Perspective: Freya Van Daalen
If the previous room could only be described as a paradise for well-behaved dogs, then this one had to be the nightmare of everyone who preferred ignorance.
When Aslan finally opened the door, what unfolded before Freya's eyes wasn't the rot of blood and flesh she had imagined.
It was something far worse.
Books.An entire library of them.
It wasn't the largest she had ever seen—Durnholde's magic academies certainly had broader, grander, and better-organized collections.But this one, without a doubt, won another prize: the most horrifying library her eyes had ever witnessed.
It was as if every forbidden manual, every necromancer's grimoire, every cursed tome that horror films and the darkest stories had ever dreamed of had gathered there, condensed into a single place.
The shelves, tall and narrow, were crammed with volumes that seemed alive.Some trembled faintly, as if breathing. Others exhaled a nauseating stench—a mix of burnt leather and dried blood.
The covers were abominations in themselves.Some were bound in human skin, stitched together in rough seams still marked by scars and imperfections.Others had teeth embedded in the material, as if a monster's own mouth had been torn out and used to seal the contents.A few even displayed dried, stuffed eyes that seemed to watch anyone who dared approach.
The spines were no less grotesque.Many bore letters carved from thin bones, fitted together to form words in languages Freya couldn't recognize—curved, angular symbols that seemed to shift at the edges of her vision.Other volumes were stained with dark splatters that, even after centuries, still carried the rusty hue of blood.
And that wasn't all.
In some shelves, the books leaned against one another as if fighting for space, creating unstable piles of scrolls and codices.One of them, lying open on the floor, displayed pages where ground bone had been mixed with ink, forming uneven letters that seemed to throb faintly.
A smell of mold mixed with decay hung in the air—heavy, suffocating—as if every page exhaled centuries of profane sorcery.
Freya stood still, taking in every detail, the growing feeling that even without touching the books, they were already watching her.
The collection was both fascinating and repulsive.A treasure of dark knowledge.An altar to what should never be studied.
And yet, there it was.Right in front of her.
Unlike the caution he had shown before, Alessio didn't seem as worried inside this room.
He stepped in without hesitation, his firm steps echoing against the cold stone floor, slipping between the grotesque shelves, examining spines, lifting covers, skimming through titles that looked like whispered curses.He was searching—as if expecting to find magical items hidden among that abhorrent collection.
Freya, stomach twisting at the sight of those skin-bound covers and bone-stitched bindings, didn't object.She, too, began to search. She ran her fingers along some volumes, pulled out others, until she lifted a heavy tome that, when opened, revealed blackened pages marked with dried stains resembling blood.Nothing. No trace of a magical treasure, no promise of power. Only decay and madness.
With nothing to show for it, the two regrouped at the entrance of the room.
Freya cast one last glance at the shelves. Those books seemed to watch her like patient predators waiting for the right moment to strike.Disgust rose in her throat, and she couldn't hold back:
— "We should just burn this whole place down."
Alessio remained silent for a few seconds, his eyes fixed on that macabre pile of forbidden knowledge.His silence felt genuine, as if he were actually weighing the idea. But in the end, he sighed and replied:
— "It'd probably be useless. They're likely protected by enchantments to keep them from burning."
And with nothing else to add, he turned and walked out.
Freya lingered for a moment, surrounded by the towering shelves. The silence pressed in, each second stretching thin like a threat.Then her mind betrayed her: she remembered another game she'd once played—an old one where books weren't just background props.
In that game, books were abilities.Every tome opened granted a new skill, a new spell.If the Black Tower worked the same way… maybe she could leave this place as a dark mage—or even an invincible necromancer.
The thought made her smile for an instant—a nervous smile.
But reality quickly returned.In the Black Tower, books were just books.Paper relics, nothing more.
At best, study material—but she was certain these were not the kind she'd ever want to study.
In truth, she didn't believe anyone should even consider studying such monstrosities.Even now, she felt as though one of them might leap at her at any moment, no matter how many times she reminded herself they were only books.
Still, she didn't dare take chances.
Before her imagination had the slightest chance to turn real, she left the room.She closed the door and walked toward Aslan.
He was waiting for her in the corridor, standing before the final door.His eyes weren't neutral—they held tension, as if facing an enemy and calculating whether to advance or not.
When he noticed her approaching, he turned slightly, just enough to study her, then asked:
— "Ready?"
Freya took a deep breath.She wasn't. Not completely.
But there was no way she was leaving this place empty-handed.
So she lifted her chin, molded the most confident expression she could, and answered firmly:
— "Always."
That was enough.
Aslan turned again, shield raised, and advanced toward the final door.