The relic did not follow Nyra.
It obeyed.
At Aethric's subtle gesture, the obsidian shard drifted back toward its containment ring, sealing itself with a soft, resonant hum. The chamber's runes dimmed, though the air remained tense, as if the Conclave itself were holding its breath.
Nyra exhaled shakily. "That thing… it listened to me."
Aethric studied the relic for a moment longer before turning away. "It recognized you. That is not the same as obedience."
He moved toward a narrow archway at the far end of the chamber, one that Nyra could have sworn had not been there before. As he approached, the stone wall folded inward, revealing a descending spiral staircase carved from black marble veined with silver sigils.
Nyra hesitated. "Where does that lead?"
"Below the Conclave," Aethric replied. "To the places we do not show initiates."
The staircase descended far deeper than Nyra expected. The air grew colder with every step, heavy with old magic that pressed against her senses like a deep ocean. The walls pulsed faintly, responding not to torchlight but to Aethric himself, runes awakening in sequence as he passed.
"These chambers predate the Conclave," he said, his voice echoing softly. "They were constructed during the final decades of the First Era. When archmages realized knowledge itself had become a threat."
Nyra swallowed. "So they hid it."
"They buried it," Aethric corrected. "And sealed it with oaths most could not survive breaking."
At the base of the staircase lay a vast vault. Endless shelves curved along the chamber's walls, stacked with tomes bound in unfamiliar materials: stone, metal, even crystallized mana. Chains of light and shadow wrapped around many of them, wards layered upon wards.
Nyra's pulse quickened. The hum inside her chest returned, softer now but persistent.
"This is the Forbidden Archive," Aethric said. "Texts deemed too dangerous to exist… yet too valuable to destroy."
He approached one of the shelves and removed a thin slate etched with fractured runes. Nyra watched in awe as his eyes flickered across the script.
"That's First Era writing?" she asked.
"A precursor," Aethric replied. "Three dialects older than what scholars now call ancient."
He did not translate aloud. He did not need to. The symbols flowed in his mind effortlessly, meaning unfolding without resistance. To Nyra, the runes shifted and warped, refusing coherence.
"Some magic," Aethric continued, returning the slate, "was never meant to be practiced. Not because it is evil but because it alters the rules by which magic exists."
He stopped before another shelf.
"Nullcraft."
Nyra frowned. "I've never heard of it."
"No one has," he said. "Nullcraft erases magic. It does not dispel it. Not counters it. It removes the concept of magic from a space, creating voids where spells collapse into nothing."
Nyra's breath caught. "That's… impossible."
"It nearly ended the First Era," Aethric said quietly. "Archmages turned it upon one another. Entire regions became dead zones where magic could never return."
He moved on.
"Grave-Weave," he said next. "A discipline that binds souls to spellwork using memory, death, and identity as fuel. Its practitioners believed consciousness itself was the ultimate arcane resource."
Nyra felt ill. "People used that?"
"Yes," Aethric replied. "And some still try."
They reached a central pedestal where a single tome lay unchained. Its cover was black, unmarked, yet the air around it warped subtly.
Aethric did not touch it.
"This text survived because it was never cataloged," he said. "It was hidden during the sealing of the Hollow Sovereign."
Nyra's heart skipped. "Does it mention him?"
"It implies followers," Aethric said. "Cult activity. Devotion not to power but to absence. To hollowness."
He opened the tome.
The pages turned on their own.
Symbols ignited, reacting to Nyra's presence. Aethric's gaze sharpened as he read, lines of meaning forming instantly in his mind.
His expression changed.
Not fear.
Concern.
"This was not written as a warning," he said slowly. "It is a record. Recently. Updated."
Nyra's voice trembled. "Updated… how?"
Aethric closed the book.
"Someone has begun recreating First Era rituals," he said. "They are attempting to breach a seal."
The chamber shuddered faintly, as though the mountain itself had heard.
"And this text," Aethric continued, eyes distant, "was meant to be read when the Hollow Sovereign's name began to circulate again."
Nyra felt the hum inside her chest rise to a painful pitch.
"So… what does that mean?"
Aethric looked at her.
"It means," he said, "the past is no longer sleeping."
A forbidden tome reveals active cult movements tied to the Hollow Sovereign rituals meant to weaken ancient seals. As relics awaken and forbidden magics resurface, Aethric realizes the First Era's greatest threat is no longer sealed… it is being summoned.