​While Roland stood transfixed, staring at the eastern horizon, Lucian Sudrath sat on the same floor, counting the wooden beams on his bedroom ceiling. His eyes were wide open. It wasn’t because he was anxious about the guest arriving in two weeks, but because shadows of the past had suddenly risen from their graves.

​Beside him, Aurelia slept soundly, her rhythmic breathing the only sound breaking the silence of the night. Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, washing the wooden floor in a cold, silvery hue. Lucian had been frozen in that position for two hours. His eyelids were closed, but behind them, his mind whirred relentlessly.

​Demonic Knowledge.

​Those two words buzzed like a trapped bee inside his head. It wasn’t an enemy who had spat them out. It wasn’t the notoriously cruel Iron Empire. It was the Church—the institution that claimed to be the torchbearer of the Goddess of Light. The echoes of Archbishop Alexander’s voice in the Hexagon Hall still felt real, vibrating with judgment. "The knowledge they bring... it is forbidden knowledge. Demonic Knowledge."

​"Tsk..." Lucian hissed softly, rubbing his rugged face. Why were they so certain? What was buried beneath the layers of history, thousands of years before the foundations of Aethelgard were laid, that caused technology to be considered a filth that must be eradicated?

​"Hmm... still not asleep?"

​It wasn’t a question, but a familiar statement. Aurelia shifted slightly under the blankets.

​Lucian opened his eyes, staring into the darkness. "I keep thinking about the Church’s nonsense. ’Demonic Knowledge.’ Why are they so fanatical about that accusation? What actually happened in the past?"

​Aurelia didn’t reply immediately. She reached out and switched on the small lamp on the bedside table. Click. A soft yellow light flickered to life, revealing her husband’s weary face—complete with the dark circles beginning to shadow his eyes. She sighed, her fingers combing through Lucian’s slightly disheveled hair. "You won’t find the answers on the ceiling, dear."

​"I know."

​"Then stop torturing yourself." Aurelia looked deep into Lucian’s eyes, the anchor of calm he could always rely on. "Talk to Rianor. Or find Arvid. They’re the ones who spend their time tinkering with that old iron. Perhaps they have the puzzle pieces you’re looking for."

​Lucian stared at his wife for a long time. Even in her newly awakened state, with her hair loose and no jewelry, this woman remained his only solid ground. "You’re right."

​"Heh, of course I am." Aurelia switched off the lamp. "I’m always right. Now close your eyes, or I’ll call the guards to drag you out."

​Lucian almost smiled. Almost.

​The next day, the King’s study felt colder than usual. The pale morning light illuminated the map of Northreach hanging on the wall—a small territory in the north that had now swollen into a symbol of resistance. But Lucian’s eyes were not on the map.

​Rianor entered first. His crystal tablet hummed softly, hmmm, emitting a blue light that reflected off his glasses and serious face. Arvid followed a few minutes later, his black hair a mess—it seemed he had been forcibly dragged from either the workshop or the library. However, his eyes were alert.

​"Father?" Rianor spoke, breaking the stifling silence. "What is it? It’s rare for you to call us this early."

​Lucian sat upright behind his massive desk, his fingers tapping the wooden surface with a heavy rhythm. "I want you to re-investigate Project Legion."

​The air in the room seemed to freeze. Rianor tensed. Arvid glanced at Rianor with a furrowed brow.

​"I’ve been thinking about it too," Rianor said finally. He adjusted his glasses, which had slipped slightly. "But that place is a death zone. We lost people in the first expedition. We don’t yet know what lurks in the deeper levels."

​"I need answers, Rianor." Lucian leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "The Church calls all of this Demonic Knowledge. Why? Who actually built those machines? And why did a civilization that great vanish without a trace?"

​Arvid, who had been silent until then, finally cleared his throat. "Project Legion... it’s not just a military bunker, Your Majesty. From a few data fragments I managed to tinker with in the Silent City, there are vague references to an ancient civilization that created machines to fight something. Something very large."

​Lucian narrowed his eyes. "What was it?"

​"I don’t know. The records were scorched at the crucial parts. But if Project Legion was part of that defense... then the answer is there."

​Rianor let out a long sigh. He walked to the safe in the corner of the room, opened it with a crystal code, and took out a small box wrapped in black velvet.

​The Sentinel’s Mana Core.

