The blue flame in Vandal's palm continued to burn with unwavering stability—small, calm, yet the pressure it radiated far surpassed the red fire he had created before. Its bluish glow reflected across the polished white marble, dancing between the drops of blood still trailing from his ears, while the air throughout the chamber remained heavy, as though every particle was observing him.
Vandal's breathing had yet to fully steady, but his eyes were no longer the same.
The shock was gone.
The denial was gone.
What remained now was hunger—
a hunger for answers.
He lifted his head, staring directly into the formless darkness that had been called Camelia.
"So… all of this was to determine whether I'm worthy of being Valeria's son… and worthy enough to understand this world?"
His voice was low, yet every word came out heavy, as though forced through a throat still being crushed by something unseen.
Silence descended.
But it was not empty silence.
It was alive.
Moving.
Watching.
Then Camelia's voice once again filled the entire chamber—still gentle, still soft, yet heavy enough to make Vandal's spine stiffen.
"Yes. Because someone who seeks only power will never be able to stand beside Valeria Nacht. Power may destroy enemies, Vandal… but only understanding allows one to endure when reality itself begins to collapse."
Vandal narrowed his eyes, tightening his fist slightly until the blue flame trembled.
"Then answer me…"
His voice sharpened.
"What exactly happened to this world?"
The pressure in the chamber changed.
No longer threatening.
Instead, it felt as though something was opening a door to knowledge humanity was never meant to touch.
"This world," Camelia said slowly, "has been revised."
Vandal's heartbeat pounded harder.
"Revised?"
"Yes."
A pause.
"And the one who did it…"
The pressure deepened.
"…was Valeria Nacht."
The flame in Vandal's hand shuddered violently.
"With what?"
For the first time, even the twelve servants behind him seemed to hold their breath.
Then Camelia answered.
Her voice no longer echoed merely in his ears—
it resonated directly within his consciousness.
"Codex Veritas."
The name fell like a new law imposed upon the universe itself.
Vandal repeated it quietly, as though confirming he had not misheard.
"Codex… Veritas…"
"You know the Roots used by the Councils, do you not?" Camelia asked.
Vandal nodded slowly.
"The Eight Roots. Fate, Time, Life, Death, Beginning, End, Logic, and Nothingness. The eight foundations that have upheld reality since before the first star was born."
"And for thousands of years," Camelia's voice grew deeper, "all beings—gods, guardians, even the oldest civilizations—believed those Eight Roots were the beginning of everything. That they had no creator. That they were the highest laws."
Vandal nodded without thinking.
"That is what all of history says."
"And all of that history…"
Camelia paused—only for a fraction of a second, yet long enough to make Vandal's heart pound harder.
"…is wrong."
Vandal's body immediately tensed.
"What?"
"The Eight Roots are not creators. Not the beginning. Not the origin."
Camelia's voice grew heavier.
"They are creations."
The blue flame in Vandal's hand trembled violently.
"That's impossible…"
"And yet…"
Camelia's voice carried no doubt.
"…it is fact."
Vandal clenched his jaw, resisting, yet unable to refute it.
"Then…"
His voice grew tighter.
"Who created the Roots?"
Camelia did not answer immediately.
The pressure in the chamber slowly intensified, until fine cracks began to spread across the marble beneath Vandal's feet.
Then the answer came.
"Codex Veritas."
Silence descended so completely that even the flame in Vandal's palm seemed to lose its sound.
Camelia continued.
Her voice no longer sounded like explanation—
but like someone lifting a veil that should never have been touched.
"You are standing."
"I am speaking."
"Those servants are breathing."
"The stars are burning."
"Time is moving."
"Causes are giving birth to consequences."
"And even the question you just asked…"
The pressure rose.
"…is being written."
Cold sweat began to slide down Vandal's temple.
"Written…?"
"Codex Veritas is not an artifact. Not a weapon. Not a Root. Not magic."
Camelia's voice now seemed to come from a place that did not even possess the concept of direction.
"Codex Veritas is a manuscript."
"The creator."
"The writer."
"The beginning of cause."
"The end of outcome."
"And everything that exists between."
The pressure throughout the chamber intensified.
Vandal felt as though reality itself had become heavier.
Yet Camelia continued.
"The Eight Roots were never the origin."
"They were definitions."
"Definitions given form."
"Fate."
"Time."
"Life."
"Death."
"Beginning."
"End."
"Logic."
"Nothingness."
"All of them were written."
Vandal's eyes widened.
Camelia's voice grew deeper.
"They are called the foundations of reality because reality depends on them."
"But Codex Veritas does not."
A brief silence followed.
