The battle in the Archive Guild left the air thick with smoke and fear. The robed cultists had fled—or dissolved into nothing under Azel's touch—yet the silence that followed was heavier than any clash of blades.
Every librarian in their steel masks stared at him. None spoke. None dared. The glow of his mark still lingered in the dark, faintly illuminating the blood-slick marble floor.
Azel lowered his hand, and the light vanished. Only then did the world seem to breathe again.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
Not from the cultists. Not from the librarians.
From the shadows. From the city itself.
The Ascendant has awakened.
Liora Veyne stood rooted to the ground, her lantern shards glittering at her feet. She should have run, should have hidden, but instead she whispered a single word, trembling:
"…What are you?"
Azel looked at her, expression unreadable. He had no answer to give. If he told her the truth, she would never sleep again. If he lied, the truth would devour her anyway.
Before he could respond, a bell tolled in the distance. One… two… three. Each strike reverberated through the walls like a heartbeat.
Liora's face went pale. "The Sanctum Watchers. They'll come. They always come when forbidden power is used."
Azel frowned. He had heard the name only in passing—an order older than kingdoms, tasked with binding anything that smelled of divinity. Even gods once trembled before their judgment.
The librarians exchanged uneasy glances. Some stepped back from Azel as though distance might protect them. Others drew closer, their loyalty torn between fear of him and fear of the Watchers.
Then, the floor groaned.
The Archive trembled, lanterns swaying, books falling from shelves. A fissure split the marble tiles, leaking a faint, cold mist. The masked cultists had not been defeated fully—their ritual had planted something beneath the Guild.
From the crack, a voice seeped out. Not human. Not sane.
It sang in tones too low and too high, a hymn that made teeth ache and eyes water.
"Ascendant…" it crooned. "…Break your shell. Release us…"
Liora clutched her ears, falling to her knees. Several librarians collapsed outright, blood running from their noses. Only Azel stood unmoving, though his hand throbbed with searing heat.
The mark wanted to answer.
It pulsed against his will, begging him to open the fissure wider, to unleash what slumbered below.
Azel clenched his fist. The walls shook harder. A second bell tolled—closer this time. The Watchers were coming.
He had a choice.
To unleash his godhood and crush the voice beneath the Archive… or to hide, and risk the Watchers binding him in chains meant for deities.
For the first time, Azel wondered if even he could survive what came next.