Vastarael sank deeper into the palace archives like a man willingly drowning himself in paperwork because honestly, at this point, the alternative was admitting he had no idea where the Hidden Citadel actually was.
He went through shelves older than entire nations, stalked through sealed shelves of the Royal Library that only responded to Richinaria blood, and cracked open vaults lined with time-worn codices. Hours turned into days, days into several days, and at this point the servants were leaving snacks near his corner like he was some endangered academic creature.
But finally, he struck gold.
He saw an set of ancient tomes bound in white runes and gold thread. They were the ones only preserved because Lysameria and Dilasyus had gotten obsessed with "historical field research" back in the glory ages.
He dusted them off, flipped one open, and the breath left his lungs.
It was The Hidden Citadel just like the myths described. It had golden bridges arching and twisting into fractal layers of impossible geometry. White fire was suspended like lanterns in the void. Storm clouds rolled forever overhead, torn open by that one colossal spear of crimson lightning frozen through the sky like a divine wound.
It was the realm of the First Generation, their birthplace. This was the throne of the original gods before existence fractured.
And Mopheria was apparently just a fallen shard of that titan-city. Everything clicked in place until he flipped to the written notes. It was written in Ancient Godscript, a dead language. Vastarael groaned so hard the servants felt it two floors up.
He spent the next few days reconstructing phonetics, grammar structures and lost idioms. He was basically rebuilding a holy language from scraps. His head hurt. His soul hurt. He briefly considered inventing a new Enlightenment Stage called "Translation Enlightenment."
He finally got the first passage translated and he regretted every life decision that led to this moment.
It was… well… it wasn't a field journal.
It was Lysameria's diary and she wasn't writing about ruins. She was writing about Dilasyus in detail.
Too much detail.
"The Hidden Citadel glows with ancient power but not as radiant as my beloved Dilasyus when he smiles at me after last night. By the stars, how does he still have the strength to walk? I swear, if he uses that technique again I might ascend twice—"
He slammed the book shut so hard dust puffed off like smoke.
"Nope. Nope. Nope. That's enough of that. Absolutely not."
He tried the next passage, praying to the Primordials that it would be different.
"Dilasyus carried me over the golden bridge because my legs were still trembling. He is such a brute. A perfect brute. A divine-grade brute. By the heavens, I love him."
He shoved the book away from him like it had personally offended him.
"What the actual fuck… Mom, Dad, why—why would you write this down? Why would you preserve this?!"
Another attempt.
"We found an ancient rune etched in the stone. Dilasyus bent down to examine it and the way his back looked from that angle—"
"Nope. I'm done. I refuse. I'm not translating that part. I won't. I'd rather go blind."
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling in pure internal agony. And then came the real problem: His mother was a Nexus and so was his father.
"Is this a Nexus thing? Did Nexuses just… have this innate instinct to be permanently obsessed over their partner?"
He ran a hand down his face. He had only been with Adelasta. That's it. And even that had been intense enough that he sometimes wondered if his body was wired too aggressively for affection. And now he had to consider the possibility that the Richinaria bloodline came with… inclinations. And worse, he had five women who adored him and all loved him with enough intensity to rewrite laws of reality if he ever gave them the signal.
And he had somehow never crossed into "Phase Two" with any of them except Adelasta.
"How the fuck have I survived this long with that level of self-control?"
Because objectively speaking, Adelasta alone was enough to test any man's restraint. She was cold, beautiful, devoted and had a habit of silently crawling into his lap when she felt clingy which was a very rare case.
Narisva? Cocky, gorgeous, grabby, and absolutely the type to exploit any opening, literally or figuratively.
Asenane? Sweet, intense, sometimes looking at him like he was the only thing in the universe.
Elyonari? Serene, until she wasn't. And when she wasn't, she got that look that felt like being gently pinned by vines.
Phaenora? Teasing. Too teasing. Downright lethal levels of teasing. She called him "Veneri" like she owned the patent to the word.
And he had told all of them no, not now, not yet. And they listened.
"I might actually be stupid."
Or he was repressing his instincts so hard they were dormant. Which, honestly, was terrifying. But right now he had bigger issues than his mother's questionable literary choices or his own suddenly-complicated introspection.
