A room cloaked in silence, lit only by the flickering of dying candles.
Shadows clung to the walls like forgotten sins. A long table rested at the center, untouched by dust, surrounded by chairs that shouldn't be there—chairs that hadn't been made by mortal hands.
And from one of those chairs came a low, grinding voice.
"Varaziel died. What a waste."
The air rippled with disdain.
Across the table, a woman chuckled—light, airy, like wind through bones. Her silhouette swayed like smoke, feminine and twisted with glee.
"Oh, but didn't he almost win? He even rewrote the Noctis Vitae, darling. That's not nothing."
The man's voice was steel on stone. "He failed."
"Oh, you're always so grumpy." She toyed with a candle's flame between clawed fingers. "Should we kill the next one? You know… the twins have been snooping."
The silence that followed was thick, almost sentient.
"No. We wait. Let the game move."
The woman pouted. "Boring."
They glared at each other across the empty space—two beings who weren't truly there.
Shadows surged behind them like tides in war.
Then—collision.
The darkness erupted as they vanished into each other, leaving behind a room colder than death and just as patient.
Ryle sat at his desk, ink-stained fingers gripping a quill. His body still ached from the battle, his ribs wrapped in dragonhide bandages. Thea sat nearby, cleaning her blades in silence.
By candlelight, Ryle wrote:
"The Queen of Valemourn has fallen.
The civil war ends.
The throne is shattered, yet the people begin to hope.
The blood-soaked era fades, and from ruin, something fragile emerges—
A future."
He leaned back, sighing through cracked lips.
Thea's voice broke the silence.
"Ryle…"
He glanced at her.
She looked uneasy.
"Where is the Noctis Vitae?"
The quill dropped from his hand.
Eyes wide, Ryle stood so fast his chair fell backward.
"…We left it," he whispered.
"In Valemourn."
Without another word, he threw on his cloak, leapt out the window, and took flight, wings tearing through the clouds like blades.
Thea followed, matching his speed.
Valemourn had changed.
Its streets were no longer choked with blood, but silence. People emerged slowly, like they were waking from a long nightmare. Stones were stacked. Fire pits lit. The dead had been buried.
On the castle's highest balcony stood Charlotte.
Regal in posture, though her armor was scorched and her face pale from sleepless nights. She watched her people—her kingdom—rebuild from beneath the ashes.
Ryle landed behind her with a soft thud.
He grinned despite himself.
"Hey, Charlotte. You become the queen or something?"
She didn't turn, but he saw the corner of her mouth twitch.
"I mean… technically."
He laughed. "Yeah. Sounds about right."
He scribbled it down in his journal without looking.
Then he ran.
Down shattered halls, through broken doors, across a throne room still scarred by fire and madness.
He reached the crater where it all ended.
He dropped to his knees and began digging through the rubble, hands bleeding, breath ragged.
Minutes passed.
Then—
Clink.
His fingers found something smooth. Cold. Familiar.
He pulled it free.
The Noctis Vitae.
Untouched.
Ryle blew the dust from its cover and flipped it open.
His eyes scanned the pages, heart hammering in his throat.
The Rule Page… it had changed.
Sacrifice no longer required.
His breath caught.
Behind him, Thea whispered:
"That's how Varaziel brought them back. He rewrote the book."
Ryle nodded slowly.
"But that means…" He shut the book. "Anyone who create this can resurrect anyone with any rule they want."
Later that night, back in Ryle's cluttered, scorched office, an article lay half-written.
The title glared from the top:
"The Demon King's Awakening is Near."
Ryle sat slouched in his chair, eyes heavy, thoughts darker.
He tapped his quill against the edge of the desk.
"…What is the Hero even doing right now?" he muttered.
Thea raised a brow.
"Tobin?"
"Yeah." Ryle shook his head. "I haven't seen a single headline. Demon armies stirring. Noctis Vitae altered. And that idiot hasn't even shown his face."