Morning came with gray skies and the promise of rain.
Nolan stood outside the townhouse, looking at the address Varrick had given him. The Scholar's Quarter. He'd passed through it once on his way to the Mage's Guild, but hadn't paid much attention—just another district in a city full of districts.
Now it might hold the answers he desperately needed.
"You're going alone?" Selene asked from the doorway. She was dressed for training, sword already strapped to her back.
"I think I should. If my grandfather is there, or if there are any clues... it's personal, you know?"
She nodded slowly. "I understand. Just be careful. The Scholar's Quarter is safe enough during the day, but it attracts all sorts—researchers, mages, people dealing in questionable knowledge. Don't trust everyone you meet."
"I won't."
"And if you're not back by evening, I'm coming to find you."
Despite his nervousness, Nolan smiled. "Yes, mom."
"I'm serious."
"I know. Thank you."
The Scholar's Quarter turned out to be in the northeastern section of the capital, built around the Great Library—a massive structure that dominated the skyline with its towers and domed roof. The streets here were quieter than the market districts, lined with bookshops, scribing services, small colleges, and private study halls.
People here moved differently too. Less rushing, more contemplation. Nolan saw groups of students debating philosophy on street corners, scholars with arms full of scrolls hurrying between buildings, mages practicing minor spells in designated practice areas.
It felt... intellectual. Refined. Completely unlike anywhere Nolan had ever been.
This is where knowledge lives, Diablo observed. And knowledge is the most dangerous thing in the world. More than any weapon, any magic.
"That's unusually philosophical of you."
I contain multitudes.
The address led Nolan to a narrow side street, away from the main thoroughfares. The buildings here were older, their stone facades weathered by time. Number 47 stood between a dusty bookshop and what appeared to be a private residence.
It was small—just two stories, with shuttered windows and a door that hadn't been painted in years. A small bronze plaque beside the entrance read: PRIVATE STUDY - NO SOLICITATIONS.
Nolan stood there for a long moment, heart pounding. This was it. Possibly. Maybe. His grandfather might be on the other side of that door. Or it might be empty. Or occupied by someone else entirely.
Only one way to find out, Diablo said.
Nolan knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again, louder this time. Still nothing.
He tried the handle. Locked.
"Of course," he muttered.
Want me to blast it open?
"No! I'm not breaking into private property."
But it's technically your grandfather's property. That's not really breaking in.
"It's still—" Nolan paused. Footsteps. Someone was approaching from inside.
The door opened a crack, revealing a sliver of a face—elderly, human, male, with suspicious eyes.
"We're not buying anything," the man said. "And we're not interested in whatever you're selling."
"I'm not selling anything. I'm looking for someone. Kaelen. This is his property, and I—"
The door slammed shut.
Nolan blinked. "Wait! Please, I just need to—"
The door opened again, wider this time. The old man studied Nolan more carefully, eyes lingering on his face.
"Kaelen hasn't lived here in five years," the man said. "Property's been abandoned. I just maintain it, keep squatters out. Who are you?"
"I'm his grandson. Nolan. Nolan Thorne."
The old man's expression shifted—surprise, then something like recognition. "Grandson? Kaelen never mentioned having family."
"He and my father were... estranged. But my father sent me to find him. Said he lived in the capital." Nolan pulled out the pendant. "He gave me this. Said it would help identify me."
The old man leaned forward, squinting at the pendant. His eyes widened. "Where did you get that?"
"My father. Rufus Thorne. He said to find Kaelen, that he'd explain everything."
"Rufus..." The old man's expression grew complicated. "You'd better come in."
The interior of the building was exactly what Nolan would have expected from a scholar's private study—books everywhere, covering every available surface. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and where there weren't shelves, there were stacks of papers, scrolls, strange instruments, and objects Nolan couldn't identify.
"Name's Willem," the old man said, clearing papers off a chair. "I was Kaelen's assistant, back when he still worked here. After he left, I stayed on to maintain the place. He pays me—sent money through a courier every month—but I haven't seen him in years."
"Do you know where he went?"
"No. He just... left one day. Said he had something important to do, that he might not be back for a long time." Willem settled into another chair with a sigh. "But he said if anyone came looking for him—specifically someone with that pendant—I should give them a message."
Nolan's heart raced. "What message?"
Willem stood, moving to a locked cabinet. He produced a key from around his neck, opened it, and withdrew a sealed letter. The wax seal bore the same symbol as Nolan's pendant.
"He left this twenty years ago. Said to give it to whoever showed up with the pendant." Willem handed it over. "I never thought anyone actually would."
Nolan broke the seal with trembling fingers and unfolded the letter. The handwriting was precise, controlled:
To whoever bears the pendant,
If you're reading this, then Rufus is dead and the seal has broken. I'm sorry. I hoped it would never come to this.
You carry half of something that should never have been split. Your father and I made a choice twenty years ago—a terrible choice born of desperate circumstances. We sealed power that could destroy worlds, divided it between two vessels, hoping to keep it contained.
But seals fail. Power corrupts. And now you're caught in the middle of something you never asked for.
I cannot meet you yet. The time isn't right, and there are eyes watching—always watching. But I will find you when the moment comes. When everything falls apart and you need me most, I will be there.
Until then: Trust no one completely. Master the power within you, but never surrender to it. And above all, protect the other half. Your father hid it well, but determined enemies will eventually discover its location.
You are stronger than you know. Braver than you believe. And you carry more than just power—you carry hope.
Stay alive. I will find you.
—K
Nolan read it three times, hands shaking. His grandfather knew. Had known all along what would happen. Had been prepared for this exact scenario.