Buried under all the… romantic enthusiasm, there were actual details like coordinates, behavioral notes about the Citadel's barriers, fragments about the First Generation's defensive mechanisms and such.
He forced himself to focus, flipping past the… "creative expressions" of love, and started compiling the useful information onto fresh parchments. However, he could already feel a migraine forming.
If Nexus instincts were real and if they ran as deep as Lysameria's did, one day, he might lose that self-control. And if that happened, those five women were absolutely going to tear his soul out, in a good way of course.
He had just finished translating another paragraph of "Lysameria's Extremely Unnecessary Adventures" when soft fingers slid over his eyes from behind. They had a scent of dew and lowers.
"Who is it?" He muttered, already knowing but wanting to see how she would answer.
A soft giggle brushed his ear.
"Veneri, you should guess."
He scoffed under his breath.
"The most beautiful elf of the Third Generation, Elyonari Mintheris. No one else touches me that easily apart from you."
Her laughter fluttered around him as she removed her hands and stepped into his peripheral vision, leaning down just enough for her silvery hair to spill over his shoulder. She looked perfect, as always. He looked like he hadn't seen sunlight in a decade. Elyonari's serene gaze slid across the mess before landing on the open book in front of him.
"What exactly are you doing to yourself?"
He exhaled heavily through his nose.
"Research about the Hidden Citadel. I'm trying to figure out how to not get the people I love killed. You know, normal things."
"And?"
Vastarael jabbed a finger at the nearest page.
"And I also found out my mother was apparently the biggest pervert in the Second Generation. She wrote an entire holy diary about, uh… extracurricular activities with my father."
Elyonari blinked, picked up the book and read the first translated paragraph.
Her long ears went bright red.
"Oh."
"Oh is right. And that's the clean part."
She flipped a page and hurriedly closed the entire thing.
"Your mother was very… affectionate."
"That's one way to put it."
Elyonari skimmed another segment written in untranslated Ancient Godscript and in a few seconds she pieced together the meaning just from contextual grammar. She stared at Vastarael, then at the book, then back at him.
"Veneri, this isn't a diary. This is… this is literature."
"It's trauma. The fact that she's so fluent and makes one have a vivid description is..."
She bit her lip to stop a laugh but failed spectacularly. Her shoulders shook as she covered her mouth. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
"I'm glad you're enjoying my suffering."
"It's not that. It's just... you're so serious about everything, Veneri. And seeing you flustered is… rare."
"Elly, if you read one more paragraph, I swear my soul will detach and flee."
She smiled softly and flipped the book shut.
"Then I won't. But… this might actually be useful."
"How in any hell does my mother writing sex statements about my father help stop a war?"
Elyonari tilted her head innocently, that soft, serene glow returning to her eyes.
"You don't have to know."
That didn't help his mental stability at all. He slumped back into his chair, burying his face in his hands again. Elyonari watched him for a moment. She noticed the exhaustion in his posture, the slight heaviness in his movements and the dry rasp of someone who hadn't rested in far too long. She walked behind him, laid her palms on his shoulders, and gently pressed her cheek against the top of his head.
"Darling, you've been in here for ten days."
"I'm aware, but what choice do I have? It's not like I need sleep—"
She slid a hand down and pressed her fingers to his lips before he could rant further. Her touch was cool, soft, and impossibly grounding.
"Divines don't need sleep yes, but your mind does. Your heart does. Every part of you is screaming for a pause and you just keep pushing."
Vastarael hesitated.
"You're carrying the weight of the entire Dynasty but even Monarchs need to breathe."
He opened his mouth to argue and she covered it again.
"No. Not this time."
She moved around him, kneeling in front of his chair so he had no choice but to meet her gaze. Her hands rested on his knees.
"It's time to rest."
"Elly—"
"No. You don't have to be Vastarael Richinaria, Monarch of a Dynasty right now. Just be my Veneri. You deserve to rest."
He couldn't say no to that.
"Come. Let me pull you out of this library before you turn into a book yourself."
He exhaled a tiny, tired laugh.
"Fine, but only because you asked nicely."