With Damien's gaze fixed firmly on the distant, snowy peaks of the Ironspine Mountains, the academy became my playground. Or rather, my laboratory.
The days turned into weeks. The winter deepened, coating the floating islands in a layer of pristine white frost. Most students complained about the chill, wrapping themselves in mana-heated cloaks. I didn't feel it. The cold inside the Frozen Keep of my mind was far deeper than anything nature could produce.
I established a rhythm. During the day, I played the role of the dutiful second-in-command, managing Marcus Thorne and the other sycophants, keeping Damien's social circle tight and loyal while he "planned his expedition."
But every second night, like clockwork, I vanished.
I would slip into the service tunnels, navigate the dark labyrinth of the foundations, and enter Utility Conflux 7-Beta. The janitor's closet.
Entering the Scribe's Path was no longer a struggle. It was as easy as breathing. I would stand before the wall, seat myself on the Throne in my mind, and the wall would dissolve.
The Verboten Archive became my true classroom.
I ignored the shrieking books and the whispering shadows. They were noise. I was signal. I systematically began to study the things Damien was desperate to find, not to give them to him, but to understand what I was up against.
Tonight, I stood before the cage of red iron.
Inside lay The Heartstone Protocols. The book bound in pulsing crimson leather.
On my first visit, I had walked past it. Tonight, I needed answers. Damien was willing to overturn mountains for this power. I needed to know why.
I placed my hand on the lock. I applied the cold, logical mana pulse. Click.
The cage door swung open.
I reached in. The book was warm. Uncomfortably so. It felt like touching living flesh, feverish and slick. As my fingers brushed the cover, a wave of raw, chaotic emotion slammed against the walls of my mental fortress. Hunger. Consumption. Need.
It was vile. But inside the Keep, I was safe. I observed the emotions as if they were specimens in a jar, noting their intensity but refusing to let them touch me.
I opened the book.
The text was not written in ink. It appeared to be scorched into the vellum, the letters jagged and dark.
The Heartstone is not an artifact of this world. It is a seed.
I turned the page, my eyes scanning the archaic text.
The ignorant believe it is a battery—a source of limitless mana. They are fools. A battery stores energy. A Heartstone creates it... by consuming the vessel.
It grafts itself to the Mana Core. It whispers to the host, offering power in exchange for 'unessential' things. First, it takes the pain. Then, it takes the fear. Then, the memories. Finally, it takes the will.
My hand paused. It sounded terrifyingly similar to what I was doing with the Frozen Keep. Was I, in my attempt to fight fire, just dousing myself in a different kind of oil?
I read on. The next passage was heavily annotated by a different hand—perhaps Roric Alastair, or someone even older.
Origin: Unknown. Theories suggest they are debris from the Primordial Abyss. Remnants of the entities that existed before the Ley Veins were formed. The Stone does not grant power to the user; it uses the user to anchor itself to reality. A fully matured Heartstone is not a god. It is a door. And what comes through the door is the End.
I closed the book, the soft thud echoing in the silent cavern.
The Primordial Abyss. The entity I had seen in my very first moments in this world, in the prologue of my new life. The threat that even the Demon King feared.
Damien wasn't just looking for a weapon. He was looking for a seed of the apocalypse. He thought he could control it, that he could harness the "limitless mana" to rule the kingdom. He was an ant trying to harness the power of a magnifying glass under the midday sun. He wouldn't rule the world; he would burn it to ash.
I put the book back in its cage and locked it.
I had seen enough. The stakes had just shifted violently. This wasn't about academy politics or a criminal syndicate anymore. If Damien succeeded, if he found a Heartstone—either the fake one he was hunting or a real one he stumbled upon later—he could inadvertently trigger an extinction event.
I left the Archive, ascending the spiral stairs back to the mundane world of the closet.
I stepped out, sealed the wall, and leaned against the cold stone. I dropped the mental barrier, letting the Frozen Keep dissolve.
The horror hit me instantly. My hands shook. I felt the phantom warmth of the feverish book on my fingertips. A door to the End.
I needed air.
I left the service tunnels and emerged into the academy grounds. It was late, the moon high and full. I walked to the edge of the floating island, looking out over the sea of clouds below. The wind was biting, stinging my face, but I welcomed it. It felt real.
"You're out late."
I didn't jump. I was getting used to her presence.
Seraphina was sitting on a stone bench a few yards away, wrapped in a heavy fur-lined cloak. She had a book on her lap, but she wasn't reading. She was watching me.
"Insomnia," I lied, my voice rasping slightly.
"Liar," she said simply. "You don't have trouble sleeping. Monsters sleep very well. They don't have a conscience to keep them awake."
I turned to look at her. In the moonlight, she looked tired. The darkness under her eyes mirrored my own, though hers came from worry, mine from work.
"Why do you talk to me, Seraphina?" I asked. It was a genuine question. "You hate me. You know what I am. Why do you bother?"
She closed her book. "Because I'm trying to understand."
"Understand what?"
"When you stopped pretending." She stood up and walked to the edge of the railing, standing beside me but not looking at me. "A month ago, you were a mess. You were shaking. You were terrified. Now? You're... smooth. You're glass. You walk through the halls and you don't even blink."
She turned her head, her sapphire eyes searching mine. "I looked into your eyes yesterday in the library. There was nothing there, Lucian. No guilt. No fear. No arrogance. Just... empty space."
She shivered, and it wasn't from the cold.
"I preferred the coward," she whispered. "At least the coward was human. Whatever you've done to yourself... whatever part of yourself you killed to survive this... it's terrifying."
I looked at her. I wanted to tell her about the Heartstone. I wanted to tell her that the "empty space" was the only thing standing between her and the Primordial Abyss. I wanted to scream that I was the only one doing anything to stop the end of the world.
But I couldn't. She was a variable I couldn't control. If she knew, she would act. She would tell the Headmaster. And the Headmaster might be compromised, or incompetent, or simply unable to stop Damien without triggering the Syndicate's wrath.
"The coward is dead," I said, my voice flat. "He wasn't strong enough."
"And this new you?" she asked. "Is he strong enough?"
I looked out at the clouds, thinking of the red iron cage and the feverish book.
"He has to be," I said.
She stared at me for a long moment, then shook her head. "Be careful, Lucian. If you hollow yourself out too much... eventually, something else will fill the space."
She turned and walked back toward the dorms, leaving me alone with the wind.
Her words chilled me more than the winter air. Something else will fill the space.
I thought of the Heartstone. I thought of the whispers in the archive.
I touched my chest, feeling the steady beat of my Condensed Core.
I was walking a razor's edge. On one side was Damien and the Abyss. On the other was the complete loss of my own humanity.
And the only way forward was to keep walking, right down the center of the blade.