[Silthara Palace — The Old Archive Wing — Later That Day]

The deeper corridors of Silthara were not meant for footsteps; they were meant for memory.

Ancient stone stretched endlessly ahead, carved with serpents older than the empire itself—coiled along pillars, etched into walls, watching without eyes... yet seeing everything. The air was colder here, untouched by the warmth of the upper palace.

Even sound... moved differently, muted and swallowed. It’s as if voices were not welcomed in this place.

It preserved them.

Levin walked at the front, unhurried and unstopped. Behind him, Lady Arinaya, Iru, and Raevahn followed in silence. No one spoke. No one asked again.

Because something in Levin’s presence had shifted, not anger, not urgency. Something far more dangerous.

Intent.

They reached the door.

It stood at the end of the corridor—massive, unmoving, sealed by age rather than force. Black stone, veined faintly with silver, carved with inscriptions no longer spoken in the present tongue.

The sigil of Zahryssar rested at its center, old, unquestionable, and waiting.

Levin stopped before it for a moment—he did nothing. His gaze rested on the carvings, tracing them not with his hand... but with something deeper. As if listening to what the stone had kept buried.

Then his hand lifted. The key Arinaya had retrieved rested between his fingers. Ancient metal, heavy and cold.

The lock did not resist.

It accepted.

A deep sound followed—slow and grinding, as though the door itself remembered movement after centuries of stillness. The seal broke and the door opened.

Darkness greeted them, not empty darkness.

Occupied.

Rows upon rows of shelves stretched into the unseen, filled with scrolls, parchments, sealed records... histories that had never been meant to return to light. Dust lingered in the air—not disturbed, not floating, but settled.

Waiting.

Levin stepped inside first; the others followed. The door closed behind them, and the world outside... ceased to exist.

Torches were lit, one by one by Raevahn and Iru. Light spread—but only enough, never fully. Never completely because some things were not meant to be revealed all at once.

Silence settled again, then—

"...Malika." Arinaya’s voice came low, careful not to disturb more than necessary. "What is it... you seek here?"

Levin did not answer immediately.

His steps moved slowly between the shelves. His fingers brushed lightly across old spines, sealed scrolls, and records that had remained untouched for years, decades, and centuries.

Then he stopped, his back still turned to them. For a moment he hesitated. Just a moment, because what he was about to ask... It would not be undone.

Then—

"I want..." His voice came out quiet, but it carried. "...every record related to the previous Malik... The princes... The princesses who were killed."

The air shifted. Something deeper now and something older.

"And not just them." His voice lowered further, colder and sharper. "I want the names... the records... the histories...of every single member who stood beside the Malik... from the moment he took the throne. The death of previous Malika and Malik."

Silence, heavy and absolute.

"Every advisor. Every noble. Every serpent who rose with him..." His gaze darkened—not with emotion but with purpose. "...and every one who disappeared."

The words did not echo; they sank. Arinaya’s eyes flickered—just once. Iru glanced at Raevahn.

No words passed; none were needed, because they understood. This was not curiosity; this was investigation, and not a light one.

Levin’s voice came once more, quiet and final.

"Everything."

Silence followed.

Then all three bowed without question, without hesitation and without doubt. "As you command, Malika."

And just like that, the archive moved. Scrolls were pulled from shelves, and seals were broken. Records long untouched were brought into light.

Dust rose; time stirred.

Iru worked with precision—sorting, identifying, and stacking with quiet efficiency. Raevahn moved deeper, pulling records from older sections, where names had faded and histories had been buried.

Arinaya stood for a moment longer watching Levin.

"...You already suspect someone." It was not a question.

Levin did not look at her.

"...I do not suspect." A pause; his fingers rested on an unopened scroll. "I confirm."

Arinaya said nothing more because she understood. This was not the beginning of something normal; this is the beginning of exposing someone bigger and closer.

Across the chamber, parchments gathered, and names resurfaced. Histories awakened, and somewhere within those forgotten records—a truth waited.

Levin finally sat, scroll in hand, eyes sharp and unmoving.

’Nabuarsh...’

The name did not feel distant anymore. It felt close, and as the first seal broke beneath his fingers, the past... began to speak.

***

[Silthara Palace — The Old Archive Wing — Later]

Time did not pass within the archive. It settled. The chamber had changed. Where once there had been stillness—now there was movement. Scrolls lay unfurled across the long stone table, their edges worn, their ink faded but not forgotten.

Names, dates, bloodlines and deaths. Every parchment carried weight, and now—so did the room.

Levin stood at the center still and unmoving. His gaze moved across the spread—not scanning, not rushing... but studying.

Connecting.

Arinaya stepped closer careful not to disturb the arrangement.

"...Malika." Her voice was low, measured. "From when... shall we begin?"

Levin did not answer immediately.

His fingers rested lightly upon one of the scrolls—an older one. The seal had already been broken. The ink spoke of lineage... of names that no longer existed.

Then—He lifted his gaze, not toward the scrolls, but toward them.

"...From today."

The words fell simple yet final.

"Gather everything." His voice deepened—not louder, but heavier. "...All of it will be moved to my office."

Raevahn stepped forward first, bowing without hesitation. "As you command, Malika."

Iru followed. Together, they began collecting the parchments—carefully, precisely, and respectfully—of what they carried, not just records but truths. No one questioned; no one delayed, because whatever this was—it had already crossed the line between inquiry and decision.

One by one the scrolls left the archive. The chamber grew quieter until only two remained.

Arinaya and Levin.

The door closed behind the others, and a softer silence settled now.

Watchful.

Arinaya did not move immediately; her gaze remained on Levin.

"...What is it... that you are truly seeking, Malika?" Her tone had changed, less formal and more direct, because this was no longer court.

