I nodded, still shaky from what happened to me in the Palace.
"I need to know more about the Tear. The Portal. What or who we're actually stealing."
"Vekros didn't tell you?"
"Vekros said it's valuable. That's it."
Her safe house was a rented room above a spice shop in the Copper Quarter. Small. Clean to the point of obsession. Maps covered the walls, pinned with the precision of a military campaign.
"There's a place," she said, tracing a line on a faded map of the Old Quarter. "Old archive. Pre-empire. Most people think it collapsed decades ago. But it didn't. It's just been... forgotten. Buried under the weight of the city."
"I love forbidden libraries," Malgrin said, his voice echoing in my skull. "They smell like dust and secrets. And they usually have the best traps."
I moved toward the door to check the lock. My elbow bumped a stack of books balancing precariously on a side table.
They tumbled to the floor.
They weren't the tactical manuals or grimoires I’d expected. These had tainted covers painted in garish oil colors. A shirtless man with muscles that defied anatomy embracing a woman whose dress was losing a losing battle against gravity.
The Pirate's Passionate Prisoner. Love's Burning Blade. Surrender to the Duke.
I picked one up. The spine was cracked, the pages worn soft from being turned over and over again. I flipped to a random page. Then started to read out loud.
"Rodrigo's smoldering gaze set her very soul ablaze. 'I cannot resist you,' he growled, his calloused hands finding the small of her back. 'I would burn the world just to keep you warm.'"
"Put that down."
Nyssara's voice wasn't loud. It was sharp.
"Interesting reading material."
"They're not mine."
"Why were they on your shelf? In your safe house? Hidden behind a map of the sewer system?”
"Someone left them here. Probably. Previous tenant."
"All twelve of them? The previous tenant had a very specific taste in shirtless dukes."
"Give me that." She didn't snatch it. She took it from my hand with an unusual gentleness, then gathered the others and shoved them into a chest at the foot of her bed. She sat on the lid, crossing her arms.
"The ex-Inquisitor who killed dozens of pact-bearers," I said slowly, "reads cheap romance novels. I won’t judge, don’t worry."
"It’s not... look, you wouldn’t understand."
"Try me. I understand the value of most things. What’s the value in this? Rodrigo isn't going to burn the world for her. He's going to sell her to a slaver and buy a new ship."
Nyssara looked away. Her hand drifted to her side, near the spot where I knew she carried an old scar.
"I know it's lies, Yozi. I know these are cheap stories telling cheap lies." Her voice was quiet. Hollow. "But in these pages… I don’t know, okay? Things get fixed."
I stared at her. For a second, the tough, cynical mercenary vanished. I saw something else. Someone who is tired. Someone who had seen too much blood and just wanted to pretend, for an hour, that the world wasn't a slaughterhouse.
"Oh, this is DELIGHTFUL," Malgrin crowed, entirely missing the mood. "The stone-cold killer has a soft spot for bodice-rippers! This is premium blackmail material."
"If you tell anyone," Nyssara said, her eyes snapping back to mine, dangerous and cold, "I will rip your guts out and watch your insides ooze out slowly."
"Your secret's safe," I said.
She eyed me suspiciously. "Why?"
"Because you haven't told anyone about the veins. Or the pact. We're even."
She relaxed. Slightly. "Fine. But if you ever mention Rodrigo's smoldering gaze again..."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
I turned toward the door.
"I saw the smirk," she accused.
"I didn't."
"You did. The corner of your mouth twitched. That counts."
"We have a library to find."
I walked out. Behind me, I heard her lock the chest.
"She seems sad, kid," Malgrin whispered, his tone shifting from mocking to analytical. "That's what grief looks like when it wears armor."
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
I touched the bandage on my arm. "Focus on the mission, Malgrin."
The Forgotten Library sat in Zetun's Old Quarter, buried beneath what used to be a temple to the Old Gods. The entrance was a collapsed stairway leading down into the earth. We climbed through rubble that smelled of wet stone and time. Down into the deep dark. Nyssara lit a mana-lamp. Blue light spilled across rows of rotting wooden shelves.
Books. Scrolls. Stone tablets. Centuries of accumulated knowledge, abandoned when the new temple was built. The air was thick with the dust of dead words.
"What are we looking for?"
"Anything about the Tear. The First Emperor. The Portal he supposedly sealed."
"You don't believe he sealed it?"
"I believe something happened three hundred years ago. Whether it was heroic sacrifice or something else..." She shrugged. "History gets edited by the winners."
We split up.
I moved to the restricted section. The heavy iron gate had rusted off its hinges. I found a scroll case marked with a seal that pre-dated the current Inquisition.
I broke the wax. It crumbled like dried blood.
Historical Account of the Blood Pact War Compiled by Scholar Hadrian, Year 327 Post-Empire
The war began when seven mage-lords opened portals to the Void. They sought power. They found annihilation. The portals spread corruption. Reality itself began to tear. Thousands died. Entire cities vanished into the abyss. Emperor Theodric I led the final assault. Thirteen days. Twelve nights. At the thirteenth portal—the largest, beneath the palace—he performed the ultimate sacrifice. His own blood. His own life. Poured into the seal. The portal closed. But not completely. Something remained. Alive. Furious. Hungry. The Emperor's dying breath crystallized around it. It became the Tear. A prison. A lock. A warning. Do not open what was sealed with imperial blood. Only imperial blood can seal it again.
