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> "Some wounds never truly heal. They become scars, whispering reminders of what was, and what could be again."
> — Ancient Veilstone Prophecy
>
The revelation hung heavy in the vast, silent archives. The Crown of Dominion, not shattered by accident, but by a deliberate act of betrayal. And Ash, in a flash of impossible memory, had seen the face of the betrayer. He clutched his chest, the obsidian shard still throbbing with the aftershocks of the vision, leaving him weak and cold.
"A lie," Master Elara whispered, his voice thin, almost inaudible in the immense space. His eyes were wide, staring at the small memory shard on the table as if it had personally insulted him. "For centuries, the Scholars of the Black Quill, indeed, all of Aerthos, believed The Sundering was a tragic, unavoidable magical catastrophe. A wild surge of power that fractured the Crown beyond repair. But if it was... an act..."
Kael, ever practical, knelt beside Ash. "A lie, or a trick of that thing in your chest, boy. That shard plays with your mind. It shows you what it wants you to see." He looked at Elara. "Is this true? Is there any record here of a deliberate act?"
Elara slowly shook his head, his gaze still distant. "No direct records. Only prophecies, vague warnings of 'a hand that seeks to undo the heavens' and 'a heart born of shadow.' We interpreted them as metaphors for uncontrolled magic. But if Ash's vision is true... then those were not warnings of magic, but of man."
Selene, her face grave, put a steadying hand on Ash's shoulder. "The Crown shows what it desires, Kael. But it rarely lies about its own history. Ash saw the Prime Sundering through the Crown's own memory fragment. This betrayal... it is its deepest wound. Its driving hunger." She looked at Ash, her eyes piercing. "The face you saw, Ash. Can you describe it?"
Ash squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall the fleeting image. It was a man's face, cold and stern, etched with a triumphant malice. But the harder he tried to grasp it, the more it blurred, fading like smoke. "I... I can't. It's gone. Like trying to hold water. But I remember the feeling of it. Cold. Victorious. And a deep, profound evil." He shuddered, the memory of the feeling more potent than the image itself.
"The Crown guards its deepest secrets," Elara explained, his voice regaining some of its scholarly tone, though it was still tinged with shock. "Even from its chosen vessel. It reveals what is necessary for its path, not always what you desire to know. But this changes everything. The King's fear of a 'Crowned God' might be misplaced. The true threat might be... the Crown's true enemy."
"Or its true master," Lyra muttered, always suspicious. "The one who broke it, wanting to put it back together for his own ends."
A grim silence settled over the group. The magnitude of the revelation was immense. Their entire quest, their understanding of the world, had just been turned on its head. They weren't just running from a king who feared magic; they were caught in an ancient conflict, a betrayal that echoed through millennia.
"We need to find out more," Selene stated, her voice firm. "If this betrayal is true, then the archives must hold more clues. Other fragments of memory. Other hidden truths." She looked at Elara. "Master Scholar, where do we begin?"
Elara, shaken but quickly regaining his focus, nodded slowly. He hobbled towards a section of the archives where the shelves were even taller, lined with scrolls bound in dark, crumbling leather. "These are the Forbidden Lore Scrolls. Records the Black Quill guarded above all else. They contain the deepest prophecies, the most dangerous theories, and the true, uncensored accounts from the time of The Sundering." He pulled a thick, heavy scroll from a high shelf, blowing dust from its surface. It was bound with iron chains that looked ancient and rusted. "But be warned. The truth here is not gentle. It is a blade that cuts deep."
As Elara began to unroll the heavy scroll on a nearby reading stand, Ash felt a renewed surge of determination. He might not remember who he was, but he was connected to this. This betrayal, this ancient wound, felt like his own. He was not just a victim of circumstance, but an unwilling player in a game centuries old. And he would find out who that face belonged to, and why they had shattered the Crown.
The dust motes danced in the faint light filtering from cracks in the ceiling, shimmering over the ancient script as Elara carefully unfastened the chains. A faint, almost inaudible sigh seemed to escape from the scroll as it opened, as if the trapped secrets were finally beginning to breathe.
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