The roar of the fire was a physical presence, a frantic beast devouring the centuries of Carcalidum history.
King Theroren moved with impossible speed through the smoke filled corridors, the heat of the inferno meeting the chilling internal heat of his Burning Heart in a fierce, silent clash.
He reached the Great Legacy Archives, a vast, circular chamber where every document of the Crimson Court's formal history was stored.
The wards that had protected it for a thousand years were not merely broken; they were gone, vaporized by a specialized, targeted magical strike.
"Report!" Theroren's voice, amplified by his contained power, cut through the panicked shouts of the guards.
His Chief Keeper, Varas, approached, his face streaked with soot and terror.
"Your Majesty! It was not a physical fire! The wards themselves were used against the scrolls. A focused, anti-archival curse "
"A curse," Theroren repeated, his eyes blazing red, "that was a signature of the Stiltwort Witches in the time of the Sundering.
Tell me about the entry points. Did they breach the walls?"
"No, Your Majesty.
The strike it appears to have originated from within the Citadel's internal power matrix, the one controlling the Lesser Archives' temperature and warding."
Theroren's eyes narrowed.
The Lesser Archives.
The area where he had personally confined Andrea.
He didn't need to ask if the guards were still posted at her door; they would be.
He had walked away from an ambush, not a random act of arson.
She is not a culprit
She tried to find carcalidum curse analysis
And luckily the book is safe
She flipped quickly to the marked page, her mind racing past the immediate danger.
it stated the annual Severance is less a punishment and more a strategic offering. The recipient who is traditionally a younger, less politically vital member of the lineage has theMatriarch and her Inner Circle.
The practice is known as the Yearly Tribute. Failure to perform the Severance is believed to weaken the Grand Witch's defenses against the nixorath
The realization was a punch to her gut. Grand Witch Duskevil hadn't just punished her for breaking a rule; she had used her, draining her raw magical essence to fortify her own power, likely to defend against the very force Andrea's ancestors spoke of The nixorath.
Andrea, a witch without magic, was not a rogue; she was a victim.
And she had just been perfectly framed for the worst crime a Stiltwort could commit destroying the history of the King's lineage.
Theroren returned to the Lesser Archives corridor, moving so silently that the two guards didn't register his presence until he was standing beside them.
"Report on the prisoner," he commanded, his voice as cold as the stone wall.
"She has not moved, Your Majesty. She has been sitting by the window, watching the fire," the first guard stated.
Theroren pushed past them and stepped into the room.
Andrea was seated on the cot, the tax scroll spread on her lap, feigning calm diligence. He knew it was a lie, but he observed her critically.
She was terrified, but she was not broken. Her eyes still held a sharp, dangerous intelligence.
"The fire was an act of aggression, a spectacular distraction," Theroren stated, not as a question but as a pronouncement. "It was magically initiated from within the Citadel's systems, yet you were the closest magic-user, and conveniently imprisoned."
Andrea met his gaze, holding the tax scroll tighter.
"And you, Your Majesty, were the only one who knew I was here. You threw me into this room, then left to fight a fire you claim was started by my kind. Perhaps my 'kind' is only reacting to the sudden, illegal imprisonment of one of their own."
Her defiance was magnificent, and utterly illogical for a true culprit. A guilty Stiltwort would have used the fire to flee, not to taunt her captor.
"Your Coven would not risk all-out war for one young witch," Theroren scoffed.
"Then your history is flawed, King," Andrea countered, pointing a finger at the tax scroll.
"This ledger shows that two decades ago, the Stiltworts paid a massive gold tribute to the Crimson Court, equivalent to the lifetime assets of a thousand villages, after the Sundering.
We didn't assassinate your parents and then pay for the privilege. We paid penance for a crime we were coerced into committing! The fire is proof someone wants to silence the truth of that coercion."
Theroren was silent for a long moment, the blazing red light in his eyes slowly receding. He had spent two decades believing in his parents' curated history of simple betrayal.
But now, an enemy had attacked his home using complex, high-level magic, and the only prisoner had offered an alternative, politically charged explanation that implicated the very force she was curious about The nixorath
He looked at the dusty shelves of the Lesser Archives.
He had tasked her with mundane labor, but he knew her nature. She was a researcher.
If she had found anything in this archive
any loophole in the official history she was his best bet to understand the fire.
"I gave you an order, Andrea," Theroren said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Trade Routes. Tell me, what did you truly find in this dust?"
Andrea knew this was the test.
Her life depended on this one, perfect maneuver. She could not betray the red book, but she could not lie about the Archives' purpose.
"I found a flaw in your intelligence, Your Majesty," she said, tapping the tax scroll. "This Lesser Archives is not merely administrative. It's a political dead-letter office a repository for every inconvenient truth, every abandoned alliance, every lie too expensive to erase ,And a Grand Witch who would sacrifice her own to pay a tribute is capable of anything, including setting this fortress on fire to protect her lie."
Theroren stared at her, then back at the door. The fire was an immediate threat to his Legacy.
But the knowledge in this small room, controlled by this tiny, magicless witch, was the only way to understand the greater threat.
He made his decision.
"The Legacy Archives are burning, and I need a history intact," Theroren said, a grim finality in his tone. He stepped toward the door, then stopped.
"I need a mind unburdened by my own rage. I am temporarily lifting your confinement and assigning you a new task. You are now the Keeper of Truth."
He threw a small, heavy iron key onto the cot.
"The private library of my father, the one he maintained before his death, is secured beneath the throne room. It is a chamber of forbidden texts, sealed since the Sundering. It is the only historical collection that could have survived this attack. Go there. Catalog every document and report only to me."
His eyes held hers, deadly serious.
"But be warned, witch. You will be monitored. If you find a single piece of evidence that corroborates your story, your life will be spared. If you attempt to flee, or if you find the slightest proof that your family started that fire, I will end you myself."
With that, he vanished, leaving Andrea alone, the iron key warm in her cold hand, trapped between a paranoid King and a treacherous Grand Witch, with a forbidden library and a hidden, explosive book as her only resources.