The archives were quieter than they had been all night.

  No one had returned to their books. The piles of notes and records lay forgotten across the tables as everyone tried to digest the weight of Alexander’s final words.

  A debt.

  The Thief remained leaning against the table, arms folded, his expression no longer playful.

  “Well,” he said at last, “that explains quite a few things.”

  Godric looked between the king and the Divine. “A debt tied to House Ilyn’s history,” he repeated slowly. “That sounds like the sort of thing we should have known about.”

  Several others nodded in agreement.

  Wyatt crossed his arms.

  “So I’ll ask the obvious question,” he said. “Why keep something like that a secret for months?”

  The room turned to Alexander. The king didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he walked slowly toward the table where Rykard’s scattered notes were laid out.

  “At the time,” Alexander said calmly, “I didn’t believe it was important.”

  That earned him several incredulous looks.

  “Lilith’s words were… vague,” he continued. “She spoke of an ancient debt long overdue, but she never explained what it meant.”

  He picked up one of the altered pages.

  “I dismissed it as another riddle meant to unsettle me.”

  Rykard stepped closer.

  “But that changed.”

  Alexander nodded. “It did.” He held up the page. “When Lord Rykard’s notes began changing, I started revisiting everything Lilith told me.”

  Godric frowned.

  “And that’s when the pieces started falling into place.”

  “Yes.”

  The Thief pushed himself upright. “Speaking of those notes,” he said, gesturing toward the table. “Explain something to me.”

  Rykard stepped forward. “They are being altered.”

  “How?”

  “They change after they’ve been written,” Rykard explained. “Entire sections disappear. Others are replaced with false records.”

  The Thief crouched beside the table and skimmed the papers. His black eyes moved quickly. Then he groaned.

  “Oh, for the love of creation…”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “That irritating little worm.”

  Godric blinked. “You recognize it?”

  “Of course I do,” the Thief replied. He dropped the papers back onto the table. “This reeks of Vaedra.” A few confused murmurs spread through the room.

  “Vaedra?” Dunwick repeated.

  The Thief nodded. “The Circle of Heresy.” He sighed. “That one was always a nuisance.”

  Raphael looked uneasy. “You speak as though you’ve dealt with him before.”

  “Unfortunately,” the Thief replied. He began pacing again. “Vaedra was particularly fond of rewriting things. History. Records. The truth itself. He even has a knack for ordering puny mortals around.” The divine being looked around, surrounded by stares. "No offense, of course."

  He gestured toward the altered notes.

  “Tampering with knowledge was his favorite pastime. Even back in the old days.”

  Godric leaned forward.

  “Back when?”

  The Thief glanced over his shoulder. “Back when the old gods still walked the world.” The room fell silent again.

  Wyatt spoke first. “You’re saying this Vaedra, the one we met in the North, is one of the Circles.”

  “Correct.”

  The Thief raised a finger. “But he's only the sixth.” A few people straightened at that.

  “Only?” Cassian repeated. “Oh yes,” the Thief said casually. “There are others, as I'm sure you're aware. You've fought, and so I've heard, defeated some before.”

  He began counting on his fingers.

  “Vaedra is the Circle of Heresy.” He raised another finger. “After him comes Dante.” Byronard's eyes narrowed instantly. “The Circle of Violence.” A ripple moved through the room.

  That name was not unfamiliar.

  “We know Dante,” Cassian said grimly. “He nearly tore the kingdom apart during the Civil War.”

  “Yes, yes,” the Thief replied. “He does enjoy his dramatic entrances.” He raised a third finger. “But the last two…” His tone shifted slightly.

  “They are… less well known.”

  The room leaned in closer. “First,” the Thief said, “there is Seraphex. The Circle of Fraud.” The name meant nothing to most of them. Confused glances spread across the room.

  “And finally…” The Thief paused. For the first time since speaking, he seemed slightly annoyed. “…the most troublesome of them all. The Ninth Circle. The Circle of Treachery, and the original sinner.”

  Even the air in the room seemed heavier after that.

  “The most powerful of them, I presume?” Michael asked carefully. “By far,” the Thief replied. "You are all lucky he's still bound to his prison."

  Godric suddenly spoke up.

  “I’ve seen him.”

  All eyes turned to him.

  The Thief raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Have you now?”

  Godric rubbed the back of his neck.

  “It started happening months ago, when I first awakened my mana.”

  “What did?” Raphael asked.

  “These… episodes.” Godric hesitated before continuing. “I would lose track of time. Find myself somewhere else entirely.” He looked toward the floor. “And there was always someone there.”

  “What did he look like?” the Thief asked.

  Godric closed his eyes briefly, recalling the memory. “A silver robe.” He opened them again. “And a mask. Half of his face was obscured, but he had deceivingly gentle features and was soft-spoken as well.”

  The Thief groaned loudly. “Of course it was.”

  Godric frowned. “You know him.”

  “Yes,” the Thief replied. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “That indeed would be the Ninth Circle himself.” Several people shifted uneasily.

  “And you say you’ve met him multiple times?”

  Godric nodded. “Only briefly. We spoke on one occasion, but I never got much from our interaction.”

  “Still,” the Thief muttered. He began pacing again, clearly irritated now. “That brother of mine…” Godric raised an eyebrow.

  “You mean the Stranger?”

  “Yes.”

  The Thief threw his hands up. “His power over fate is insufferable.” Everyone stared at him. “He insists on letting events unfold naturally,” the Thief continued. “Refuses to interfere.”

