"I had never seen symbols like these before… they're so strange and perplexing, akin to the runes in that ancient book. And yet, this… this is a dead language."
Liliam Bright-Windham whispered as her eyes traced the faded ink etched into the old parchment. She studied the writings discovered by the LuxFord faction's explorers during their descent into the dungeon of Akerhill. Beside her, Callaghan and Tanner pored over the same collection of scrolls, all seated around the grand table in the Sentinels' mystical workshop.
A few steps away, sprawled across the floor and surrounded by a sea of brittle letters and dust-covered scrolls, Cosette and Senna carefully opened the blackened, crumpled envelopes, revealing the forgotten contents within. It was clear these documents had been unearthed the day before—now under systematic examination and categorization.
The Sentinels' great mystical workshop was a marvel in itself, built within a towering structure where each floor moved like a living mechanism. Some levels rose like floating platforms, powered by the arcane energy flowing from the Rune Ark's core stones, functioning like engines of mystic origin. Others descended, reshaping the inner complex as it constantly shifted and reorganized into four vast chambers.
Liliam and her companions were gathered in the third sub-level of the immense construction. There, Callaghan focused intently on a peculiar scroll, using a mystic lens crafted to read the passage of time through ink. With it, he could decipher not only the content but determine precisely how long ago it had been written, and in what moment of history the parchment had been born.
"Your Majesty! …This scroll is truly ancient. The ink appears to date back to Cycle 20, after the fall of Aldelviewreld!" Callaghan announced with awe in his voice.
At once, Liliam rose from her seat, stepping closer to verify the information herself through the mystic lens. As she peered into it, something peculiar shimmered within the glass—an anomaly within the ink's very essence.
"Look at this, Henry! …This ink was crafted using the blood of an ancient beast!" Liliam exclaimed, referring to Callaghan by his given name.
"Fascinating! A species unknown to us, then… We barely have records from more than four hundred cycles ago," Callaghan mused, adjusting the settings on the lens with growing intrigue.
"And according to the lens… if this scroll truly dates back to Cycle 20, it's the oldest artifact we've ever recovered," Liliam affirmed, her voice hushed with reverence.
Meanwhile, Cosette and Senna continued sifting through the aged envelopes until Senna stumbled upon one inscribed in a script that seemed—at least partially—decipherable to them.
"Your Majesty! …I believe this one might hold something we can actually read!" Senna called out, her tone a blend of excitement and caution.
Liliam requested the letter at once. Senna carefully placed it beneath the mystic lens, and Callaghan initiated the scanning process. The lens responded almost immediately, glowing with a sharp crimson hue—a sign of warning, a signal that the writing contained temporal anomalies or sealed enchantments.
"This is getting more unpredictable by the minute," Callaghan muttered.
"What do you mean?" Liliam asked, tension beginning to coil in the air. The room fell into sudden stillness. Even Cosette paused, her hands frozen above another envelope, eyes fixed on Callaghan's troubled expression.
"The text is readable… but it carries a warning," he said at last, his voice low and serious. "A curse—or a consequence—for any who dare speak its contents aloud."
"Sum serenitas, sed non mansueto; sum benevolentia, sed non comitas. Is qui scientiam desiderat, summo timori suo occurrere potest. Nomen meum est nuntius fati; cave desideria tua."
Liliam and Callaghan worked in solemn silence, eyes fixed on the cryptic message before them. As Cosette stepped forward toward the mystic lens, a hushed tension fell upon the chamber. No one dared utter a word. Their rudimentary knowledge of Old Elvish was enough to recognize the weight of what lay inscribed—and the deep crimson glow radiating from the lens only confirmed their fears: this was a warning, and a potent one.
Without so much as a whisper, Cosette leaned in and gazed through the lens. Her expression remained unreadable. She read the message silently, her eyes scanning the arcane script etched in the scroll.
"Senna! …Bring me parchment and ink, now!" she ordered.
Senna moved swiftly, obeying without hesitation. Moments later, Cosette began to copy the inscription with rapid yet precise strokes. Liliam and Callaghan stood nearby, watching intently, breaths held as her quill danced across the paper.
"It's a warning," Cosette finally said, "but not of death, Your Majesty… it speaks of desire."
"Explain yourself," Liliam urged, her voice calm but firm.
