Chapter 61: The Sanctuary
Cerin left before dawn. No fanfare, no escort. Just the weight of a fortress watching from behind stone walls. The pass stone hung under his shirt, the copy of the recording sealed in a double-wrapped leather tube strapped to his back. And under his arm, the map—faded but still legible, inked with destinations that hadn’t been named aloud in over twenty years.
Leon watched him ride until the eastern ridge swallowed him.
Then he turned back to the hall.
The fortress was stirring. More eyes. More questions. Even neutral ground had limits.
By noon, four more envoys had arrived. One from the Order of Sight, two from minor Northern Circles, and a cloaked rider whose origin none could verify. They didn’t speak much. Didn’t protest either. Just listened. And watched.
Leon stood before them once again.
The sword repeated its memory.
The halls echoed with silence.
When the blade dimmed again, Vastian stepped forward. "The truth stands. But so does fear. They will try to fracture this before it roots."
Marien nodded. "Then we root it faster."
They moved the chamber north, into the scribe vault. The oldest vaults had stone sealwork older than most Orders. Unmovable. Undeniable. There, they carved a third copy. Not to be hidden—but to be sent. A carrier hawk, trained by the archivists, was bound with it and loosed to the Citadel.