Chapter 52: The Journal of the Last Witness

The damaged archive chamber felt unnaturally quiet as Zereth held the weathered journal in both hands.

The faded cover looked ordinary.

Too ordinary.

After everything they had uncovered, Mason expected something dramatic.

Ancient relics should glow ominously or release forbidden energy. That seemed like standard behavior for ancient mysteries.

Instead, the journal looked like something a tired scholar might carry around for notes.

Unfortunately, the words written across the front made it impossible to dismiss.

Property of the Last Witness.

Athlian’s reaction traveled through the soul bridge instantly...the feeling of standing before a door you once knew but could no longer remember how to open.

Mason felt his stomach tighten.

Zereth carefully opened the first page.

The paper crackled softly.

Several lines of faded writing appeared.

The silver-eyed immortal studied them for a moment before speaking.

"The ink has deteriorated."

"Can you read it?" Mason asked.

"Partially."

Everyone moved closer.

Even the archive workers were staring.

One elderly keeper looked seconds away from fainting.

The first lines were damaged beyond recovery.

Entire sections had vanished.

But several sentences remained.

Zereth read slowly. "’The heavens continue watching. The crown continues pretending not to notice.’"

Silence followed.

He continued. "’The Tribunal has not acted openly. Yet.’"

That word immediately caught Mason’s attention.

Tribunal, again.

The mysterious organization kept appearing in fragments.

Always present.

Never explained.

Just enough to remain irritating.

Zereth turned the page, there was more damage and missing sections.

Then another intact paragraph appeared.

The immortal frowned.

"What?" Mason asked.

Zereth hesitated.

Then read aloud.

"’The Witnesses were never guardians. That misunderstanding cost us everything.’"

The chamber became still.

Mason folded his arms.

"Meaning?"

"No idea."

"Wonderful."

The universe continued maintaining its impressive streak of providing mysteries without answers.

One of the archive keepers nervously adjusted his glasses.

"The Witnesses were historians perhaps?"

Another shook his head.

"Then why erase them?"

A reasonable question.

Nobody had a reasonable answer.

Zereth carefully turned another page.

The next section appeared more intact.

His eyes narrowed.

Then he quietly read. "’We record what the gods refuse to remember.’"

Athlian froze.

The reaction hit Mason like a sudden chill.

A wound buried so deeply it normally remained hidden.

The emotion vanished almost immediately.

But Mason felt it.

Enough to make him uncomfortable and wonder what Athlian wasn’t saying.

The journal continued for dozens of pages.

Most were damaged while some were entirely blank.

Others contained coded markings nobody recognized.

Hours passed inside the archive chamber.

By the time sunset approached, they had recovered only fragments.

Yet the fragments painted a troubling picture.

The Witnesses had operated independently.

Neither temple nor crown controlled them.

Their purpose involved observing something connected to the gods.

And somebody had worked very hard to erase every trace of their existence.

Which naturally raised an important question.

Why?

As the workers carefully secured the journal, Zereth closed the cover.

"I want this moved to a protected vault."

One minister immediately objected.

"The Coalition will demand access."

"They can demand whatever they wish."

Zereth’s voice remained calm. "They are not receiving this."

For once, nobody argued.

The journal felt dangerous, not because it contained power but because it contained information.

In Mason’s experience, information caused far more problems than monsters.

Monsters were straightforward.

Secrets were not.

By the time he finally left the archive wing, darkness had settled across the palace.

His head hurt.

His patience had vanished.

And Athlian remained unusually quiet.

Never a good sign.

He walked through one of the quieter corridors toward his chambers.

Several guards saluted as he passed.

A few servants hurried by carrying documents.

The palace never truly slept anymore.

Too many problems, investigations and frightened politicians.

As he rounded a corner, another figure appeared.

Ancient immortals possessed an almost supernatural ability to appear at the worst possible moments.

The silver-haired immortal stood beside an open window.

Moonlight illuminated part of his face.

His expression remained unreadable.

"You’re becoming predictable."

Mason sighed. "Hello to you too."

Assura ignored that.

"The journal was found."

Mason narrowed his eyes. "How do you know everything?"

"I listen."

"That’s unsettling."

"It should be."

Not remotely comforting.

Assura studied him for several seconds.

Then his gaze shifted slightly past him toward something only Athlian could feel.

The atmosphere changed subtly.

Yet unmistakably.

"The memories are returning."

Athlian immediately became tense.

Mason felt it.

Assura noticed. "The pace is accelerating."

"No cryptic statements tonight," Mason said.

"I’m tired." He added.

A faint smile touched Assura’s lips.

Rare enough to be concerning.

"You should be."

Then the immortal stepped away from the window.

For a moment he looked older emotionally like somebody carrying a burden far too heavy for far too long.

The expression vanished almost instantly.

Yet Mason saw it. And strangely enough, it made him uneasy.

Before leaving, Assura spoke one final sentence.

"When the journal reaches the middle pages, stop reading alone."