"It's an existential challenge… a caution about the pursuit of knowledge," Cosette elaborated, her tone reverent yet unwavering. "When it warns us, 'Beware your desires,' it refers not to greed, but to the very yearning for understanding itself. Knowledge may grant answers… but it may also awaken our deepest fears."
Liliam and Callaghan exchanged a glance—impressed, moved. The clarity and depth of Cosette's insight had struck them both.
"Incredible, young lady… Rohan must be very proud of you," Liliam said warmly, offering rare praise for the girl's prodigious mind.
"Your Majesty… thank you, but my father doesn't see me as his pride," Cosette replied quietly. "That honor belongs to Kael."
Callaghan stepped forward with a soft smile and gave her a reassuring pat on the back, saying nothing—yet somehow, saying enough.
"Rohan is a fool, blinded by his obsession with having an heir! …He doesn't even see that his daughter is a prodigy," said Liliam, her words meant to lift Cosette's spirit—and they did.
"Truly… thank you," Cosette replied, her voice touched with genuine warmth. "There is no physical danger in this warning, Your Majesty. It's more of a philosophy than a threat."
Liliam regarded the slender young girl with pride shimmering in her gaze. Without hesitation, she gave Cosette a friendly pat on the back.
"Callaghan! …Give her a raise!" she declared with a smirk.
"Wait—can I actually get paid for this?" Cosette asked, her eyes wide with surprise and excitement.
Liliam turned sharply to Callaghan, whose only response was an awkward, guilty smile.
"You don't pay your assistants?" she asked, her tone edged with irritation.
"Of course I do, Your Majesty! It's just… I prioritize the medical Sentinels," he admitted, clearly squirming under her gaze.
Liliam was clearly not amused. "Then offer them proper wages—and proper uniforms, Henry!" she commanded, her voice leaving no room for negotiation.
The declaration brought visible joy to both Cosette and Senna—Cosette beamed at the thought of a uniform, while Senna's smile was quiet but heartfelt, knowing it would help her struggling family.
"Good! …Now, continue organizing everything. I must inform the Queen of our new findings," said Liliam, turning with purpose, her regal presence as unwavering as ever.
―The House of the Sigrids―
Margott sat chatting with the Sigrid brothers while Claire moved gracefully around the room, setting the table. At last, they would taste the recipe she had prepared earlier—before Víctor had whisked them away to meet with Montecristo.
Kiett, meanwhile, had eyes only for his girlfriend. Margott absentmindedly played with her fingers, brushing strands of hair from one side of her face to the other in a soft, repetitive motion.
"Margott! …Are you still nervous?" Kiett asked, concern lacing his voice.
Startled, Margott gave a small jump in her seat.
"I'm fine! …It's just… today has been an emotional whirlwind for me," she replied with a warm smile that lit up the room—and Kiett's heart.
That smile etched itself into his memory. For a moment, Margott's face glowed with such quiet radiance that it made Kiett's eyes glisten in turn. His pupils dilated as he stared, nearly entranced, by the beauty of the girl before him.
"What's the matter?" Margott asked, her smile now tinged with embarrassment.
"Nothing! …It's just that, despite everything today, you look incredibly beautiful," Kiett confessed softly.
Margott turned a brilliant shade of red, blushing so deeply she could have passed for a sun-ripened tomato. From the kitchen, Claire overheard their exchange. She turned slowly, watching them with a gentle smile on her face. For once, she didn't mind their sweet affection.
But Kiett and Margott soon felt Claire's gaze settle on them.
"Could you two save your lovesick antics for when you're alone?" Claire called out, trying to sound exasperated, as she always did in the face of their tenderness.
"Oh, calm down, Claire! …Your prince will come along soon enough," Margott replied teasingly—eliciting, for the first time, a faint look of disapproval from Kiett.
―Averford Castle―
Woodrow lay asleep, though her body betrayed no peace—her limbs twitched restlessly, her face twisted as if tormented by some unspeakable nightmare. Then, with a sudden gasp, she awoke in terror, unleashing a scream so piercing it echoed down the long stone corridor outside her chamber.
A young Sentinel medic came rushing down the hallway, heart pounding as she reached the door. She threw it open to find Woodrow drenched in sweat, struggling frantically to rise from her bed.
"What do you think you're doing, young lady?! …You'll hurt yourself!" the medic shouted, rushing to her side.
"I have to find that man—he has the scroll!" Woodrow cried, her voice desperate and trembling.