Cryptic old man, Diablo commented. Can't just explain things clearly. Has to be mysterious and dramatic.
"What does it say?" Willem asked.
"Just... family matters. Personal things." Nolan folded the letter carefully. "Did Kaelen ever mention where he was going? Any clues at all?"
"He spoke of old debts. Old mistakes that needed correcting." Willem scratched his beard. "And once, I heard him mention something about 'watching from the shadows.' I always assumed he meant he'd stay in the city, just... hidden."
"Watching from the shadows," Nolan repeated. The implications settled over him slowly. His grandfather was here. In Eldoria. Watching. But not revealing himself yet.
Because he's waiting for something, Diablo said. Probably waiting for you to nearly die. Old bastard probably has a flair for dramatic timing.
"Is there anything else?" Nolan asked Willem. "Anything that might help me understand what's happening?"
"Just this." Willem moved to a shelf, pulling down a slim volume bound in dark leather. "Kaelen's personal journal from his last year here. I was never supposed to read it, but..." He shrugged. "I got curious after he left. Most of it's technical—seal theory, containment mathematics, things I don't understand. But there are entries about you. About the choice he and your father made."
Nolan took the journal reverently. "Thank you. This... this means everything."
"The boy in those entries—your father—Kaelen loved him deeply. Spoke of him with such pride, such pain." Willem's eyes were sad. "Whatever happened between them, whatever choices were made, know that it came from love. Misguided, perhaps, but genuine."
After leaving the study with the letter and journal safely tucked in his pack, Nolan walked through the Scholar's Quarter in a daze. His grandfather was watching. Had been watching this whole time. Knew what Nolan was going through but chose to stay hidden.
Because he's a coward, Diablo said. Hiding while you suffer.
"Or because he knows something we don't. The letter said 'when everything falls apart.' Maybe he's waiting for a specific moment."
Or maybe he's just afraid. The mighty Kaelen, reduced to lurking in shadows.
Nolan found a quiet park and sat on a bench, pulling out the journal. Most of it was indeed technical—complex magical theory that went completely over his head. But scattered throughout were personal entries:
Day 847: Rufus came to me today with terrible news. The virus has manifested in the artifact. What we sealed isn't just Diablo's power—it's corrupted, infected with the same force that nearly destroyed my people. If it's ever fully released...
Day 851: We've decided to split it. Two vessels, two seals, twice the security. Rufus will take one half, seal it in his newborn son. I'll keep the other. The boy won't even know until the seal begins to fail.
Day 852: I held my grandson today. So small, so innocent. And we're putting this burden on him. Rufus insists it's the only way—that together, we can keep the power contained where no one will think to look. But the guilt... the guilt is crushing.
Day 860: It's done. The seal is complete. The boy cried through the entire ritual. I wanted to stop, wanted to find another way, but Rufus was resolute. "He'll never need to know," he said. "The seal will hold forever."
But I know better. Seals fail. They always do.
Nolan closed the journal, tears stinging his eyes. They'd known. Both of them had known what they were doing to him, and they'd done it anyway.
Now you understand, Diablo said quietly. You were never supposed to have a choice. They made you into a vessel, a container, without your consent. Your whole life has been a lie.
"They did it to protect people. To keep you contained."
They did it to avoid making hard choices themselves. Easier to burden an infant than to find a real solution.
"I don't believe that."
Believe what you want. But the facts are clear—you're a prison, Nolan. That's all you've ever been.
Nolan sat there for a long time, watching people pass by. Students laughing about some academic debate. Scholars discussing theories. Normal people living normal lives, unburdened by ancient powers and impossible choices.
He envied them.
Finally, as the sun began to set, he made his way back to the townhouse. The team would be wondering where he was. Selene had threatened to come looking if he was late.
The thought made him smile despite everything. At least he had that. People who cared. People who'd come looking.
He found them in the common room, looking concerned.
"There you are," Selene said, standing immediately. "I was about to organize a search party. Did you find anything?"
"Dead end," Nolan lied smoothly. The words came easier than they should have. "The building's been abandoned for years. Just an old caretaker who didn't know anything useful."
"I'm sorry," Kaida said genuinely. "That must have been disappointing."
"Yeah. But I knew it was a long shot." He forced a smile. "Varrick said he'd keep looking. Maybe he'll find something else."
They accepted his explanation without question. Why wouldn't they? He was just Nolan, the new guy, looking for family. Nothing complicated about that.
Getting better at lying, Diablo observed. I'm so proud.
That night, alone in his room, Nolan reread the letter and journal entries by candlelight. His grandfather was out there, watching, waiting for "the moment everything falls apart."
Which meant things were going to get worse before they got better.
Much worse, Diablo agreed. But at least you'll have your mysterious grandfather to sweep in and save you. Assuming he bothers to show up at all.
"He will. The letter said—"
The letter is twenty years old. People change. Promises break. Don't count on anyone but yourself.
"And you?"
I'm literally stuck in your chest. Where else would I go?
Despite everything, Nolan smiled at that. At least Diablo's cynicism was reliable.
He hid the letter and journal under a loose floorboard in his room—not perfect security, but better than leaving them out. Then he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about seals and choices and burdens placed on people too young to consent.
Tomorrow he'd go back to being an adventurer. Back to missions and training and pretending everything was fine.
But tonight, he let himself feel the weight of what he'd learned.
He was a prison. A vessel. A choice made by desperate men trying to save the world.
And somewhere out there, his grandfather watched and waited for everything to fall apart.
Well, Diablo said as sleep finally claimed him, at least your life isn't boring.
No. It definitely wasn't that.