? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?

  The heart of the Empire, Theomar, loomed over the earth like a stone chimera dozing after a banquet of flesh and gold.

  The distant rumble of carriages, the cacophony of markets, the wailing of prayers, and the cawing of crows atop the spires—all resonated like an organ symphony of decaying majesty. Its towers, columns, and temples resembled a rotted crown resting upon shards of promises and blood.

  In the center of the main plaza stood the bronze monument, "Unity of the People." The Emperor—clad in a mantle, clutching a sword, with an open palm—addressed his subjects like a father to his children. His gaze was fixed on the horizon—where legions once marched, but where harlots, street-urchins with concealed blades, and herds of pale livestock now wandered.

  At the very base of the monument, mired in thick muck like a living reproach to greatness, sat a legless beggar. His eyes were faded; his skin scorched by the sun, the filth, and perhaps time itself. He held a wooden bowl, but it wasn't the beggar's dish that commanded attention. Around his neck, on a thin chain, hung a medallion with the Imperial crest: the double-headed eagle with a laurel wreath. Such tokens were issued only to soldiers who had passed the "Purification of Blood." Veterans of the Third Campaign. There were... few of them left.

  "A coin, sir... for the sake of the past..." his voice was more a rasp of wind in a chimney than human speech.

  The passersby did not look at him. They had learned how not to see.

  ? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?

  A few streets away, guarded by two dozen Praetorians, stood the Theomar Imperial Central Library—a structure of white marble and anti-magic glass. The bas-reliefs on its facade depicted scenes of victory, conquest, and the "reimagining" of history. Inside one of the halls sat a man in the robes of a Master Researcher. His name was Galestin, the Third Archivist of the Order of Knowledge and Faith. His brow was slick with sweat—not from heat, but from terror.

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  He was rereading the parchment for the third time. The seal was broken. The symbol of the OCULUS. The handwriting was perfectly polished, almost too clean. But the content was the true horror.

  A report from an Oculus agent on the Northeast Tract. Testimony from a few survivors. Fragments of evidence and remains of corpses.

  “...a female beast-kin child, appearing as a teenage girl with silver hair... single-handedly decimated a goblin nest... a wyvern carcass in the town square, impaled on metal spears like a statue... accompanied by a strange sphere hovering in the air... the ability to manifest metal through magic...”

  The Archivist’s breath came in ragged hitches; his lenses fogged. He stood up abruptly, his chair screeching against the stone. For the first time in years, he ran—through the halls, past abbots, novices, and acolytes of Knowledge, hunched but swift as an old hawk.

  Chief Librarian Astur Belemorn sat at a long, dark table upholstered in velvet, like a sarcophagus. His figure—withered, black, motionless—resembled an extinguished candle. A blind raven perched on his shoulder. On the wall behind him hung the Imperial crest, embroidered in gold thread.

  He did not raise his eyes when the door creaked. He simply reached out his hand. Galestin handed him the letter.

  Silence. Long. Eternal.

  Astur’s fingers moved across the lines as if he weren't reading, but performing a dissection.

  "This is... impossible," he whispered, barely audible. But in the next moment, his face turned to stone, as if the words had never left his lips.

  "You will remain silent, Archivist. From this moment on—not a word. Forget what you read. Forget what you saw."

  "But... she... it could be..." Galestin began, nearing tears. "The legends... of those who descended from the heavens... they were..."

  "I will report to His Majesty," Belemorn interrupted coldly. "What happens next is none of your concern."

  The raven let out a sharp "Caw!", spreading its wings.

  "Go, Galestin. And... forget."

  Deep within the vaults of the library, among forbidden scrolls and shards of sacred manuscripts, a ceramic tablet rests like a paralyzed witness. It had cracked long ago during an earthquake, but it still preserved a single name, carved in a forgotten tongue:

  ?ASCARI?

  And below, in the hand of an anonymous translator:

  “...and they were the light that ignited life in the Heart of Darkness...”

  ? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?