The medic, confused and alarmed, tried to restrain her. Woodrow fought back with surprising strength, her urgency like wildfire. It took all the woman's effort to guide her back to bed without worsening her condition, for her internal wounds had not yet fully healed.
"What were you thinking, girl?" the medic asked, breathless and clearly irritated.
Woodrow, pale and shaking, stared at the Sentinel with fierce determination in her eyes.
"Find Mr. Callaghan! …Tell him the young man who brought me through the portal—he has the scroll that contains the first seal of the Eighth Gate. They must be careful… or they could all die!"
The words struck like thunder. Without another question, the medic turned and sprinted down the hall, her mind racing to warn the others of the peril just revealed.
Callaghan remained in the Sentinels' mystic workshop, working alongside Cosette and Senna as they carefully sorted through the ancient documents. The atmosphere was peaceful, almost scholarly—until it was broken by the arrival of the front desk attendant, who stepped in to announce a visitor requesting Callaghan's presence in the main vestibule.
"Very well… I'll go see what this is about," Callaghan said, rising from his seat. "You two, continue analyzing everything. If a new warning appears, report it to me immediately and halt the document sorting at once."
The girls nodded in silent acknowledgment, already returning to their meticulous work.
Callaghan made his way to the grand vestibule, his gaze sweeping through the ebb and flow of people moving across the tiered levels of the mystic tower. His eyes caught sight of a familiar figure standing near one of the carved pillars—a man whose presence was as unexpected as it was unsettling.
"Alistar! …You here? That is truly a surprise," Callaghan exclaimed, striding toward him.
"Henry! …We need to speak in your office—immediately. There's something urgent I must show you," Alistar replied, his voice low and serious.
Without hesitation, Callaghan turned and led him toward sublevel three—the same level where Cosette and Senna remained, unaware that the quiet of the workshop was about to be shattered.
"Ladies! …I must ask you to leave us alone for a moment. I have a matter to discuss with Alistar," Callaghan ordered calmly. Without a word, Cosette and Senna gathered their things and exited the room, their footsteps fading into the hallway beyond.
With the door now closed behind them, the two men were finally free to speak without restraint.
"All right, Alistar… what is it you need to tell me?" Henry asked, his curiosity piqued.
Alistar reached into a worn black leather satchel slung over his shoulder and carefully retrieved a long cylindrical container, its surface gleaming with dull metal and bearing the insignia of the Kingdom of Eircloft.
"What is that?" Henry asked, eyeing it with a mix of caution and intrigue.
"The girl I rescued from the ruins of Aldelviewreld gave it to me," Alistar replied, his tone grave. "She said I had to protect it—no matter what."
He unlatched the container and slowly opened it, revealing a scroll within. The parchment seemed almost alive, releasing thin tendrils of smoke as if the words written upon it were still burning—eternally smoldering with arcane power.
"So you were the one who saved Woodrow… what a remarkable coincidence," Henry murmured, eyes wide. "And I've never seen a scroll like that before…"
He leaned in, captivated by the sight. "What do you think it is?"
"I don't know… that young girl handed it to me, probably thinking she wouldn't survive. She must've been desperate to entrust it to a stranger," Alistar said grimly. "This container bears the seal of Eircloft!"
"I noticed that the moment you pulled it from your satchel," Henry replied. "Bring it here—I'll place it under the lens."
Alistar stepped forward, carefully unrolling the scroll. As he did, the smoke pouring from the parchment thickened, swirling into the air and quickly saturating the room with an eerie, acrid haze.
"Henry! …Be careful!" Alistar warned, his voice tense as the shadows in the room seemed to deepen with every word that rose from the parchment's surface.
Callaghan and Alistar remained in the workshop, on the verge of beginning their analysis and study of the curious, enigmatic scroll. A thick mist and strange fumes continued to seep from the ancient parchment, unsettling Alistar, whose nerves grew more frayed by the second. The atmosphere itself seemed charged with something unnatural, something arcane.
Callaghan, however, approached the scroll with a calm, calculating demeanor. He reached out and gently lifted it.
"Curious… I wasn't expecting this sensation," murmured Henry, his voice laced with intrigue.
"What is it? Henry, what's happening?" Alistar asked anxiously.
Callaghan stepped back two paces, then turned to the table to his right, his eyes scanning for a pair of gloves.
