While I waited for him to wake up, I activated Noblesee Codex, my spectral seal glowing to life. I needed answers—something, anything—on how to remove that Rakshesha's mark clean without ending him. The feather pen scratched across the ethereal pages: queries on the mark's removal, its weaknesses, even the curse's origins. But after a few tense minutes, frustration boiled up. No matter how I phrased it, the responses looped back the same.
No records on Rakshesha's Mark.
No records on Rakshesha's Curse.
No records on the origin of Rakshesha's Curse.
The author had seen this coming, hadn't they? Knew I'd try to rewrite the plot, save Raphael without spilling blood. It was like the whole story was rigged to force my hand.
I was so lost in it, scribbling furiously, that I didn't catch Raphael's voice at first. "Remi?"
