For a long while, Vale did nothing but stare at the portrait of his great-grandfather.
The golden knight seemed almost alive beneath the painted surface, kneeling not in defeat, but in resolve. The countless radiant swords frozen mid-air felt less like weapons and more like light made manifest. Vale's chest rose and fell slowly, his mind struggling to reconcile blood, legacy, and myth into something real.
He didn't move.
He didn't even speak.
Then Drago stepped closer, his presence soft but undeniable.
"You know," he said calmly, breaking the silence, "he was chosen, he wasn't born a fragment."
Vale's gaze flickered, but he didn't turn.
"So don't mistake being related to him as inheriting his power," Drago continued. "What he wielded was given and earned. Not passed down through blood."
Vale finally turned, his expression unreadable. His eyes narrowed just slightly.
"Yeah," he said flatly. "I wasn't planning to."
He exhaled, then glanced at Eskar briefly before turning back to Drago.
"Did the priestess ever say what plane I'm connected to?"
Eskar's eyes widened in surprise.
He looked at Drago, who hesitated, then nodded.
"In a way," Drago said slowly. "Yes."
Vale's attention sharpened instantly.
"She told me you're connected to one of the original Founders as well," Drago continued. "That alone makes you… unique. It also seems that some of them are beginning to regain a fragment of their influence."
Vale tilted his head, confusion flickering across his face.
"Regaining power?" he asked. "I thought the Founders were completely powerless in their current state."
Drago released a low sigh and walked back toward Eskar, his robes trailing across the floor like spilled ink.
"They are," he admitted. "Mostly."
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"But once their souls accepted their limitations, once they stopped fighting the prison itself, they began doing something else."
Vale frowned.
"They reached outward," Drago said. "To others. The same way the old gods once did. Seeking heirs."
Vale's eyes widened sharply, then narrowed once more.
"You know about the old gods?"
Drago stopped.
For a long moment, he simply stood there. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"I know of them," he said. "Only in name."
He turned slightly, his expression darkening.
"Their origins. Their power. Their true purpose, those are mysteries that may be better left untouched."
Vale raised an eyebrow.
"Why?"
Drago met his gaze, sadness flickering behind his eyes.
"Because the old gods want to be known," he said quietly. "They go to great lengths to announce their existence. Their angels do the same."
He paused.
"Ask yourself this, why would beings worth worshipping need to slaughter countless people just to make themselves heard?"
Vale stared at him.
Then, slowly, he spoke.
"What if the current rulers are the bad ones?" he asked. "What if the old gods are actually the good guys?"
Drago didn't answer immediately.
The silence stretched long.
Then,
Finally, he spoke.
"I can assure you the old gods were never good," he said evenly. "As for the current higher beings… I don't know their plans. But they haven't interfered with us yet."
He shrugged faintly.
"For now, we accept reality as it is."
Vale narrowed his eyes, studying Drago carefully.
"…Since when did you become so talkative?"
Drago looked at him for a long moment.
Then he smiled, small, tired, but genuine.
"Since I learned my wife and daughter are still alive."
Vale blinked.
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
"I see," he said simply, unsure what else to say.
Eskar remained silent throughout, his gaze locked onto the shade of Leo Lionheart.
Eventually, the shade noticed.
Its eyes shifted.
The two locked gazes, neither blinking, neither yielding, as though engaged in some unspoken contest of will.
Vale sighed deeply.
"Alright," he said. "Can we go over what we do know? I need answers."
Drago turned to him, eyes widening slightly.
"Sure," he said. "What do you want to start with?"
Vale looked down at Zellion and stepped forward, flexing the mechanical fingers slightly.
"Why did Zellion attach himself to me?" Vale asked. "He's an Eidolon. That doesn't exactly scream 'servant.'"
Drago froze.
His eyes widened visibly as he stepped closer, inspecting Vale's arm with intense focus.
Then realization struck.
"I see," he murmured, stepping back. "He was injured. Severely."
Vale frowned.
"He attached himself to you to replenish his atum reserves," Drago explained. "Likely drawing from your own to stabilize himself."
He paused, then narrowed his eyes.
"…But that doesn't make sense."
Vale tilted his head.
"Why not?"
Drago studied him carefully.