​The object throbbed. Thump, thump. Its dim blue light felt like a dying heartbeat. Rianor placed it on his father’s desk. "This is the key."

​Arvid gasped. "The Sentinel... the guardian of that Adamantite gate? You actually brought it back?"

​"Only the core." Rianor handed the crystal to Arvid. "I’m sure there are data logs inside. I was just... well, too busy with war matters to actually tinker with it."

​Arvid received the core with hands that trembled slightly. His eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Oh... this... this could be the greatest discovery of the decade."

​"Don’t get excited yet," Rianor cut him off. "We don’t know what’s in it."

​Arvid immediately took out his crystal tablet. With extremely careful micro-movements, he connected a thin cable to the Mana Core. The crystal screen flickered unstably. Once. Twice. Zzt.

​Then, a waterfall of data began to flow.

​First, a map appeared. It wasn’t the map of Northreach they knew. This was a map of the continent of Aethel-Terra on a much larger scale, filled with unknown coordinate points. Some blinked blood-red, while others had faded to grey.

​Second, a list of combat unit names: Obsidian Crawler, Mind Flayer, Juggernaut, Annihilator, Legion Prime. Beside them, statuses blinked: INACTIVE or LOST.

​And third... an encrypted file that opened automatically. A video.

​Arvid glanced at Rianor. Rianor gave a curt nod.

​Click.

​The tablet screen displayed moving images. Initially blurry with a lot of noise, it slowly came into focus. It was a visual recording from The Sentinel’s eyes. The date in the corner of the screen used an ancient calendar format that was no longer recognized.

​Sophisticated metal corridors were visible. Scientists were running back and forth. Their faces were deathly pale, filled with pure panic. Their mouths were open, screaming, but the sound only came through as a faint static hiss: "...emergency!... all units!... d-don’t let them—"

​BOOM!

​A massive explosion shook the camera. Adamantite walls collapsed in an instant. Dust filled the screen for several suffocating seconds.

​When the dust began to settle, figures began to emerge at the end of the corridor. They didn’t look like monsters. There were no demonic horns.

​"Elves?" Arvid murmured in disbelief.

​Indeed. Slender figures with bows in hand. They released arrows with lethal precision. One of the scientists fell forward. Blood sprayed, splat, pooling on the polished metal floor.

​Then another voice was heard more clearly. A man in a white robe ran toward the gate, his hands stained with blood. He looked back with wild eyes. "Emergency code! Lock all units! Don’t let t-them have it—"

​Thwack.

​An arrow pierced his back. He fell flat on his face, his hand still trying to reach the gate that was only inches away.

​The recording cut out instantly. Severed.

​Total silence reigned in the study. Lucian didn’t move. Rianor clenched his fists tight.

​Arvid stared at the empty screen, his breath coming in gasps. "Those were... Elves. But I also caught a glimpse of Dragon wings there. Beast-Kin. Even... humans?"

​Rianor stared at the Mana Core, which had now dimmed. "They weren’t just attacked by an outside enemy. They were betrayed."

​Lucian rose from his chair, walking toward the window. Outside, the snow was still falling, covering the ground in a deceptive white. "By every race," his voice sounded like the grinding of stones. Cold and sharp.

​Arvid set down his tablet, his hands still shaking. "Your Majesty... if this recording is true... our history is one giant lie."

​"We must know more." Lucian turned, his eyes glinting with determination. "Prepare an expedition. Now. I want every bit of data from Project Legion brought to the surface. I want to know who created those machines, who slaughtered them, and what it has to do with the Iron Empire’s current madness."

​Rianor looked his father straight in the eye. "This will be a suicide mission if we aren’t prepared, Father. That place is awake. The machines there are still hungry."

​"I know." Lucian stepped toward his son. "But we have no choice. The Church wants us to believe we are demons for using this technology. I want to prove to the world who the real demon is."

​Rianor didn’t argue. He only nodded slowly, his face hardening.

​Arvid was still transfixed by the last image frozen in his mind: a dying scientist, reaching out toward a gate he never reached.

​"We will go there," Arvid whispered. "We will find out what they have truly been hiding for these thousands of years."

​Lucian stared out the window again. The snow grew heavier, swallowing the city view. But behind that white mist, he knew the truth was waiting—buried underground, waiting to be unearthed by hands deemed unclean.