Dawn sat on the edge of his bed, the slip of paper held delicately between his fingers. His eyes traced the hurried scrawl inked onto its surface, absorbing the cryptic message left behind by an unknown hand.
"The knowledge you seek is buried where the forgotten voices whisper. The tome of echoes lies beneath the third arch, behind the veiled histories. Seek and you shall find."
His fingers tightened around the slip. The words were deliberate, purposeful, yet shrouded in enigma. Who had left this? And more importantly, why?
Gary, who had been lying on his own bed with an arm covering his eyes, lifted his head slightly and glanced at Dawn. "You're heading out again, aren't you?"
Dawn didn't reply immediately. Instead, he folded the slip and tucked it inside his sleeve. "Yes."
Gary sighed, swinging his legs off the bed and sitting upright. "You do realize it's the middle of the night? The Grand Archives aren't exactly an open field where you can wander freely at this hour."
Dawn didn't look at him. "I have something important to do."
Gary watched him for a long moment before shaking his head. "You're an odd one, Dawn. You don't seek power like the others. You don't train with us. You don't strengthen your Will. And yet… I don't think you're weak." His voice lowered slightly, as if voicing a thought not meant to be spoken aloud. "In fact, I feel like you might be the most dangerous one among us."
Dawn's lips barely parted, but he offered no reply. Without another word, he stood and left, his silent steps fading into the dimly lit corridor.
---
The Grand Archives were vast, a labyrinth of towering bookshelves that held knowledge spanning generations. Dawn moved with purpose, navigating the aisles according to the slip's instructions. The third arch, the veiled histories. He stopped before a massive bookcase, its shelves lined with dust-covered tomes. The air here was thick with the scent of parchment and time.
His fingers skimmed across the bindings until he found what he was looking for—a tome hidden behind a row of outdated records. He pulled it free, its weight substantial in his hands. The cover was worn, the title faded beyond recognition.
He flipped open the cover and his attention was immediately hooked to the wrods written, no, not to the words, but the ink with which they were written.
Blood.
It was definitely blood that was used to write this page. There was no name, no title. Only a warning written in blood:
Oh, seeker of forbidden knowledge. Beware, bewares of the burden of knowledge. For those who seek knowledge must also bear it's burden. This burden broke me, If you are planning to do the same as me, I hope you won't be broken as well.....
---
The writings sent a chill up to his spine. It was written in blood, instead of pen a finger was used. It seems that whoever the Journal belonged to was wuite substantially broken from within.
By the burden of knowledge they carried.
Dawn shrugged off the ominous feelings and flipped through pages, hoping to glean at something, something related to his twisted mortal shell.
----
The early entries spoke of a journey. The scholar had traveled far and wide, delving into the deepest recesses of the known world in pursuit of enlightenment. He had studied under ancient masters, deciphered lost texts, and conversed with those who bore the wisdom of ages past. His work was meticulous, his passion evident in every carefully detailed observation.
But then… something changed.
The entries grew darker, the ink heavier, the words almost frantic.
---
"I was warned. And yet, curiosity led me forward. The Veiled Ones—they are not mere myths, nor are they distant shadows of a forgotten past. They are here. They have always been here, watching, waiting."
"I have seen what should not be seen. I have heard their voices, their calls, their whispers that gnaw at the edges of reason. They do not speak in tongues known to man, yet their meaning seeps into the mind, unavoidable, undeniable."
"They do not simply worship the Celestial Beings. They call to those beyond. The dark ones. The forsaken ones. And in return, they are changed. No longer men. No longer bound by the same mortal threads as us. They become... something else."
---
Dawn's breath was shallow as he turned the pages, his eyes absorbing the inked paranoia, the terror embedded in the scholar's words.
---
"I tried to run. Tried to hide. But the knowledge I carry marks me. I see it now, in my dreams, in the reflections of my own eyes. I have seen what they do. I have seen how they twist flesh, how they unravel minds. There is no escape, no salvation. Only the stain of what I now know."
"They do not kill. No, that would be merciful. They break. They distort. They transform. And once the change begins, there is no return."
---
The final pages were erratic, the handwriting barely legible. One line stood out among the rest, scrawled with a trembling hand:
"I must find the cure. Before it's too late."
Dawn's grip on the tome tightened. A cure? A cure for what? The scholar had searched desperately, clinging to hope even in the face of whatever horror had befallen him.
He stared at the final, unfinished entry, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. There was more to this than just madness. The scholar had been seeking something—a way to undo what had been done. And if he had believed such a thing was possible, then maybe… just maybe, it was.
Dawn exhaled slowly, his mind racing. His twisted Mortal Shell. The devouring light that was his Origin. The dark celestial forces that had been hinted at, but never fully explained. Were they connected? Was there something here, hidden within these pages, that could unravel the mystery of what he was?
He turned the tome over, running his fingers over its worn cover. The past was whispering to him, calling him deeper into its grasp. And he would follow.
The search was far from over.
---
Beyond the silent corridors of the Grand Archives, the Academy grounds lay still beneath the night sky. But somewhere, in the unseen depths, beyond the reach of light, something stirred.
Something… watched.