Once his hands were protected, he took the scroll—still tightly rolled—and placed it beneath the lens of a magnifier.
"Is it too hot to the touch?" Alistar inquired.
"No… Quite the opposite. It's freezing cold," Callaghan replied, his breath catching slightly.
Alistar leaned in closer, curiosity overtaking his fear. His gaze drifted around the office—floor to ceiling stacked with forgotten tomes and peculiar documents, some so ancient they were nearly buried under layers of dust. The whole room felt like a relic itself, a chamber where time had been paused, holding its breath for something long awaited.
"What a mess you live in! Don't those two girls clean this place?" Alistar asked, his tone laced with mockery.
Callaghan frowned, clearly unimpressed. The comment felt unnecessary, even irritating given the gravity of the moment.
"Did you come here to uncover the scroll's secrets, or to judge my team?" he retorted, his voice sharp.
"I'd answer you properly," Alistar said, scoffing, "if I didn't already know they aren't the ones in charge of cleaning. But seriously—what are all these documents?"
Callaghan, who was delicately working to unroll the ancient scroll, kept his focus. The lens above had not yet emitted its characteristic warning glow—a pulse of red light indicating danger—so the procedure was, for now, safe.
"They're manuscripts retrieved by the LuxFord faction during an expedition to a dungeon in Akerhill," he replied calmly.
That answer clearly startled Alistar.
He stepped in hastily and grabbed one of the weathered parchments, spreading it open with far too little care. The brittle sheet tore clean in two.
"What are you doing? Be careful with those! They haven't even been cataloged yet!" Callaghan shouted, alarmed. He placed the scroll aside and reached to recover the torn document, but the moment his gloved fingers made contact, frost spread across the paper—freezing it solid.
"Did you see that?" Callaghan whispered.
"Was that… the frost from the scroll?" Alistar asked, eyes wide.
"Tell me something, Henry," Alistar continued, suddenly more serious. "I thought most of the records from Akerhill were destroyed by Hude. Where exactly was this dungeon?"
"No one knows," Callaghan replied gravely. "No one except Reece and the Bright Sisters."
Alistar fell silent. The Bright Sisters? he wondered, the name echoing in his thoughts like a door creaking open to forgotten truths.
Callaghan took the scroll with the utmost care, his fingers moving as if handling ancient glass, and slowly began to unroll it. Let's see what secrets you hold, he thought silently, his breath catching with anticipation.
"Henry… why do you call them that? The Bright Sisters?" Alistar asked, his voice low but inquisitive. "Have you really forgotten that Her Majesty Fiora took the surname Windham?"
Callaghan paused mid-motion, and understanding dawned on his face.
"I know," he murmured. "She took Arthur's name after his death, and asked that her decision be honored."
"It's not a crime to remember the truth," Alistar added. "Just… make sure no one hears you say it."
With that, he stepped closer. "Now, how can I help with this?"
Callaghan raised a hand in warning. "The cold is unnatural—use the gloves behind you, on the table."
Alistar complied, donning the thick protective gloves. Now both shielded from the biting frost, they carefully unrolled the scroll further. As its ancient script unfurled, more of the chilling mist spilled out, flowing like spectral breath across the table. The cold grew more intense, biting into the wood, and frost began to creep beneath the magnifying lens, slowly freezing the surface itself.
Whatever was written on that parchment… it wasn't meant to be disturbed lightly.
Once the scroll was fully opened, Callaghan secured its edges with a set of specialized clamps designed to prevent it from curling back into its cylindrical form.
"Alright… now what?" Alistar asked, watching intently.
"Wait a moment… Why is it still releasing so much smoke?" Callaghan murmured, a note of concern slipping into his voice.
Before either could speculate further, the lens above began to emit its ominous red glow—the unmistakable signal of magical danger.
"Alistar! Step back!" Callaghan shouted, already retreating several steps himself.
In the blink of an eye, a powerful wave of energy erupted from the scroll, tearing through the room like a tempest. Books flew from their shelves, documents swirled into the air like birds startled from a cage, and the office was thrown into utter chaos.
The meticulous order Cosette and Senna had worked so hard to restore was obliterated in seconds, reduced to swirling pages and shattered calm.
Alistar and Callaghan stood frozen, stunned by the sheer force of it all.
At that very moment, Princess Liliam burst into the room.