Then—
for the first time—
the pressure surpassed everything Vandal had felt since entering the chamber.
"The Roots are concepts."
"Codex Veritas is the reason concepts can exist."
The blue flame in Vandal's hand trembled violently.
"If Time vanished, reality would lose time."
"If Logic vanished, reality would lose logic."
"If Fate vanished, reality would lose fate."
Camelia paused.
"But if Codex Veritas vanished..."
The chamber shook.
"...the possibility for such concepts to exist would vanish with it."
Vandal froze.
His thoughts stopped.
Camelia continued.
"Before Time moved, Codex Veritas already existed."
"Before Fate governed possibility, Codex Veritas already existed."
"Before Logic distinguished truth from falsehood, Codex Veritas already existed."
"Before Beginning and End gained meaning, Codex Veritas already existed."
The pressure became suffocating.
"It does not represent concepts."
"It does not embody concepts."
"It does not derive power from concepts."
"It is the source from which concepts are written."
A brief silence followed.
Then Vandal forced himself to speak.
"...Then what exactly is Codex Veritas?"
For the first time since the conversation began—
Camelia answered without hesitation.
"It is the First Concept."
The chamber fell silent.
Vandal's pupils contracted.
Camelia continued.
"Not the concept of Time."
"Not the concept of Fate."
"Not the concept of Logic."
"Not the concept of Life."
"Not the concept of Death."
"Those came later."
"Even the Eight Roots, acknowledged by reality as primordial concepts, exist only because Codex Veritas first defined them."
"Codex Veritas is the First Concept from which the possibility of all other concepts emerged."
"The primordial definition."
"The original narrative."
"The foundation that allowed foundations to be defined."
"It is not one concept among many."
"It is the First Concept that precedes and gives rise to all concepts."
And for the first time—
Vandal understood why even the Eight Roots could never be considered the true origin.
Because long before Time existed.
Long before Fate existed.
Long before Logic existed.
Long before reality itself possessed definitions—
Codex Veritas had already existed.
Writing them.
Camelia's final words echoed directly within his consciousness.
"Reality is governed by concepts."
"Concepts are governed by definitions."
"Definitions are governed by narrative."
"And all narrative originates from Codex Veritas."
"For that reason, Codex Veritas is not merely a story."
"It is not merely a manuscript."
"It is the origin from which every definition, every concept, every law, every Root, and every narrative obtains existence."
Vandal stood silent for several moments.
His eyes moved restlessly.
His mind struggled to assemble something that felt impossible to accept.
Yet eventually, he lifted his head again—
his gaze sharper than ever before.
"Then…"
His voice turned cold.
"If everything is written…"
He took a step forward.
"…why does physics exist?"
For the first time—
Camelia did not answer immediately.
The entire chamber fell into absolute silence.
No pressure.
No sound.
No breathing.
As though the entire mansion itself was listening.
Vandal stepped forward again, the blue flame in his hand burning brighter.
"The Golden Era of humanity knew no magic. Fire was a chemical reaction. Lightning was electricity. Gravity was the curvature of mass. Light had speed. Atoms had structure."
His jaw tightened.
"Before the Tower of Babel appeared, humanity lived entirely by the laws of physics."
His eyes hardened.
"If this world is nothing more than a narrative…"
His voice dropped.
"…then why do those laws still exist?"
Silence.
And then—
for the first time—
Camelia sounded…
pleased.
"Good."
That single word alone was enough to make Vandal's body stiffen.
Camelia continued.
Her voice was softer now.
Deeper.
And for some reason—
far more oppressive than before.
"Because physics…"
The blue flame in Vandal's hand trembled.
"…is not the enemy of narrative."
Camelia continued.
"Physics…"
A pause.
"…is a language."
Vandal's pupils shrank.
"And Codex Veritas…"
The pressure throughout the chamber exploded upward.
"…writes using a consistent language."
Vandal's body froze.
"Fire still requires oxygen."
"Energy still cannot be created or destroyed."
"Mass still bends space."
"Time still moves forward."
"Atoms still form bonds."
"Causes still give birth to consequences."
Camelia's voice now came directly from inside his mind.
"Not because this world is real, Vandal…"
A brief pause.
"…but because its writer has never written carelessly."
For the first time since returning from death—
Vandal was truly unable to answer.
The blue flame in his palm still burned steadily—
but his hand itself had begun to tremble.
Not because he feared monsters.
Nor gods.
Nor death.
But because for the first time—
he was beginning to consider the possibility—
that his entire life,
every choice,
every pain,
even the reason he loved Valeria Nacht…
had perhaps been written—
long before he was ever born.