I read it twice. The dread settled in my stomach like cold lead.
"The Tear isn't just valuable," Malgrin said quietly. "It's a plug. Pull it, and the portal opens."
"Vekros wants to open the Portal."
"Seems like it. He wants to let the demons in."
"Why?"
"Power. Evolution. The usual mad scientist reasons. Maybe he thinks he can bargain with what comes out."
I kept reading.
Addendum: The Grey Hand Society was formed shortly after the war. Their stated purpose—prevent another portal opening. Their true purpose—debated. Some say they guard the Portal. Others claim they worship what's sealed inside.
"Nyssara."
She appeared from behind a shelf, dust smudging her cheek. "Find something?"
I showed her the scroll so she could read along. She instantly went pale. The blue light of the lamp made her look like a ghost.
"The conspiracy isn't about killing pretenders for power," she said slowly. "It's about the Portal."
"They want to open it."
"But why? Opening it destroys everything."
"Unless they think they can control what comes out."
She pulled another scroll from her belt. Older. Fragile. "I found this in the genealogy section."
Grey Hand—Founding Members (Year 328) Lord Valric Thenn (Logistics) Abt Mordris (Spiritual Counsel) [Additional names redacted]
"Wait." She pointed, her finger trembling slightly. "These names. Valric, Mordris…"
"You know them?"
"They're alive. Now. Three hundred years later."
The dates didn't make sense. Unless...
"Life extension," I said. "Blood magic. Or..."
"Or descendants using the same names," Nyssara whispered. "A legacy."
"Or they never died."
"We're not stopping a conspiracy, Yozi. We're trying to stop a three-hundred-year-old cult."
"With sixty-two hours and no backup."
"Even better."
There was no humor in her laugh. It was brittle, like dry bone snapping.
"Question," Malgrin said. "If they've been planning for three centuries, why now? Why this coronation?"
I voiced it to Nyssara. Malgrin asked a good question.
Nyssara thought, rubbing her temples. "The pretenders. All three have imperial blood. Distant, but it's there."
"So?"
"Only imperial blood can seal the Portal. If you want to open it permanently..."
"You kill everyone who could seal it again."
"Exactly."
The pieces clicked into place with the terrifying precision of a trap snapping shut. The conspiracy wasn't just assassination. It was a lock-out. Kill the heirs. Break the Seal. Let the Void flood the world, with no one left to close the door.
"We need to tell someone," Nyssara said.
"Who? The infiltrated Inquisition? Guards who might be Grey Hand? Pretenders too busy competing to listen?"
She slumped against the shelf. "What do we do?"
I looked at the scroll. At the warnings. At the impossible weight of the task.
"Steal the Tear before they use it. Keep it from the Portal. Break their plan."
"And then?"
"Figure out who to trust."
"Terrible plan," Malgrin observed. "I love it."
She gathered the scrolls. "This might be useful later on. I suggest we take it."
We climbed back toward the daylight.
At the street level, the afternoon sun felt blinding after the dark. We stood at the crossroads of the Old Quarter, the weight of what we knew pressing down on us harder than the city itself.
"I'm not going back to the safe house yet," Nyssara said, pulling her hood up. "I need to confirm these names. There's... someone I need to see. An old ghost from the Inquisition days."
"Dangerous," I noted.
"Necessary. What about you?"
"I have a meeting too," I said. "An old friend from my errand-boy days. And.... someone else. Someone high up who might know the layout of the chaos we're about to cause."
She paused, looking at me with a strange expression. "Don't get yourself killed, Yozi. We have a heist to plan."
"You neither."
She turned left down a shadowed alley. I watched her go, a solitary figure against the stone.
I touched the cut on my side. Still healing. I touched my aching head. Still not okay with what I saw. I thought of the romance novels hidden in the chest. I thought of Nyssara hoping for a world where broken things get fixed.
"Still think everything's just a transaction?" Malgrin asked quietly.
"Yes," I said.
But I was lying.
We both knew it.
Performance Rating: ??? (3/5) Malgrin's Note: "Finding the secret history of the Empire? Useful. Finding the deadly Inquisitor’s stash of trashy romance novels? Priceless. It seems even living weapons need a hobby to keep the edge sharp. Let her keep her paper fantasies, kid. A relaxed killer is a precise killer. Just don't ask to borrow one."
LORE UNLOCKED:
-
The Tear: Confirmed as a "Crystallized Seal" (Blood of the First Emperor).
-
The Enemy: The Grey Hand is not a political faction; it is a 300-year-old Cult.
-
The Plan: The "Lock-Out." Eliminate all Imperial heirs to keep the Portal permanently open.
OBJECTIVE UPDATE:
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Primary: Steal the Tear.
-
Secondary: Prevent the "Permanent Opening" of the Portal.
-
New Hazard: Nyssara (If you mention 'Rodrigo' again).
CORRUPTION: ██████???? (18%) - Stable. No magic used. The library was dusty, quiet, and filled with dead words. A nice break before the screaming starts.