"What in the hell was that, Callaghan?!" she shouted.
But no answer came. Neither man could find the words.
All that wild energy began to fade, slowly dissolving along with the dense fog that had cloaked the room. Incredibly, the table bearing the magnifying lens had withstood the brunt of the magical surge, remaining upright amidst the devastation.
The three stood still, tense with anticipation, their instincts warning them not to move too hastily.
Just as they began to step forward—cautiously, almost reverently—a soft blue light shimmered beneath the lens.
Then, without warning, it shot upward in a narrow beam, piercing through the haze and casting an ethereal glow upon the ceiling above, like a beacon summoned from another realm.
"Sigillum movetur, inter aquas quae finem non noverunt, per diem dormit et per noctem ambulat. Omne principium finem habet, et omnis finis principium habet. Inveni me in Threnafell"
Liliam, Alistar, and Callaghan stood in stunned silence, awestruck by the extraordinary event unfolding before their eyes.
"That's… beautiful," Callaghan murmured, unable to hide the wonder in his voice.
"Henry! Write it down—quickly! It could vanish at any moment!" Liliam exclaimed.
Callaghan snapped out of his trance, scrambling in a frenzy. Alistar dropped to his knees, rifling through the avalanche of books and papers strewn across the floor in search of a blank page. Meanwhile, Liliam's gaze remained fixed on the glowing inscription etched across the ceiling.
"Here! I found a clean sheet!" Alistar called out.
"And I've got the ink well!" added Callaghan, triumphant.
Liliam, still lost in the strange words above, whispered to herself, "What does it mean? Could it be a clue about the prophecy?"
"Done! I've copied the inscription," Callaghan announced breathlessly. "We need to report this to Her Majesty."
"We shall," Liliam said firmly. "Both of you—come with me. Now."
Just then, the door opened, and Cosette and Senna entered, cheerful and unsuspecting, holding cups of steaming coffee—ready to continue organizing the newly acquired scrolls from the Akerhill dungeon.
But their smiles faded instantly.
They stopped in their tracks, their eyes widening in horror as they took in the scene: overturned shelves, ancient tomes scattered across the floor like fallen leaves, and their carefully ordered system reduced to chaos.
They stared at Liliam, Alistar, and Callaghan with a mix of shock and silent accusation, as if the three had just committed a terrible crime against the sanctity of the archive.
"What have you done?!" Senna shouted, aghast.
"Perfect timing—you've got work to do," Callaghan replied dryly, striding out of the room without so much as a glance back.
"I'll triple your salary if you manage to sort out this disaster," added Liliam, following closely behind him.
Alistar tried to make a discreet exit, but was promptly intercepted by Cosette.
"And what are you offering for the mess your visit has caused?" she asked coldly, arms crossed.
"How about I don't break your arm right now?" Alistar replied, his voice edged with a threat.
Cosette didn't flinch. Clearly unimpressed—and clearly furious—she grabbed him by the collar of his white shirt and yanked him closer.
"Please. That would finally give me a reason to leave this place," she hissed, daring him.
"Fine! How about five gold coins each?" Alistar offered, exasperated.
"That sounds fair," Cosette answered, releasing him.
Alistar handed them the coins and left, disappearing down the hall while the two girls stood in the wreckage of the office, hearts sinking at the chaos around them. Their gazes drifted to the center of the room—where the scroll still rested under the lens, shrouded in faint mist.
"This," Cosette muttered bitterly, "should be classified as a national crime."
Liliam, Callaghan, and Alistar moved swiftly down the corridor, as if time itself were nipping at their heels. There was a nervous urgency in their steps, their expressions tight with tension—Queen Fiora was currently in counsel with the other monarchs, and interrupting her was no small matter.
As they reached the end of the hallway, Liliam knocked frantically on the grand door—once, twice, three times in rapid succession.
It was Fiora herself who opened it, visibly irritated.
"What is it now? This had better be important," she snapped, her tone sharp and impatient.
"Sister! We have something to tell you—immediately!" Liliam replied, her voice breathless with urgency.
Fiora's brow furrowed deeper. She was clearly displeased—the discussions with the monarchs were progressing well, and she detested interruptions.
"Could this not wait a moment? I am in the middle of something crucial," she said, beginning to close the door.
But Liliam stopped it with a sudden force that startled her.
"Fiora! Come with me. Now!" she commanded.