Then he walked away.

Mason stared after him. "I hate when he does that."

Athlian quietly agreed.

The following morning brought another council session.

Mason considered faking his death.

Unfortunately, that strategy seemed difficult to explain.

The council chamber was already occupied when he arrived.

Seraphine sat at the head of the table.

Several ministers argued over documents.

Coalition representatives occupied one side.

Draca stood near the entrance.

And Zereth looked exhausted. ÑA familiar sight lately.

The meeting began immediately.

Political tension filled the room.

The Coalition wanted transparency.

The temple factions wanted authority.

The ministers wanted control.

Nobody trusted anybody.

Which apparently qualified as governance.

The discussion centered around the archive discoveries.

Several delegates demanded access.

Others insisted the information remain restricted.

Arguments escalated quickly.

Mason spent most of the session wondering how intelligent adults managed to behave like angry children.

Eventually one Coalition representative slammed a hand against the table.

"The kingdom cannot continue hiding information."

The room fell silent.

Seraphine’s gaze hardened. "We are not hiding information."

"Then release the records."

"The investigation remains incomplete."

"Convenient."

That single word shifted the atmosphere instantly.

Even Mason noticed.

Political danger.

The representative realized it too late.

Draca moved slightly.

The room remained tense for several seconds.

Then Seraphine calmly smiled. Somehow that felt more dangerous than shouting.

"The Coalition is welcome to submit formal requests."

The representative sat down immediately.

The meeting continued.

Eventually it ended without bloodshed.

A remarkable achievement.

As people began leaving, Zereth approached Mason quietly.

"We need to talk."

They moved into a smaller side chamber.

Draca followed.

The commander closed the door behind them.

"What happened?" Mason asked.

Zereth placed several copied pages on the table.

"More translations."

Mason immediately regretted asking.

The immortal pointed toward one section.

"We recovered additional text from the journal."

Mason leaned forward.

The writing looked faded but readable.

One paragraph had been reconstructed almost entirely.

Zereth read aloud. "’The gods fear many things. Mortals misunderstand this. They believe divinity removes fear. It does not. It merely changes its shape.’"

Nobody spoke.

The statement felt important.

Though Mason wasn’t entirely sure why.

Draca frowned. "Fear of what?"

"I don’t know."

Zereth looked troubled.

"The next sentence is damaged."

Great. Of course it was.

The important sentence was always damaged.

That seemed to be a law of the universe.

Then Zereth revealed another page.

This one contained only a single surviving line.

A single sentence.

Yet it made Athlian react instantly.

"’The first lie began before the fracture in heaven.’"

The soul bridge pulsed violently.

Mason gripped the edge of the table.

Draca immediately noticed. "You alright?"

"Fine."

The commander looked unconvinced but didn’t press further.

For which Mason was grateful.

The conversation continued another hour.

Theories emerged.

Questions multiplied.

Answers remained scarce.

By sunset, everybody possessed more concerns than before.

A productive day by palace standards.

That night Mason finally returned to his chambers.

Exhaustion settled heavily over him.

He collapsed into a chair near the balcony.

The city stretched beneath the evening sky.

Thousands of lights illuminated the capital.

Life continued despite conspiracies, fractures and gods.

For several minutes he simply sat there.

Listening to distant sounds while thinking deeply.

Eventually Athlian spoke.

Her voice sounded unusually quiet.

’I remember something.’

He straightened immediately.

"What?"

A long and hesitant pause followed.

’I don’t know if it’s real.’

His heartbeat quickened. "What do you remember?"

’A door.’

Not exactly the answer he expected.

"A door."

’Yes.’

"What kind of door?"

The feeling that traveled through the soul bridge was difficult to describe but he felt her fear.

’A door that should never have been opened.’

Mason frowned. "That’s not helpful."

’I know.’

For several moments neither spoke.

Then another fragment emerged.

’A crowd.’

Mason waited.

’A hall full of people watching.’

His pulse quickened.

The same hall from the dreams.

The same sensation.

The same memory fragments.

"What were they watching?"

Athlian’s answer came almost immediately.

And somehow that made it worse.

’I don’t know.’

The confession felt genuine because she truly didn’t know. Or couldn’t remember.

Then suddenly...pain exploded through the soul bridge.

Athlian gasped.

He shot upright.

The sensation lasted only a second.

Yet it felt like something had violently torn through a memory.

An image flashed across his mind.

A massive doorway.

Golden chains.

Countless figures kneeling.

And above them...and an enormous symbol.

A symbol he had never seen before.

The vision vanished instantly like it had never existed.

He breathed heavily.

Athlian remained silent.

Completely silent.

Then he noticed something small and terrifying.

A faint golden mark had appeared on the back of his hand.

A symbol identical to the one from the vision. And as he stared at it, Athlian whispered three words.

Words filled with disbelief.

Words she clearly never expected to say again.

’That’s impossible...’

The mark suddenly pulsed once. And somewhere beneath the palace, something answered.