Julian, Pope Clement, Alaric, and Lucius made their way down alone.

The stone stairs beyond the door were steep and uneven, winding down into a darkness that seemed to swallow the light of the chapel above. As they descended, the sounds that stood out were the rhythmic click of Alaric’s boots and the soft rustle of the Pope’s robes. Alaric held Lucius in his arms firmly, feeling his son shiver at the darkness they were descending through. Alaric did not know what they would find down there, but the Duke did not plan to leave his child to the care of the Church, especially Elian. He would have given him to his knights to take care of, but there was no time. It was best not to delay before the Pope suddenly decided to change his mind.

The air grew thin and cold, smelling of damp stone and the dry, suffocating scent of dust that had sat undisturbed for centuries. In Julian’s chest, the liquid pressure was no longer just pooling; it was a physical weight, a magnetic pull that made every step downward feel like he was falling into the earth.

Is this it? Julian thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. Is this where the answers are buried, or is this just another trap?

At the base of the stairs, they entered a vast, circular hall. Unlike the libraries above, there were no parchment books here. Instead, thousands of narrow stone slabs were slotted into the walls, and crystalline cylinders glowed with a faint, dying blue light in the center of the room. It looked like a secret lab one would see in fantasy movies. Only, there was nothing being tested here, and the air was clean—dusty, yes, but it was clean in the sense that it didn’t smell like lab experiments or severed body parts.

"This is the archive you wish to visit. The Silent Vault," Clement said, his voice flat. "These are the records of the era when the gods walked among us—and when they decided to leave."

Julian’s breath caught. When the gods walked among us? He did not expect something so grand. He had insisted on visiting the archive because he was convinced there was a record of the first war, but to think there were such records. It was no wonder the Pope had been reluctant, even after he heard what might have been a prophecy come out of Julian’s mouth. These records were sacred.

Julian moved toward the center of the room, drawn by a specific vibration in the air that seemed to hum in his very teeth. On a low stone pedestal lay a slab of black obsidian, its surface etched with jagged characters. As his eyes fell upon the script, his violet eye throbbed again, and this time, it was hot. He didn’t have to study the symbols; the meaning flooded his mind instantly, as if he were remembering a line he had written himself.

"The Light is not a shield. It is a seal. And every seal requires a lock," Julian heard himself say, his voice echoing in the hollow space. He blinked, as if he had been in a trance, and snapped back, but he knew what he had said. How he had said it, however, he did not know.

The Pope looked at him in astonishment and muttered under his breath, "Marvelous."

Julian didn’t ask why because he didn’t want to be pulled into one of those situations where they say, ’No one has been able to decipher the words without being told.’ And there was something else he noticed. While it talked about the light, there was a part of it that was missing.

"The text... It’s incomplete," Julian whispered, his fingers hovering over the cold stone. "It talks about the Light as a seal, but it doesn’t say how it was forged. It’s like the most important parts were left out on purpose."

He looked at the Pope, feeling a surge of irritation through his exhaustion. "There’s nothing here about how to stop the surge. Just mentions of a ’medium’ and a bridge that was built a thousand years ago. It’s too vague."

"Because the truth of the first war wasn’t meant to be read, Julian," the Pope replied, his gaze fixed on Julian’s violet-streaked eye. "It was meant to be experienced. The archives contain the records, but if you want the solution, you have to ask the source."

"Source? What is the source?" Julian asked, but Pope Clement did not answer, simply staring at Julian as if Julian already knew the answer but just didn’t know it.

Then, he turned, his robe’s hem swishing against the floor. He did not answer Julian’s question directly and instead said, "We must go to the Sanctuary of the Star-Glass."

"What is the Sanctuary of the Star-Glass?" Julian asked. He had been here in the Holy City for more than a month, but he had never heard of this place. The Pope looked at him and offered a genuine smile as he said, "You will find out soon. For now, let us leave this place."

Then why lead us here in the first place? Julian wondered. He knew he had insisted on coming to the archive, but that was because he didn’t know what was in it. He thought they might be scripts and proper records, but all he’d seen were vague scriptures and proverbs that didn’t provide a solution. If the Pope knew the answers weren’t in the archive, he should have said so. Or did he expect a miracle to happen? Maybe he wanted to see light fall from the sky?

They began to climb back up the stairs. Julian glanced towards Alaric and caught Lucius finally asleep in his arms. It seemed like the heaviness of the atmosphere had crushed the child’s energy and pushed him to sleep. Well, it was for the best.

His body felt heavy, his chest burning with that liquid heat that was now overflowing, making his skin feel too tight.