth. Its spine was faded, lettering ghosted by time.
I crouched, pressing my face close to the glass. Dust veiled the surface, but through the grime, I could just make out the letters burned into the cover:
Acaelar Bloodborne
The name hit me like a stone.
Acaelar, the Prophet King. His prophecies were the reason the Ascension Project was created. He’d lived more than a hundred years ago, but his legacy still rippled through the kingdom like a curse.
And here his name was, locked away like a secret.
I reached out without thinking, fingertips brushing the cold glass.
That’s when it happened.
A shiver shot down my spine, sharp and startling. It wasn’t the draft—I knew the bite of cold air, and this wasn’t it. It was something else.
The fine hairs on my arms lifted as if stirred by a breath that wasn’t there. And for a moment, I felt it—warmth on my shoulder. Familiar. Comforting.
Willam.
The thought rooted itself so fast I didn’t question it. The tome would have the answers I sought. I knew it as sure as I knew the woods of Oak Hollow.
Blood roared in my ears.
I didn’t know what secrets an old king carried that could matter to me now—but every part of me knew I needed them. I needed to crack open the book and bleed its pages dry.
I curled my hand into a fist and stepped back, eyes locked on the case.
The lock glared at me.
For a fleeting, stupid second, I considered smashing the glass. My fingers even curled into fists, prepared for action. But the sound… the fallout…
No, I needed a cleaner way.
I slipped out of the room. As I walked backward, silently closing the door, I felt myself walk into something hard. I quickly swung around and came face-to-face with the librarian. His eyes were wide, and his expression sharp with suspicion.
“What are you doing?” he growled.
He barged right past me, pushing me out of the way, and studied the latch. Then he muttered, “How is this open?”
He looked at me, leaned in, and demanded, “How did you open this door?”
“It was already open.”
“Impossible.” He yanked the chain from beneath his collar, chiming the collection of keys hanging there. “Only I can unlock it.”
He squinted his eyes, trying to decipher whether I was a liar. When he couldn’t find what he was looking for, his brow furrowed, and he resumed examining the latch.
“Leave.”
I stood there for one long, dangerous moment, staring at the door.
I needed that book.
“Now!” his voice cut through the air.
I forced my feet to obey, retreating one reluctant step after another. But the further I moved, the heavier my legs felt.
Whatever was in that room—it wasn’t just important. It was forbidden. Dangerous enough to lock away.
And deep in my bones, I knew the truth. My answers were sealed in that book.
All I needed to figure out was how to get the key.