The following morning was quiet, as if the palace itself was holding its breath.
Serenil stood alone in the Royal Archives, a place filled with ancient tomes and forbidden scrolls. Dust floated like mist in the beams of morning light. He wasn't supposed to be here—not without a scholar or guardian—but he walked confidently, knowing precisely what he sought.
Elaris. Mirror Witch. Mark of Twilight.
He flipped through volumes at inhuman speed, scanning entire pages in seconds. He remembered how to read in over twenty languages—even if no one had taught him in this life.
His hand paused on a brittle leather-bound tome titled "The Twilight Curse and the Sorceress Beyond Mirrors."
He turned the pages slowly.
> "It is said that the Mirror Witch, Isilvara, was a high priestess of the Celestine Moon Cult. Her power was so great, she bent reflections to her will, cursed entire bloodlines, and walked between dimensions."
> "Those born under her curse bear a mark near the left eye—an omen of calamity, or prophecy of balance."
> "The Mark of Twilight is neither divine nor demonic. It is chaos made flesh."
Serenil touched his scar again.
So that's what this is…
He closed the tome.
He now understood why the goddess Aeliatlonia had chosen him—and why she granted him Voidrender.
This world had enemies that couldn't be fought with steel alone.
As he left the archive, he found his father standing at the entrance.
"You disobeyed me," Sylas said calmly.
"I needed answers."
There was silence.
Then the king spoke again, lower this time. "Your mother… she knew. The day you were born, she whispered your name and cried. She said, 'He'll be a light in the storm… or the storm itself.'"
Serenil looked up at him. "Then I'll be both."
Sylas didn't smile. But something in his gaze softened.
"Then train harder. Be stronger. Because the Witch of Mirrors isn't the only one watching now."