The second page contained a few lines of elegant calligraphy, written in a strict couplet structure that felt more like a lamenting poem than a historical record.
Woe unto the world that cast me into the abyss, for their righteous light is but a blinding shroud.
Woe unto this fractured soul, for seeking the warmth of their acceptance only forged these iron chains.
Woe unto the heavens that judged my ambition a sin, while their angels bathe in the blood of the innocent.
Woe unto the legacy I leave behind, for my crown shall rot alongside the truth they desperately buried.
Solomon read the profound, bitter verses twice, absorbing the heavy sorrow and arrogance woven into the ink. Eager to read the actual diary entries or the forbidden martial arts manuals hidden within the text, he eagerly flipped to the next page.
It was completely blank.