Levin did not look at her at first; his hand moved—slowly—across the table, pausing over a specific record.

Then—

"I have found a pattern."

Arinaya’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"A pattern," Levin continued, his voice quiet but edged with something sharper, "...that does not belong to coincidence."

Now he turned, and when he looked at her, there was no doubt left in his eyes.

"Every consort...every death... Every silence that followed." His voice lowered further. "I have finally found a serpent who has been watching... waiting... and removing what stands beside the Malik... And that same serpent..."

His gaze darkened.

"...is preparing to strike again."

Arinaya stilled and exhaled slowly.

"...And this... serpent." Her voice steadied. "...you have already identified them?"

Levin did not respond immediately for a moment—there was hesitation, not uncertainty but weight.

Then he spoke.

"...Nabuarsh."

The name did not echo. It settled like something that had been waiting to be spoken. Arinaya’s eyes widened—just once, not dramatically but enough.

"...Malika..." Her voice lowered, more careful now. "...are you certain? Because to accuse a serpent who stands so close to the Malik...is not a small matter. It will not happen like Iru’s case."

"It is not an accusation." Levin cut in calmly, controlled, and absolutely. "It is a direction."

Arinaya fell silent. Levin stepped closer to the table, his fingers pressed lightly against the parchment beneath them.

"Nabuarsh sent me a letter about the concubines when Malik did not stamp any final seal. And he stands beside the throne." His voice lowered. "...He is trusted... Respected and ... untouched by suspicion."

A faint pause.

"That is precisely why he is dangerous."

Arinaya watched him now—not as an assistant but as someone measuring.

"...If you are wrong," she said carefully, "you risk more than your position... You risk forcing the Malik into a choice."

Levin’s gaze did not waver.

"I am aware, that is why..." He turned fully toward her. "...we do not accuse. We prepare."

The word settled like a blade being placed carefully upon a table.

Arinaya’s expression shifted not into doubt but into understanding. "...You intend to prove it."

Levin nodded once.

"I will not place Malik in a position where he must choose." His voice remained steady. "...I will place the truth before him... in a way that leaves no choice. No denial and no escape."

Arinaya exhaled slowly. "...Then this is no longer investigation."

Levin’s gaze hardened.

"It is exposure."

Silence returned, but it was no longer uncertain. It was decided beyond the archive walls—the empire still breathed as it always had.

Unaware and unshaken. But within this chamber, a thread had been pulled, and soon everything tied to it...would begin to unravel.

***

[Silthara Palace — Inner Hallway — Later]

The corridors of Silthara stretched long and endless beneath dim golden lamps, their light resting softly against carved stone, never fully chasing away the shadows.

Levin walked at the center unhurried and composed, beside him—Lady Arinaya and behind—Raevahn.

Ahead—the quiet hum of a palace that never truly slept.

From the turning archway, Iru approached, steps precise, posture flawless. He bowed deeply the moment he reached Levin.

"Malika."

Levin’s gaze shifted to him.

"I have arranged every parchment within your office," Iru said, voice steady. "Each record has been placed according to era and relevance...nothing has been disturbed."

Levin inclined his head once.

"Good."

Raevahn moved forward then, falling seamlessly into position beside them. The formation restored. The silence resumed.

And then—

DASH—!!

DASH—!!

DASH—!!

The sharp echo of hurried footsteps tore through the stillness, fast and uncontrolled. Too light to be a soldier. Too reckless to belong.

Levin stopped so did the others.

"My Lady—wait—!" a voice followed, strained, breathless. "You cannot run here—!"

But the warning came too late because the blur had already turned the corner.

A child, small, fast and unstoppable.

"I have to meet him—!" her voice rang, stubborn and breathless.

She ran straight toward Levin and just before impact—

GRIP.

Raevahn’s hand moved faster than thought. He caught her mid-motion, lifted her and stopped her. Silence crashed down.

The child dangled slightly in the air, feet no longer touching the ground, her small hands still mid-reach. Levin blinked once.

Iru’s expression hardened instantly. His voice cut sharp through the corridor.

"Who allowed this?" His gaze snapped toward the attendant rushing in behind.

"In the Malika’s private corridor?" His tone dropped colder. "Have you forgotten where you stand?"

The attendant collapsed immediately. Knees striking stone. Forehead to the floor.

"I—apologize, Malika—!" her voice trembled. "She would not stop—I tried—she insisted to meet you—"

Levin did not look at her his gaze had already shifted to the child. She struggled lightly in Raevahn’s grip—not in fear, In frustration.

"Let me go—!" she huffed, small but fierce.

Levin’s brows drew faintly.

"...She wished to meet me? But who is this kid?"

His voice was calm but curious. Arinaya stepped forward, her tone measured.

"Malika...this is Lady Nayra Naharash." A pause. "...Daughter of Lady Samhira."

That shifted something.

Levin’s gaze sharpened slightly then softened and then settled. He looked at her properly now.

Small, no more than six. Violet hair falling loosely around her face. Eyes too bright and too aware.

A child, and yet—not untouched by what had already been taken from her.

"...I see."

Raevahn lowered her slowly—but did not release her completely, not yet. Nayra landed on her feet, steady and unbowed.

She looked up at Levin, not afraid, not hesitant. Just burning.

—

"I only wanted to meet you to ask...," she said, her voice small—but unwavering. "Why did you kill my mother?"

Silence. It did not fall, it struck.

The corridor froze, no one moved, no one breathed. Iru’s expression tightened. Raevahn’s grip stilled. Arinaya’s gaze flickered—just once.

But Levin, he did not react. He only looked at her, and in that moment—The weight of the empire and the weight of truth—Stood between them.