The Gravehound’s body was still smoldering when I noticed the glint.

  Nestled in the charred remains of its ribcage, a black crystal pulsed faintly with light. I reached in cautiously and pulled it free, wiping the ichor from its smooth, glassy surface.

  Mana crystal.

  I had read about them. Not in Larissa’s books, but in whispered conversations between merchants and adventurers who passed through Tremont. Intelligent or humanoid monsters were said to carry weapons or artifacts. Lesser creatures, like this one, often had crystalline cores—remnants of the magic that animated or sustained them.

  Some were valuable. Some deadly. All were useful.

  Adventurers harvested them for gear. Blacksmiths for weapons. Mages for spell enhancements. The right crystal, embedded into a sword or armor, could change your fate.

  I slipped the black crystal into my shoulder bag, nestled between stolen books and a lump of bread. My mind was racing.

  The air seemed to whisper with it, the wind speaking the words into my mind.

  I wouldn't just be a runaway

  .... This was it, my journey, my chance to be an Adventurer.

  Several more days I traveled when I finally saw it.

  TREMONT CHAPTER CHURCH OF

  THE HOLY TRIBUNAL

  It had been two weeks since I ran.

  The longest two weeks of my life.

  But freedom didn’t come with hot baths and perfumed oils.

  Now, I slept under trees. Ate when I could. Hid when I had to. And practiced magic in secret, pushing my limits in the daylight, resting at night when my strength drained far too quickly. I’d learned the hard way that putting illusions around myself while I slept only made things worse. They drained my magic while I rested, leaving me more exhausted each morning. Eventually, I stopped.

  But the vulnerability of being exposed like that—just a small figure beneath a thin cloak on the forest floor—was hard to shake.

  The high spires rose from behind white stone walls, catching the afternoon sun like ivory blades. The second-largest structure in the city, after the castle itself. But to me, it might as well have been a dragon’s den.

  The library stood inside the inner compound of the Tremont Church, carved from white stone veined with gold. Stained glass windows glimmered along its fa?ade, and banners bearing the Trinitarian Sigil-the three V's encircled-fluttered in the wind. The place was imposing. Immaculate. Holy.

  I approached from the east road, cloaked and hooded, keeping to the shadows.

  I recognized one of the guards near the side gate. A man who had once visited Larissa's estate. I waited until he turned, slipped behind a pillar, and ducked into the shadows.

  Every step deeper into the library was like pressing my hand to an open flame.

  Every muscle in my body tensed, ready to run.

  But I had to know. Why they feared me. Why they said I was cursed. Why they wanted me dead. Why even back then as a child.... I was blessed by the light, but hated by the Divine.

  I was small—only five feet tall barefoot—and these Tribunal clerics were giants in white. Many bore enchanted staves or rune-covered blades, slung casually across their backs, just walking the grounds. They were mages, warriors, and priests all in one—a Divine-class of spellcasters trained for holy war.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  And I had no way to compare myself to them. All I knew was that when I stood in sunlight, the magic within me was bottomless. And that, for some reasonto the Tribunal… that was a problem.

  I reached the outer cloisters and crept through the side gardens, crouched low under the hedges. I passed three clerics mid-prayer, then a pair of apprentices arguing softly in Trinitarian dialect. I slipped past them like mist.

  Using a simple illusion, I made myself look like one of them—a pale, hooded acolyte with no face, no identity. Just another shadow drifting through the sacred halls. Quiet, clean, effective.

  The front sanctuary was filled with pilgrims and song, but I wasn’t here to pray.

  I found the entrance to the main library past a marble corridor flanked with mosaics of the Three Gods: Valos the Divine, standing in judgment with golden chains in each hand. Vana the Nurture, robed in sunflowers. Vorn the Wrath, cloaked in fire and blood.

  Their eyes seemed followed me down the hall. Or maybe it was just my guilt.

  The main floor of the library was a disappointment—shelves of scripture, theological debates, books on proper repentance, and sermons in five languages.

  But tucked off in a far corner there was a staircase going down. Discreet. Stone. Worn smooth by time.

  I followed it.

  At the bottom was a thick iron-bound door, sealed by no ordinary lock.

  I summoned a blade. Just a thread of light, shaped into a narrow spike, and slipped it through the mechanism.

  Click

  The door opened. Slowly. Cautiously.

  Inside was a secure archive—the real knowledge, hidden away from even the faithful.

  Dusty tomes and leather-bound ledgers lined the walls. Magical artifacts sat in glass cases, glowing faintly under magical wards. My eyes scanned the titles feverishly. Every second feeling like an eternity.

  Then I found it.

  “Ancient Prophecy of the Sun God's Revenge.”

  I froze.

  The name alone made my stomach turn. I sat and opened the cover, flipping pages until I found a section scrawled in poetic script—

  “The Seal of Light shall bend to her will… Disciples sworn to her name…”

  “Her horde shall scorch the earth… The Last Dawn shall rise in blood.”

  That is when a memory clicked inside of me. A verse I recognized from my earliest training.

  I sang the words softly...

  “Hush now, little Ember~,”

  A lullaby. That lullaby. The one I had been taught early on, as a girl. A lullaby sung to babies and tots who fought sleep. Centuries old, and clearly misunderstood.

  My hands trembled as I turned the pages. There were more verses—some torn, some scorched. And beneath them, interpretations written in a scholar’s shorthand. A gut wrenching confirmation as the verses of the lullaby stood out on the page

  “Hush now little Ember”

  “Sleep beneath the burning sky,

  When morning comes, beware the flame,

  For gods and men alike shall die.”

  I pressed a hand over my mouth.

  This....Was about me

  I shoved the book into my bag.

  Next, I found a thick manual: “The Compendium of Light.”

  It was heavy—hundreds of pages, diagrammed spells, theory, recorded miracles, notes on light sorcery from over five centuries of study. It was everything I had ever hoped to find.

  I stuffed that in too, though my bag groaned under the weight.

  I was just preparing to leave when I noticed a gated vault at the back of the archive.

  Behind the iron bars, laid out like offerings, were enchanted relics:

  A cloak that shimmered like a heatwave.

  A wand shaped like a silver thorn.

  A large, folded map, covered in glowing glyphs.

  And most importantly… a “Bag of Holding”

  I had only read about them—spell-woven bags that could store more than their size should allow.

  It would be everything.

  Unfortunately, trap magic lined the vault.

  But I had read about disruptive illusions in Larissa’s stolen books. I layered four of them. Muffled the sounds. Cloaked the heat of my steps. Masked my presence entirely, until I was little more than a shifting blur.

  The magic still pulsed against me—angry, hot—but not enough to trigger.

  I grabbed the Bag of Holding and yanked it open. Tossed everything inside: the prophecy, the compendium, the map. A few other books. Even the black mana crystal.

  I turned and ran. Out the library away from the church. I didn’t stop until I was halfway across the river, off the main road and crouched under a fallen log, heart racing.

  They would know soon enough. Maybe they already did.

  The Holy Tribunal was looking for me. Not because I killed Larissa.

  But because of what I was.

  At least I had answers now. Some.

  But one truth was clear:

  I couldn’t stay in Tremont. Maybe I couldn't even stay on this continent, so controlled by the Trinitarian beliefs.

  "I have to leave Aldzaran." Or… at least vanish in its shadows.

  But then... a thought, a whisper in my mind made my chest tight, and I knew I had made a stark decision.

  I don't want to run....

  I want to fight back.