The late Duke Raelin Vortemar had always been a mysterious figure. His soul-forger aura granted him the rare and dangerous ability to see through dimensions—visions of the past, present, and sometimes the future. But such power came with a cost. In his final years, those visions often drove him to the edge of madness.
He had only one child: Queen Alexandra. Though he loved her dearly, her decision to marry into royalty had left him bitter. Raelin never trusted the royal bloodline nor the Church, and her death shattered what little sanity he had left.
Even after her marriage, Raelin kept a tradition—hanging portraits of Alexandra throughout the Northern Hall and waiting every weekend, hoping she might return to see him, even for a moment. But after her passing, he stopped waiting. That was the moment everything began to change.
It was during this time that young Theodore came to the North.
Raelin took the boy under his wing, taught him everything he knew. Before his final descent into madness, the duke compiled his knowledge into detailed records—histories, research, secrets of the Church and the royal bloodlines. All of it was preserved… except for one item:
The personal diary.The one that contained his visions of the future.
It had gone missing.
Now, Aria, Theodore, and Abigel were combing through the duke's records day and night. Their goal: to uncover the true identity—and nature—of the shadow that had haunted Aria, Lioan, and even Queen Alexandra herself.
The documents were vast and ancient. Some pointed to forbidden Church experiments, others to political coverups between the royal court and the holy order. A few even hinted at curses tied to bloodlines touched by divine or demonic power.
"Disgusting…" Aria murmured under her breath as she flipped through one of the older records about the Church.
"Which part?" Abigel asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"That's right… the whole thing is disgusting."
The records were thick with contradictions—holy sermons masking bloodstained rituals, divine names invoked to justify unthinkable cruelty. The very place that was supposed to be sacred felt… filthy.
Theodore rubbed his temples in frustration. "I've read most of these over the years. I tried marking them, organising them by timeline or topic, but no matter what I do… they always reset. Like something refuses to let them stay in order."
"I marked some last time too," he added, sighing. "But they went back. Exactly the way they were."
"Maybe it doesn't like being in order," Aria muttered, her eyes still scanning the faded ink.
"Or…" Abigel leaned closer, his voice low, "maybe this is the order. The one we're meant to read."
"Or the order Grandpa wrote them in," Theodore offered, though a shadow of doubt lingered in his voice.
Whatever the reason, one thing was clear—the records had a will of their own. And at the end of the day, no matter how much they tried to arrange them, they always circled back to the same chaotic path.
Then something caught Aria's attention.
She paused; fingers frozen on the edge of a brittle page. Her eyes narrowed as she read the title.
"The Saintess."
Curious, she flipped through the section. The handwriting here was messier, as if written in haste—or fear.
"She was a normal human being,but then became the vessel of somethingfar beyond evil…and in the end,she was sacrificed."
Aria's fingers trembled slightly. This wasn't just another relic of history.
This felt personal.
Centuries ago, during a time when the Church ruled over both the divine and the political, a girl was chosen to become the Saintess—a vessel for what the Church called "divine will." In truth, this "will" be neither divine nor merciful. It was a primordial force, older than gods, and darker than death. The girl—young, kind-hearted, and very much human—was never told the truth.
She had a sister. Brave. Sharp. Protective. When the time of the "divine ritual" approached, she learned the truth—her sister was to be sacrificed, not sanctified. The ritual would destroy the girl's soul, making her a vessel not for a god, but for the Shadow.
On the day of the ritual, the Saintess and her knight , perhaps—tried to flee. The knight bore a silver aura, a light that could ward off corruption. They made it as far as the valley but were caught. The knight was publicly executed. The Saintess was dragged back and sacrificed. Her sister arrived too late. And what she found—her sister's desecrated body—shattered her. Then she…
Aria's voice trailed off, her finger resting on the torn edge of the page.
She stared at the last sentence—shredded, ink-blotted, or deliberately erased. The handwriting became erratic near the end, as if the writer had been rushed… or afraid.
"Then she… what?" Aria murmured again, softer this time.
A cold breeze slid through the room though no windows were open. Abigel leaned closer, his fingers gently grazing the page. "This isn't a random record," he said. "Someone wanted this part gone."
"Or someone didn't want anyone to remember," Theodore muttered from across the table. "It's always the same. Just before the truth, the ink fades. Pages vanish. Or madness sets in."
A heavy silence followed. Then Theodore exhaled.
"We need to find the diary."
Aria closed the book gently, her hand still trembling. "I don't think this end in a book."
"That's why we need the diary… He used to tell me the diary is the key," Theodore muttered, voice heavy with fatigue as he slumped back in his chair.
"I think it's better if you take a break, Father," Abigel said softly
"I'll go through this again," Aria volunteered
The air shifted the moment they left her alone.
The cold in the chamber crept against her skin, and the dim golden light from the lantern flickered like it, too, was holding its breath.
And then—
"What the—" Aria spun around, heart leaping into her throat.
Icarus stood behind her, his silhouette almost melting from the shadows like they had parted to make way for him.
"My apologies," he said calmly, "I didn't mean to scare you."
Aria narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing here?"
He tilted his head slightly, eyes unreadable. "Nothing, really. Just… watching."
Silence wrapped around them.
Just them—breathing, staring, unspoken questions hanging between their gazes like threads.
"How did you get in?" she asked, finally.
He smiled faintly. "I can… it's a secret."
She didn't push. There were already too many things about Icarus that didn't make sense.
Aria turned back to the old pages spread across the desk. "I've been trying to trace the curse… the shadow… but I keep circling back to the Saintess."
"The Saintess from a hundred years ago?" he asked softly, moving a step closer.
"Mmhmm." She nodded. "The records say she was sacrificed by the church for becoming a vessel, but…"
Icarus's voice dropped lower, almost too quiet to hear. "For carrying the vessel."
Aria's breath caught.
Her fingers froze over the page. "Wait—what did you say?"
Icarus looked at her with those eyes, the ones that always seemed to know more than he let on. "you said she became the vessel. But the records say she was carrying it."
And suddenly Aria's mind raced.Was the Saintess pregnant?"then what happened to the child"