The news of Aster Thornwood's apparent betrayal spread across the kingdom like wildfire, consuming every conversation, dominating every public space. Town squares filled with shocked crowds. Taverns buzzed with fearful speculation. The viewing crystals in every household played and replayed the footage until it was seared into the collective consciousness of the nation.
But there was one place that remained silent. One location where the chaos and accusations couldn't reach.
The abandoned house where Aster had crashed through the wall stood alone on a forgotten street at the edge of the capital's outskirts. Weeds had overtaken what had once been a modest garden. The windows were clouded with decades of grime. The roof sagged in places where tiles had fallen away and never been replaced.
It was perfect.
Aster sat in what had once been a living room, his back against a wall that was surprisingly still solid despite the building's general state of decay. Dust motes drifted through the air, illuminated by the last rays of sunlight filtering through the broken window he'd created with his arrival.
He'd finally stopped moving. Finally allowed himself a moment to simply breathe and think.
The house was old—very old. But as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, Aster noticed something he'd missed in his initial survey. Near the front entrance, barely visible beneath years of accumulated dust, was a nameplate.
He stood and moved closer, using his sleeve to wipe away the grime.
The plate was made of tarnished brass, engraved with formal lettering:
*CAPTAIN WILLIAM HANKS*
"William," Aster said aloud, the name triggering a memory. "The same name as that old mansion. The Williams mansion where the cult was performing their ritual."
He looked around the abandoned house with fresh eyes, trying to understand the connection. Was this the same family? The same bloodline?
"He must have been a rich guy," Aster mused, noting the quality of the construction despite the decay. "Or maybe this was just his storage house? A property he kept for... what? Supplies? Secret meetings?"
The title suggested military service. "Captain William Hanks," Aster repeated. "Captain of a ship, maybe? Or a military leader? A captain in the royal army during some past war?"
The possibility intrigued him. If this Captain Hanks had been a significant figure—wealthy enough to own multiple properties, important enough to warrant a title—then there might be something useful left behind. Documents. Maps. Information that could help Aster understand the larger forces at play.
"Maybe I could find something here that would help me," Aster said, pushing himself to his feet despite his exhaustion.
He began a more systematic search of the house, moving from room to room with purpose now rather than just taking shelter. The main living area yielded nothing but rotted furniture and faded curtains. The kitchen—if it could still be called that—contained only rust and mold. Several bedrooms upstairs were completely empty, their contents long since removed or rotted away.
But at the back of the house, Aster found what he was looking for: a storage area.
It wasn't large—just a converted closet beneath the stairs—but it had been sealed more carefully than the rest of the house. The door was reinforced, the hinges still solid despite their age. Someone had wanted to preserve whatever was kept here.
Aster forced the door open, the old lock giving way with minimal effort.
Inside, the space was surprisingly dry and well-preserved. A few wooden crates sat stacked against the wall, and hanging on hooks were what looked like old military uniforms—Captain Hanks's formal attire, perhaps, kept as mementos or for official occasions that never came.
Aster opened the crates one by one, his hopes gradually fading. The first contained only old clothing—civilian dress from a style that had been fashionable decades or even a century ago. The second held books, but they were so water-damaged and mold-covered that the pages had fused together into solid blocks of pulp.
"No, there's nothing here," Aster said with disappointment, closing the third and final crate. It had contained nothing but old correspondence—letters so faded that the ink had become illegible ghosts on yellowed paper.
He was about to leave the storage area when something caught his eye.
Tucked behind the crates, rolled up and secured with a leather cord, was what appeared to be a large piece of parchment or canvas.
Aster carefully extracted it and brought it out into the better light of the main room. He untied the cord and unrolled the document, spreading it across the dusty floor.
It was a map.
Not just any map, but an incredibly detailed cartographic rendering of the entire White Dragon Kingdom. Every city, every town, every geographic feature was marked with precise notation. Rivers were drawn with exact curves. Mountain ranges showed elevation changes. Roads—both major highways and minor paths—were carefully indicated.
"Was he a cartographer?" Aster wondered aloud, examining the meticulous work. This level of detail would have taken years to compile.
His eyes found the Valley of Evil, marked clearly on the western edge of the capital. But the notation beside it made him pause:
*UNINHABITED - YEAR 847*
Year 847. According to the kingdom's calendar system, they were currently in Year 1024. This map had been drawn one hundred and seventy-seven years ago.
"But wait," Aster said, his mind racing through the history he'd been taught. "Didn't the cursed king die like... more than a thousand years ago? This map barely looks like it's a century old. Maybe two at most, judging by the paper quality and ink."
He studied the map more carefully. The capital was marked in its current location—current as of when the map was drawn, at least. But there were notations indicating that the city had been moved or rebuilt at some point. An older city center was marked further west, much closer to the valley.
"Maybe my dad was lying about the timeline," Aster muttered. "Or maybe the stories got exaggerated over generations. A thousand years sounds more dramatic than a hundred and seventy-seven years."
The implications troubled him. If his father had lied about when the curse began, what else had been fabricated or distorted?
"I don't think this map will be directly useful for escaping or proving my innocence," Aster admitted. "But I should keep it anyway."
He examined the map more closely and noticed something else: small marks—almost like property deeds—scattered across the city. Each mark was accompanied by the initials "W.H."
William Hanks had owned numerous properties throughout the capital. And surprisingly, according to the notations, they were all still standing. None had been torn down or repurposed.
"All of these houses were untouched," Aster observed. "They weren't maintained, but they also weren't converted into new buildings by the government. That means someone still owns them. Someone who doesn't want new people living there."
But who could that be? After nearly two centuries, any direct descendants of Captain Hanks would be several generations removed. Unless...
Unless the properties were held in trust. Or unless the ownership had passed to some organization rather than individuals. Or unless—the thought sent a chill down Aster's spine—unless whoever owned them wasn't entirely human and therefore didn't age normally.
"Who could it possibly be?" Aster said to the empty room.
He decided to keep the map. It might prove useful eventually, even if its purpose wasn't immediately clear.
But where to keep it? He couldn't just carry a large rolled-up map everywhere he went. It would be conspicuous, easily damaged, and...
The thought triggered something in his consciousness. The demonic power flowing through him had unlocked new abilities—he could feel them lurking at the edges of his awareness, waiting to be explored and mastered.
One of those abilities was a pocket dimension.
Aster focused on the sensation, reaching inward toward that darkness that had been awakened. He visualized a space—a void where he could store objects, keeping them safe and accessible but not physically on his person.
Reality rippled slightly in front of him, and a small tear appeared in the air—like a vertical slit in the fabric of space itself. Through it, he could sense an endless darkness. An empty void waiting to be filled.
"The endless pocket," Aster named it, pleased with both the ability and the straightforward name.
He rolled up the map and pushed it through the tear. It vanished into the darkness, but he could still sense it there, waiting to be retrieved whenever he needed it.
The tear sealed itself, and Aster smiled slightly at his success.
But when he reached into the pocket dimension to practice retrieving objects, he discovered something unexpected. The pocket wasn't entirely empty.
There was already something inside...
Something he has seen before..