The air in the subterranean vault turned frigid. Elara Vance, the beacon of purity in Aethelgard, looked out of place amidst the swirling grey mists of the Hidden Archive. Her white robes seemed to glow with a faint, holy light, but here, in the "Null-Zone," that light flickered like a candle in a gale.
Kaelen didn't move. His mind was racing through every dialogue tree he remembered from the game. In the original story, Elara was the moral compass of the Hero's party. She was the one who would eventually cast the 'Great Purification' spell that would strip Kaelen of his shadow armor, leaving him vulnerable to Lucius's final blow.
If she leaves this room and tells the Church I'm down here messing with Primordial Scripts, my 42-day deadline just became 42 minutes, Kaelen thought.
"Prince Kaelen," Elara said, her voice gaining a fraction of its usual steel. She stepped forward, her hand gripping her sun-shaped pendant. "This place... it reeks of the Void. This is forbidden. Even for a royal."
Kaelen let out a short, dry laugh. He stepped away from the obsidian pedestal, the Primordial Shadow Script already dissolving into his shadow, bound to his soul.
"Forbidden by whom, Saintess?" he asked, his voice echoing off the etched glass cylinders. "The Church? The Gods who sit in their gilded heavens while the border settlements starve and the 'Hero' plays with wooden swords in a village three days away?"
Elara flinched at the mention of the Hero, though she didn't yet know Lucius by name. To her, the "Prophesied One" was still a dream.
"The laws exist to protect us from that," she pointed a trembling finger at the darkness coiling around Kaelen's feet. "That power... it isn't mana. It's a sickness."
Kaelen took a step toward her. Instinctively, she tried to summon a Light Barrier. A faint spark of gold appeared between her palms, but it sputtered and died instantly. Her eyes widened in genuine terror.
"The light doesn't reach here, Elara," Kaelen said softly, stopping just a few feet away. "In this room, I am not a Prince, and you are not a Saintess. We are just two people in the dark. And right now, I'm the only one who knows how to see in it."
He could see the gears turning in her head. She was looking for an exit, a way to scream for help, but the 'Null-Zone' suppressed more than just magic—it suppressed the very "Plot Logic" she relied on.
"Are you going to kill me?" she whispered.
Kaelen paused. In the original script, Kaelen would have. He would have tried to sacrifice her to gain more power, failing because of some last-minute intervention. But he wasn't that Kaelen.
"Kill you? And deal with the entire Holy Order breathing down my neck before I've even had breakfast? That sounds like a lot of work," Kaelen said, his tone shifting from menacing to strangely casual. He leaned against a stone pillar, crossing his arms. "Besides, dead Saintesses make for very annoying martyrs. I'd much prefer an ally."
Elara blinked, the sheer absurdity of the statement momentarily overriding her fear. "An ally? You are the Shadow of Astora. You represent everything the Light stands against."
"And the Light represents a system that is currently failing," Kaelen countered. He reached out—not to attack, but to gesture toward the glass cylinders. "These archives contain the truth of the First Era. Before the Church edited the history books, the Shadow wasn't a monster. It was the foundation. Without a shadow, a light has no depth. It's just... blinding."
He saw a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. Elara was a scholar at heart; it was her greatest strength and her secret weakness.
"You're lying," she said, though her grip on her pendant loosened.
"Am I? Look around. If I wanted you dead, you'd be a memory by now. Instead, I'm offering you a choice. You came here looking for the 'Lost Records of the Sun,' didn't you? You suspected the Church was hiding something about the upcoming Cataclysm."
Elara gasped. "How could you—"
"I know many things, Saintess. I know that in 42 days, a tide of monsters will rise that no 'Holy Barrier' can stop. I know that the man the Church calls the 'Hero' is currently a farm boy who can't even hold a shield properly. And I know that if we keep playing the roles assigned to us, everyone—including you—dies."
He extended a hand toward her. It wasn't the pale, sickly hand of the villain she knew. It was steady.
"Help me rewrite the script. Don't tell the Council about this room. In exchange, I will give you access to the true history of your Order. We stop the Cataclysm together, on our terms. Not the Gods'."
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: UNPRECEDENTED EVENT]
[You are attempting to 'Recruit' a Main Heroine.]
[Success Rate: 5%]
[Warning: Luck Stat (0.5) may cause catastrophic failure.]
Kaelen ignored the blue screen. He didn't need the System's permission to talk.
Elara looked at his hand, then up into his violet eyes. She saw something there that wasn't in the legends—a desperate, human spark of survival.
"If you are tricking me, Kaelen von Astora," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "the light may not reach here, but my soul will haunt you to the ends of the Void."
She didn't take his hand, but she didn't run. She stood her ground.
"I won't tell them," she said. "Not yet. But I want to see what's in those cylinders. Everything."
Kaelen felt a weight lift off his chest, though a new one took its place. He had successfully diverted a major plot point, but in doing so, he'd brought the most dangerous person in the kingdom into his inner circle.
"Fair enough," Kaelen said, a small, genuine smirk tugging at his lips. "But we have to move fast. My captain of the guard is already suspicious, and I have a feeling the 'Hero' is about to have a very bad day."
As they climbed back up the spiral stairs, Kaelen felt the Shadow Script pulsing against his soul. It was hungry. It wanted him to test his new power.
Suddenly, a massive tremor shook the library. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and the distant sound of screaming reached their ears.
Kaelen sprinted to a window and looked out toward the city square.
A massive rift, jagged and bleeding crimson energy, had torn open in the sky. It wasn't supposed to happen for weeks.
[CRITICAL PLOT ALERT: THE OVERWORLD LOGIC IS REBelling]
[Due to 'Extreme Divergence', the Cataclysm has been accelerated.]
[New Deadline: 12 Hours.]
"Twelve hours?" Kaelen shouted, slamming his fist against the stone windowsill. "I just got here!"
Beside him, Elara turned pale. "The rift... it's a Blood Omen. We aren't ready."
Kaelen looked at her, then at the system screen that was now flashing a violent red. The game was fighting back. It wanted him dead, and it was willing to burn the whole world to make sure he didn't change the ending.
"Fine," Kaelen growled, the shadows around him sharpening into lethal blades. "If the System wants a speedrun, I'll give it one."
He turned to the terrified Saintess. "Elara, go to the cathedral. Marshal the priests. Don't ask for permission, just do it. I'm going to the rift."
"You? Alone?"
"I'm the Villain, remember?" Kaelen said, jumping onto the window's ledge. "We're supposed to be good at causing trouble."
Without waiting for a response, he dove out the window, his shadow expanding into a pair of dark, tattered wings as he plummeted toward the chaos below.