Max descended the spiral staircase three steps at a time, his footfalls deliberately light against the weathered stone. The lower levels of the citadel received few visitors, perfect for his purposes. Torches flickered at wider intervals here, casting long shadows that stretched like grasping fingers across the walls.
He paused at a junction to catch his breath. His younger body lacked the stamina he remembered. Frustration simmered beneath his calm exterior, but he pushed it aside. Adaptation was survival.
"Who goes there?" A guard's voice echoed from around the corner.
Max pressed himself against the wall, mind racing. The patrol schedules had changed too.
"Just me," he called, stepping forward with casual confidence. "Maximus Drakhalis."
The guard rounded the corner, lantern raised. Recognition flickered across his face, followed by confusion.
"Young lord? What brings you to the lower levels?"
Max produced the leather-bound tome he'd grabbed from the library. "Research for Father. The old archives contain records about the foundation seals."
"At this time?! You know the demons right infront of our walls?"
"That adds to the reasons why I need it even more." Max tapped the book's cover. "The defense systems built into the citadel might save lives tonight."
The guard nodded slowly. "Very well, my lord. But take care below. The lower archives haven't been properly maintained in years."
"I know," Max poked the guard shoulder while walking through the door. "Thank you for your concern."
Max continued past, maintaining his unhurried pace until the guard's footsteps faded. Then he quickened his stride. The archived explanation would satisfy most guards, but he couldn't risk too many encounters. Questions would accumulate.
At the final landing, the air changed into a cooler, heavy with moisture and something else. Something wrong. Max's senses, honed through years of battle in a timeline that no longer existed, registered the subtle wrongness immediately.
The corridor before him ended at a heavy oak door bound with iron. The Archive of Foundations and beneath it, the chamber that housed the Citadel's primary seal. Few knew of its existence, fewer still understood its importance.
Max approached the door, noting the lock appeared intact. He withdrew a slender metal pick from his sleeve and worked it into the mechanism. In his previous life, Max had developed many skills during the war against the demons. Lock manipulation had saved his life more than once.
The lock yielded with a soft click. Max pushed the door open just enough to slip inside, then closed it behind him.
The archive room smelled of old paper, dust, and mildew. Tall shelves lined the walls, packed with scrolls and ledgers documenting the citadel's construction centuries ago. But Max bypassed these, moving directly to the far corner where a section of floor stones formed a subtle pattern.
He knelt and pressed his palm against the center stone. A pulse of aura, even his diminished strength sufficed for this, and the stones shifted, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.
Max took a torch from the wall and began his descent. The stairs wound downward in a tight spiral for nearly fifty feet before opening into a circular chamber roughly thirty paces across. At its center stood a raised dais upon which rested a massive stone disc inscribed with intricate runes.
The Burning Stone Seal. The citadel's heart and primary defense against what lay beneath.
Max approached slowly, holding his torch high. The seal's surface should have glowed with a faint amber light, the manifestation of thousands of layered protection enchantments maintained over generations.
Instead, hairline fractures spread across its surface like a spiderweb. The amber light pulsed weakly, dimming at irregular intervals.
"No," Max whispered. "Not already."
He circled the seal, examining the damage. In his original timeline, the seal had remained intact until the night of the attack. Its failure had been sudden and catastrophic, deliberately triggered from within. Now it was already failing, days or perhaps weeks before the assault.
Max knelt at the edge of the dais, studying the floor around it. White powder formed a broken circle, bone dust, likely human. Dark stains marked regular intervals around the seal's perimeter. Blood offerings.
A ritual had been performed here recently. Not powerful enough to break the seal outright, but sufficient to weaken it significantly.
Max brushed his fingers through the powder, bringing them to his nose. The scent confirmed his suspicion. Ceremonial bone essence, processed according to the Church of Ascension's secret methods.
"The Church…" His voice sounded hollow in the chamber. "Working with demons."
He stood and continued his inspection. Near the wall, partially hidden behind a support pillar, he found a discarded cloth wrapped around ritual implements. Silver knife with a black handle, a small copper bowl, and a vial containing remnants of dark liquid.
