The question remained in the air.
"What do you fear more?"
"Becoming Vaheen..."
"Or discovering that Vaheen was once like you?"
Feroz stood silently.
For the first time in a long while—
he didn't know what to say.
The Hall was completely quiet.
Even Ayan wasn't speaking.
The old man simply waited.
Patient.
As if the answer mattered more than anything else.
Finally, Feroz spoke.
"I don't know."
The old man smiled slightly.
"Good."
Feroz frowned.
"Good?"
"Most people lie when they don't know."
That sounded fair.
The old man slowly walked back toward the center of the Hall.
Then sat down again.
"Fear becomes dangerous when you pretend it isn't there."
Feroz remembered Yusuf saying something similar long ago.
Different words.
Same lesson.
The old man looked toward the carvings.
"Your father understood that."
The mention of Qadir immediately caught Feroz's attention.
"You keep talking about him."
The old man nodded.
"Because you're following the same road."
Feroz crossed his arms.
"Then tell me something useful."
Ayan looked nervous immediately.
Nobody usually spoke to elders like that here.
But surprisingly—
the old man laughed.
A genuine laugh.
"I like you."
Feroz wasn't sure if that was a compliment.
The old man pointed toward the tree carving.
"When your father came here, he wasn't looking for power."
"Then what was he looking for?"
The old man's smile disappeared.
"A way to save someone."
Silence.
Feroz's chest tightened.
Save someone.
The answer felt familiar.
Every story he had heard about Qadir eventually led back to the same thing.
Protection.
Sacrifice.
Family.
Part of him immediately wondered if the old man was talking about him.
After all—
everyone had told him the same thing.
His father disappeared to protect him.
To keep him safe.
To keep the bloodline secret.
But something about the way the old man spoke made him hesitate.
As if there was more to the story.
More than Yusuf had known.
More than anyone had told him.
"Who was he trying to save?" Feroz asked.
The old man became quiet.
Then slowly shook his head.
"I don't know."
Feroz sighed.
Again.
Another answer leading nowhere.
The old man noticed his frustration.
"I know that bothers you."
"A little."
The old man chuckled.
"It bothered your father too."
That actually made Feroz smile slightly.
For the first time, he felt connected to Qadir in a way he hadn't before.
Not through powers.
Not through bloodlines.
Through personality.
Both of them hated half-answers.
The old man suddenly stood.
"Come."
Feroz looked up.
"Where?"
"The archives."
Ayan immediately straightened.
"The archives?"
The old man nodded.
"You've waited three years."
Ayan's eyes widened.
"You mean—"
"Yes."
The young man nearly smiled.
Clearly this was important.
The old man led them deeper into the Hall.
Past ancient pillars.
Past faded symbols.
Until they reached a large stone door...
Unlike everything else—
this door carried the same symbol that appeared on Feroz's arm.
The same symbol he had seen:
in the cave during the visions carved into ancient stone connected to his bloodline
The old man placed his hand against it.
Nothing happened.
Then he stepped aside.
And looked at Feroz.
"Your turn."
Feroz frowned.
"My turn for what?"
"The door won't open for me."
Silence.
The old man pointed toward the symbol.
"It recognizes blood."
That immediately reminded Feroz of the Veinblade.
The vault.
The hidden power tied to his family.
Slowly—
Feroz stepped forward.
His heart beating faster.
Then he placed his hand against the symbol.
For a second—
nothing happened.
Then suddenly—
golden light spread across the entire door.
Ancient markings lit up one after another.
Ayan stared in amazement.
The old man simply nodded.
As if he had expected this all along.
A deep rumble echoed through the Hall.
The stone door slowly began opening.
Dust filled the air.
The smell of old parchment drifted outward.
The archives.
A place nobody had entered for years.
Maybe decades.
The doorway finally opened completely.
Rows upon rows of shelves stretched into darkness.
Thousands of books.
Ancient scrolls.
Records.
Knowledge.
More knowledge than Feroz had ever seen.
Ayan looked speechless.
The old man looked toward Feroz.
"Your father spent seven days in this room."
Feroz slowly stepped inside.
His eyes moving across the endless shelves.
"What was he looking for?"
The old man answered quietly.
"The same thing you're looking for."
Feroz turned toward him.
"The Tree?"
The old man shook his head.
"No."
A pause.
Then:
"The truth."
The words settled heavily.
Because deep down—
Feroz knew that was true.
Every road he had walked.
Every battle.
Every vision.
Every lesson from Yusuf.
Every warning from Haroon.
Every secret surrounding Qadir.
It all led back to the same thing.
Truth.
Not power.
Not destiny.
Truth.
Then—
somewhere deep within the archives—
a sound echoed.
A soft thud.
Feroz turned immediately.
Ayan looked up.
The old man's expression changed.
Not fear.
Surprise.
A single book had fallen from one of the shelves.
By itself.
Landing on the stone floor.
Directly in front of Feroz.
Silence filled the room.
Nobody moved.
Then the old man spoke quietly.
For the first time since entering the Hall—
he sounded genuinely uncertain.
"That's never happened before."
Feroz slowly walked toward the fallen book.
Dust covered its dark leather cover.
No title.
No markings.
Nothing.
Just an old book.
Yet something about it felt familiar.
His chest tightened slightly.
The same feeling he had experienced near the Tree.
Near the cave.
Near the ancient symbol.
The feeling of recognition.
Ayan swallowed nervously.
"Should you open it?"
Feroz stared at the book.
Then slowly crouched down.
His hand reached toward the cover.
The moment his fingers touched it—
a faint golden light appeared beneath the dust.
The same golden light connected to his bloodline.
The same light that had opened the archives.
The old man's eyes widened.
Ayan took a step back.
And for the first time—
Feroz realized this book might not have fallen for him by accident.
It had been waiting.
Just like the archives.
Just like the Hall.
Just like the learning path itself.
Waiting for Feroz Khan to arrive.