"Because your signature, your soul density, must be immense. Too immense for that explanation to fully hold."
Vale raised an eyebrow.
"How do you know he was injured?"
Drago turned back to the arm.
"Eidolons revert to their original forms when they're damaged beyond immediate repair," he said. "It's a conservation mechanism."
He looked at Vale again.
"From what I gathered, Zellion's original form was… a prosthetic arm."
Vale considered that.
It made sense.
At least partially.
But he lacked the knowledge to truly judge it.
Before he could speak again, Eskar finally broke his silence, tearing his gaze away from the shade.
"Either way," he said, "we have three days left."
Vale looked at him, confused.
"What do you mean?"
Eskar sighed.
"You've been out for four days," he said. "The priestess told us no one can stay here longer than a week."
He glanced around the chamber.
"Because of her oath."
Then, more quietly:
"And because everything that belongs here… must stay here."
Vale let out a long, weary sigh, the sound echoing faintly through the chamber.
"So there's really no way to gather more information faster?" he asked, rubbing his temples. "No shortcut. No… hidden archive?"
Drago looked at him and gave a quiet, almost amused chuckle.
"Believe me," he said slowly, shaking his head, "if there were, I would have found it."
He gestured vaguely toward the endless walls beyond the chamber, as if indicating something far greater than the room they stood in.
"This place holds more knowledge than all of the new realms combined," Drago continued. "And yet, even after reading nearly every text, uncovering nearly every secret this library of existence contains, I've never learned more than what I've already told you."
Vale raised an eyebrow, then exhaled sharply through his nose.
'Well, that's reassuring,' he thought dryly.
He lifted a hand to his face, covering his eyes for a moment. Just as he was about to lower it, a sudden thought struck him, sharp and insistent.
Vale straightened and turned back to Drago, his expression sharpening with intent.
"There is one more thing," he said.
He reached beneath his armor and pulled out the emerald necklace he had taken from the strange cave. The gem caught the light faintly, its surface unnaturally dense, almost heavy to look at.
"Do you know anything about this?" Vale asked, holding it out. "Or about someone called the Father of Flaws?"
Drago's expression changed instantly.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he stared at the necklace for a long moment, long enough for the silence to grow uncomfortable, before finally raising his hand.
Vale hesitated only briefly before placing the necklace into Drago's palm.
The old man turned it slowly, inspecting it from every angle. His fingers traced the gem's surface, then the chain, then the clasp. His brow furrowed.
"Strange," Drago murmured. "It doesn't feel special, at least not in the way most artifacts do."
He paused.
"The crystal density, however…" He tilted the gem slightly. "That's unusual. Far beyond what should naturally exist."
Vale watched him closely.
"As for the Father of Flaws," Drago continued, lowering the necklace slightly, "I've encountered that name once before. Or rather… a fragment of it."
He handed the necklace back to Vale.
"The text was damaged," Drago said. "Incomplete. All it contained was a single line."
He closed his eyes briefly, recalling the words.
"Oh Father of Flaws, may thee bless us once more."
Vale's grip on the necklace tightened.
"That's it?" he asked.
Drago nodded.
"That was all," he said. "Not enough to determine what he was, or even who."
He paused, thinking.
"Based on what little exists, the most logical conclusion is that he was a higher being. Either that… or one of the six Founders."
Vale slowly clenched the necklace in his fist, emerald light glinting between his fingers.
"I see," he said quietly.
At the same moment, Drago spoke again, his voice carrying a note of curiosity.
"How do you know about the Father of Flaws?"
Vale looked at him for a moment before answering.
"In a cave," he said slowly. "I fell beneath the sand, deep underground. There was an inscription there. It said: May the Father of Flaws rise once more."
Drago's eyes flickered.
Vale continued.
"There was another text nearby. Something about killing false angels. I thought… maybe the two were connected."
As the words left his mouth, Drago's eyes widened slightly. A dubious, unsettled expression crept across his face.
He went silent.
Then he spoke, carefully.
"I see," he said. "The fragment I found… it carried the same warning."
The air grew heavy in that instant.
Vale's eyes widened slowly as realization set in.
"Then that means,"
Drago nodded, finishing the thought for him.
"Yes," he said quietly. "There is most certainly a connection between the two."