The hallway fell into a thick silence. Callaghan and Alistar exchanged glances, while Fiora stared at her sister, surprised by the uncharacteristic insistence in her voice.
"…Very well," Fiora finally said, her tone clipped. "Lead the way to that room."
Then, turning back to the monarchs with a composed smile, she added, "Please, excuse me just a moment. I won't be long."
She stepped out, closing the door behind her.
When Liliam opened the door to the chamber, she froze in surprise—dozens of royal guards stood within, heavily armed and poised, concealed as if waiting for the signal to strike.
"What are you all doing here?" she asked, bewildered.
"Relax, Liliam," Fiora replied calmly. "They're here in case any of the monarchs try something against Averford."
Incredible… and here I thought she was starting to trust them too much, Liliam thought, both impressed and unsettled.
"Sister, we need to go somewhere more private," she urged.
Still visibly irritated, Fiora walked down the corridor, followed closely by the three messengers now burdened with a revelation too important to delay. They entered a small, empty room—silent, bare, isolated.
"Alright. We're alone. Speak," Fiora ordered, her voice cool and commanding.
Liliam took the sheet of parchment from Callaghan's hands and passed it to her sister.
"All this… just to hand me a piece of paper?" Fiora asked, skeptical.
But the moment she unfolded it and her eyes scanned the writing, her expression shifted. Intrigue overtook irritation, confusion replaced impatience.
"What does this mean?" she asked softly, eyes fixed on the arcane message.
"We found it on the scroll Alistar gave me," Callaghan answered.
"But Alistar isn't part of the LuxFord exploration faction," Fiora replied, narrowing her eyes.
Alistar stepped forward, placing himself directly before the queen.
"Your Majesty, the scroll was given to me by the girl I rescued—during our incursion into the ruins of Aldelviewreld."
Woodrow, the young queen thought to herself, the name blooming in her mind like a seed of destiny awakening.
In the chamber of the Monarchs, Aurora was finally able to stand on her own, her strength slowly returning. She straightened herself with quiet determination.
"Good. We need to apply pressure—now, while we still can," she declared with urgency.
"We're not in that position," Ezekiel replied calmly. "We need to wait."
Aurora's posture stiffened. Ezekiel's words unsettled her, as if they revealed a weakness she refused to accept.
"Ezekiel, the longer we stay trapped here, the more danger our kingdoms face. Fiora could be planning a surprise attack while she keeps us caged like pawns," she snapped, her voice sharp and filled with distrust.
Unbelievable… Dracus thought, watching her with measured eyes. So quick to turn, after being the first to accept Fiora's offer.
"I believe you're rushing to judgment, Your Majesty," Mustaffa said calmly. "If Fiora truly intended to get rid of us… we'd already be dead."
His words hung heavy in the air.
Ezekiel, clearly restless, toyed with a quartz relic—tossing it into the air and catching it absently as Aurora's warning echoed in his mind.
"Ezekiel… are you anxious?" Argus asked, watching him carefully.
"I'm just thinking," Ezekiel replied. "What if Aurora is right? Maybe we're being too trusting."
"I only ask you all to keep this in mind," Mustaffa interjected. "Right now, Fiora holds the winning hand—and any one of us would do the same in her place."
He paused, then added with quiet sincerity, "She genuinely wants an alliance. After everything that happened in Aldelviewreld, we should be afraid—just as she is."
Fiora and the others were gathered around, deciphering the cryptic message.
"'Find me in Threnafell'—could it mean something more?" Fiora asked, her voice low and thoughtful.
"Perhaps it's a riddle," Alistar suggested. "One meant to drive us back into the forest."
Fiora's expression darkened, and Alistar noticed the subtle shift in her face—worry, grief, or perhaps something deeper.
"Your Majesty," he said gently, "I can assemble my finest hunters. We'll begin an expedition at once."
"I know, Alistar… but the problem lies here," Fiora replied, her finger tracing the line. "It sleeps by day and moves by night."
Those words settled over the room like a shadow. Liliam and Callaghan exchanged uneasy glances. No one—no one—had ever dared venture into the haunting forest of Threnafell under the cover of night.
"Find Montecristo," Fiora ordered at last. "If he leads the expedition, I'll sleep easier."
Despite the incident just over a week ago, she still trusted Joel Montecristo more than anyone when it came to the unknown.
TO BE CONTINUED...