“So you're telling me the boys managed to enter a monastery not even we could step foot in?” Eryndar asked, his voice calm, but edged with disbelief—like someone trying to make sense of the impossible.
“They’re not aware of it yet,” Selene replied, seated across from him. Her fingers brushed lightly over the object she placed between them—a simple, unmarked book. But even its silence felt unnatural.
“They retrieved this.”
Eryndar narrowed his eyes. He reached out and held it for a moment, his thumb tracing the cover as if trying to read it by touch alone.
Then he pulled his hand back.
“This… doesn’t belong here,” he murmured.
“Its Essentia—it's wrong. It doesn’t flow like ours. Doesn’t even resist like corrupted energy. It’s... other.”
He couldn’t explain it—but his instincts, honed by war and silence, screamed it loud and clear.
“That’s exactly what we’ve been piecing together,” Selene said. “It holds a connection to an alternate timeline. The boys saw themselves—older, surrounded by people they’ve never met.”
Eryndar’s expression darkened, slow and thoughtful.
“And the Circle of Ourothan is after it?”
“Yes,” Lytharos confirmed. “We believe they want the book to bring back another Corruptor—or worse. To overwrite this timeline with a different one.”
“They sent Askael and Sereth,” Selene added grimly.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
The name made Eryndar go still.
“Sereth…” he repeated. “I remember that one. He was once my target. Should’ve finished the job.”
He looked down, almost bitterly.
“If Rheon had been in his prime… that bastard wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
“Not like he did anyway,” Lytharos cut in with a faint smirk.
“I engaged Askael directly. After Sereth fell, the coward ran—dragging his unconscious allies with him.”
Eryndar let out a low breath. His gaze lingered on the book again.
“Then we don’t have time. The Circle’s moving. And those two boys... whether they’re ready or not... are already in the center of it.”
Eryndar set his empty cup down with a soft clink.
Then he stood.
“I need to know if Rheon’s sacrifice was worth it,” he said, his voice quiet—but the words struck like a hammer.
The room stilled.
Lytharos leaned back slightly, arms folding.
“Go easy on them. They’ve only been training for a little over two months.”
Eryndar didn’t answer. He simply turned and walked toward the exit, his boots making almost no sound on the wood floor.
But Lytharos could tell.
Two months, Eryndar thought bitterly. Rheon gave up everything for two boys who’ve only just learned to stand?
He pushed open the door and stepped out, the air shifting behind him like it had to move out of his way.
“He’s not taking Rheon’s condition well,” Lytharos murmured, watching the doorway.
“He’s not showing it—but there’s anger there. And it’s aimed at the boys.”
“It’s obvious,” Selene said, not even looking up. “Did they tell you what happened to his wife?”
Lytharos nodded slowly.
“She died from corruption. Prolonged exposure. Her body couldn’t hold out.”
Selene’s gaze darkened, her voice dropping with it.
“That’s the short version. The truth is… she lived ten years longer because of Rheon.”
She traced a faint mark on the rim of her cup with her finger, lost in thought.
“When Eryndar told him she’d been infected, Rheon called me within minutes. We worked day and night on a cure. Essentia recalibration, flow cleansing, even tried isolating the corrupted signature…”
She shook her head.
“We never found a way to save her. And we never healed Rheon’s injury either—not fully. He pushed too far. Spent too much.”
A long pause settled between them. Then Lytharos sighed.
“Still… Eryndar never blamed us.”
“No,” Selene said quietly. “He’s always been grateful. But now… that wound’s open again. And he’s wondering if Rheon’s second sacrifice will end the same way.”