"This isn't a history book," he whispered, the words strained, as though every syllable physically hurt him. "It's a manual."
The sheer terror in his tone sent a cold shiver down my spine. Kyrion was never shaken easily. Seeing such fear in his eyes gave frightening weight to the implications I'd already begun to grasp. I could feel the puzzle pieces aligning in my mind, revealing a darker picture than I'd ever imagined possible. This chamber wasn't merely protective—it was functional. These leylines were not random veins of magical energy; they were engineered conduits, deliberately crafted to serve a hidden purpose—a purpose that someone, or something, had hidden away beneath layers of secrecy and wards.
Whoever the benefactor was, their power extended further into the heart of Aetherion than I'd previously realized. They'd buried this manual here, within the fortress itself, a dormant weapon ready to be wielded against the Council—or perhaps against reality itself.