Max carefully unwrapped the bundle. The knife's handle bore a small symbol, a rising sun with seven rays. The insignia of the Church's inner circle. He turned the copper bowl over and found another marking scratched into its base: two intersecting triangles with a vertical line through the center.
That symbol belonged to no church. It was a demon script meaning gateway or passage.
"Cooperation," Max murmured, replacing the items exactly as he'd found them. "Not infiltration."
The implications chilled him. In his previous timeline, Max had suspected Church involvement from the visions he had. By then, gathering evidence became impossible amid the chaos of war. Now he had proof of their betrayal before the attack even began.
He circled the seal again, mentally cataloging every detail. The fracture pattern suggested at least three separate ritual attempts. The seal's inherent strength had resisted, but each ceremony weakened it further. By Max's estimation, one more ritual would create enough instability for a coordinated attack to shatter it completely.
The question was when and who within the citadel provided access to this chamber.
Max knelt and pressed his palm against the seal's surface, channeling his aura into the stone. Even with his reduced strength, he might stabilize the smallest fractures. Golden light flowed from his hand, seeping into the cracks. The amber glow strengthened slightly, but the larger fissures remained unchanged.
His current power levels couldn't heal the seal. Only his father or perhaps Violet might possess sufficient strength, but bringing them here required explanation he couldn't provide without revealing his knowledge of the future.
Max withdrew his hand and stood. He would need to find another approach. Perhaps the archives above contained information on temporary reinforcement methods.
A faint sound reached his ears, a distant scraping. Someone approached the archive room.
Max extinguished his torch in the small water basin near the stairs and slipped into the shadows behind a pillar. Moments later, footsteps descended the hidden staircase.
A hooded figure entered the chamber carrying a lantern. The light revealed Archdeacon Martel of the Ascension Church, one of Brian's trusted advisors.
Max controlled his breathing, remaining perfectly still as Martel approached the seal. The archdeacon set his lantern down and removed several items from beneath his robes. Including a knife identical to the one Max had found.
"Progress continues," Martel murmured, inspecting the fractures with evident satisfaction. "One final blessing should suffice."
He withdrew a small pouch and sprinkled fresh bone powder around the seal's edge. Then he knelt and began tracing symbols on the floor with his finger, chanting softly in a language that made Max's skin crawl.
Max memorized every word, every gesture. Knowledge was power, and he now possessed information vital to stopping the betrayal. But he couldn't confront Martel directly. Not yet. The archdeacon's political influence ran deep, and Max needed irrefutable evidence before approaching Brian or Violet.
After completing his inspection, Martel gathered his materials and departed, climbing the stairs without noticing Max's presence.
Max waited several minutes before retrieving his torch and relighting it. He studied the fresh bone powder, noting its placement corresponded to the seal's largest fractures. The pattern suggested the final ritual would occur at specific points of weakness.
He quickly searched the chamber for any additional evidence, finding nothing. With time running short, Max returned to the staircase, carefully resealing the hidden entrance behind him.
In the archive room, he selected several texts on the citadel's founding seals, tucking them under his arm to support his cover story. Then he slipped back into the corridor, locking the door behind him.
As Max climbed toward the upper levels, his mind sorted through implications. The Church of Ascension that supposedly dedicated to human advancement, conspiring with demons. The seal weakening long before the attack in his original timeline. And Archdeacon Martel, who sat at his father's council table, orchestrating it all.
The roots of betrayal were older than the crown, extending deep beneath the citadel's foundations. Max had uncovered one crucial thread, but the complete tapestry remained obscured.
He would tell Violet first, Max decided. Her political acumen exceeded his own, and Brian would listen to her concerns more readily. Together, they might prevent not just tonight's attack, but the systematic betrayal that had doomed the kingdom in his previous life.
The fourth bell rang overhead. Time was running short.
Max quickened his pace. Demons approached the walls, but the true enemy already walked among them.