The Devil's Son and His Fated Bride
Chapter 118: Historians’ Tower IV

Chapter 118: Historians’ Tower IV

~ Kai’s Study

Kai slammed the scroll onto the table, the heavy thud echoing through his study like a war drum. His blood simmered with fury. No matter how hard he tried to maintain a composed front figure for Ren, the truth seethed beneath his skin, his entire body was burning with rage.

His eyes gleamed with something feral, the anger sharpening them until they looked like those of a predator cornered and provoked.

"Someone tried to kill my wife while I was there," he growled, voice edged in steel. "That couldn’t be Luther. He doesn’t want her dead. They unlocked the shackle, and the monster didn’t harm them. That traitor was either a shifter or a vampire."

’Find the bastard, or I will, and it’ll be bloody,’ Shadow snarled in his mind.

"I doubt Luther would let a vampire roam this land freely," Coran offered, his tone carrying a steady calm level. "Besides, they can’t endure sunlight. We all saw that during the battle."

"That means it had to be a shifter," Rail said grimly.

"Yes. I’m certain," Coran affirmed with a nod.

"Interrogate all the guards," Agara suggested.

"No," Kai rejected sharply. "Shadow will find the traitor. I won’t let this go unpunished."

Without another word, Kai let Shadow loose. The massive dark wolf surged forward, leaping through the open window and vanishing into the night. Shadow could seek through the darkness, speak to stray ghosts, and uncover secrets buried in the silence. Few shifters knew of this rare ability, one that allowed him to see fragments of truth witnessed by creatures lurking in every shadowed corner.

’Time to hunt,’ Shadow barked, his paws beating against the earth as he vanished into the waiting dark, ’I’m going to be a hell-hound for her!’ For his wife’s safety, he’d not show mercy.

"Is it not too much?" Agara protested.

"No, I do what I do." He paused shortly and then trailed off, "After the meeting, we are going to check all the locations we’ve marked by the goblin and that spy human girl. Just wait, I might not be able to kill Luther, but I’ll kill those who try to kill my wife."

~*~

~ Back in the Historians’ Tower

"Nothing is written in this one!" Arkilla muttered, setting the diary down with a puzzled frown.

Ren picked it up, her fingers brushing over the weathered leather cover. Her brow arched sharply.

"What do you mean, nothing is written? This is ancient Fae!"

Five years in the Dreamland had given her more than just scars, they had gifted her with education, discipline, and memory sharpened by necessity. And among those skills, the language of the ancient Fae had rooted itself deeply in her mind. The language that the saints and the high Faes knew to speak.

"Arkilla’s right. The pages are blank," Orgeve added, clearing his throat awkwardly as his eyes flicked to hers.

Even Mr. Biken leaned in to inspect the journal, his expression tightening with confusion. "She’s right, all blank! To us!" he muttered, bewildered.

That was when Master Arcane chuckled softly, the sound echoing off the cold stone walls like a riddle left unanswered.

"For thousands of years, no one could read that diary. It remained a mystery. We always suspected it held something important, even Fae mages detected traces of enchantment within, but none of us could decipher it."

Despite the logic in his words, doubt lingered thick in the air. The explanation sounded more like myth than magic.

Until Ren’s voice broke the silence. It was soft and certain.

"She wrote her diary using threads of magic," she said, eyes locked on the blank page. "She wove all three shades into the ink... only someone who possesses the same magic can read it."

Arkilla was stunned. No one, until now, had ever possessed those three shades. The saint must have believed no such person would ever be born.

"Yes, that’s correct," Master Arcane said quickly, his voice trembling with urgency. "Please... tell us what’s written inside!"

Ren’s gaze didn’t leave the diary. "It needs to be translated. That could take months. I can write a copy of the original prose. May I borrow it from you? Either way, it’s useless to anyone but me."

Master Arcane hesitated. His expression tightened at first, eyes narrowed in thought, then gradually softened. "Yes... you may have it. But it must remain within these walls. I’ll arrange a private room for your work. I hope you understand how dangerous this could be."

"I do," Ren replied, flipping open the first page.

The ink glimmered faintly under her fingertips. The entries were chilling. Nimoieth had tested powerful runes and holy enchantments on various species, attempting to reverse witchcraft. Her husband, a Fae healer, assisted her. Together, they had conducted horrifying experiments. Most of them... on humans.

"You’re right, Master Arcane," Ren murmured, her frown deepening as shadows gathered beneath her eyes. "This is a dangerous book. It must never leave this place."

"Thank you for understanding," he said with a solemn bow.

Ren turned more pages. Her heart pounded as the truth unfolded. The deeper she read, the darker it became. Near the end, she discovered detailed records of Nimoieth’s final trials, and experiments that led to the creation of nearly ten monstrous beings, vampires included. The notebook contained information no other surviving record had. Even Luther’s copy likely lacked such detail... because the Fae healer, Nimoieth’s husband, had never shared everything.

"You all read everything there is about Lutherieth and his kin, his weaknesses, his losses, his triumphs," Ren said, her voice steady but tight. "Master Arcane and I will handle this one. The contents of this notebook must be sealed."

Panic flickered in her chest. Nimoieth’s curiosity had been cruel, voracious. She hadn’t hesitated to harm others in pursuit of knowledge. Now, Ren finally understood Azrael’s sharp glances and veiled warnings. He’d seen the same hunger in her eyes, a dangerous curiosity, and feared she would follow the same path. But those two ancient demons had been murderers. Ren was not.

At a nearby table, Master Arcane silently placed a quill and inkstone before her. She sat down, drawing a slow, shaky breath. Her hand trembled.

"I don’t know if we’re doing the right thing," she whispered. "Shouldn’t we just burn it?"

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