  He gestured toward Godric. “And yet somehow his chosen Vessel, his own son, is casually bumping into the Ninth Circle like it’s a stroll through the marketplace.”

  He sighed dramatically.

  “Honestly, it’s incredibly annoying.”

  Godric blinked.

  “So you’re saying this was intentional?” The Thief shrugged. “With my brother?” “Who knows. He's always been the most difficult to work with of us. Even more than me, and that says something.”

  Then he leaned against the table again.

  “But if the Ninth Circle is already speaking with you…” His expression darkened slightly. “…then things are far worse than I thought.”

  The decision was made quickly.

  If Lilith knew something about the debt, then there was no point delaying the inevitable.

  Within minutes, the group descended the spiral steps that led beneath the Capital.

  The air grew colder the deeper they went. Torches flickered along the damp stone walls, their light casting long shadows across the narrow corridor. Guards stationed along the dungeon halls straightened the moment the king and the Seven appeared.

  None dared ask questions.

  They eventually reached the final chamber.

  Lilith’s cell.

  A faint magical barrier shimmered across the iron bars, humming softly with restrained power. Runes carved into the stone floor glowed faintly beneath it—wards designed specifically to contain someone like her.

  Lilith herself sat quietly at the back of the cell, shackled in chains. Her head lifted slowly when she heard the approaching footsteps.

  For a brief moment, she smiled. But that smile vanished the moment her eyes landed on Caine. More specifically, what was inside him.

  The Thief stepped forward without hesitation. He walked straight through the barrier. The runes flared violently for half a second…then went completely dark.

  The Divine didn’t even slow down. A stunned silence fell behind him. Lilith scrambled to her feet, panic already creeping into her expression.

  “No…” she whispered. Her eyes widened with recognition. “You.”

  The Thief clasped his hands behind his back casually. “Well, well,” he said lightly. “It has been quite some time, Lilith. Still as charming as ever.”

  Lilith stumbled backward until her back pressed against the cold stone wall.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice trembling. “The Divine Laws forbid this! None of you is allowed to interfere directly!”

  The Thief tilted his head and smiled.

  “Oh, I know.”

  His black eyes gleamed mischievously.

  “But I happen to have a workaround.”

  Lilith looked like she had just seen death itself. The others watched silently from beyond the barrier. Even Wyatt seemed uneasy. The Thief stepped closer to Lilith, examining her like a curious scholar studying a specimen.

  “I require your cooperation,” he said calmly. Lilith shook her head frantically. “No—no, you can’t—”

  “I assure you,” the Thief continued pleasantly, “it will be painless.”

  Her panic only grew.

  “What do you want from me?!”

  The Thief sighed softly. “I simply need to look inside your mind.” He paused briefly. “Unfortunately…my presence tends to be… overwhelming.” His expression darkened slightly.

  Lilith froze. Realization dawned on her face.

  “No,” she whispered.

  The Thief turned his gaze upward briefly, almost speaking to himself.

  “Well then. I suppose it’s my turn to do the work.” The Thief's voice changed to someone more familiar. Suddenly, Caine staggered slightly. His body tensed, then he inhaled sharply. Color returned to his eyes.

  “Finally,” Caine muttered under his breath. He rubbed his temples, clearly annoyed. “Next time, warn me before you hijack my body.” A voice answered quietly beside his ear. Only he could hear it.

  You handled it well.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Caine sighed. “Yeah, yeah.”

  He glanced at the others beyond the barrier. The Seven were already watching him carefully.

  “Be cautious,” Raphael warned. Michael nodded in agreement.

  "Do what you have to, Caine. I don't mind seeing her finally gone." Gabriel flashed a cheeky, amused smile.

  Caine cracked his neck lightly.

  “I know.”

  Then he looked at them and gestured toward their faces. “You might want to cover your eyes.” The warning confused them—but Wyatt reacted instantly.

  “Do it,” he said.

  Several of them raised their arms to shield their vision. Caine stepped toward Lilith. She tried to retreat, but the wall stopped her. Her breathing had turned frantic.

  “You can’t do this,” she whispered desperately.

  Caine didn’t respond. He simply raised both hands and pressed them firmly against the sides of her head. For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then Lilith screamed.

  A blinding light erupted from both of them. Her eyes burned with a brilliant white glow. Caine’s did the same.

  The scream echoed throughout the dungeon halls as raw divine power surged through the cell. The barrier around the bars flickered violently. Outside, the others turned their faces away from the blinding light.

  The scream continued—

  Then abruptly stopped.

  Silence returned. The light faded. Caine collapsed to his knees, breathing heavily. Inside the cell, Lilith stood motionless for a brief second. Then her body began to crumble. Her form slowly disintegrated into fine ash that scattered across the stone floor.

  Within moments—Nothing remained. The magical barrier returned to its faint glow. Outside the cell, the others rushed forward. Wyatt was the first to enter once the ward was lowered, grabbing Caine by the arm and helping him stand.

  “You alright?” he asked.

  Caine nodded weakly, still catching his breath.

  “I’ll live.”

  Cassian and Raphael helped steady him as well. Godric looked toward the empty floor of the cell.

  “So she’s… gone.”

  “Yes,” Caine replied quietly. His voice carried a new weight now. The others noticed immediately.

  “What did you see?” Alexander asked.

  Caine didn’t answer right away. Instead, he slowly looked toward two people in particular.

  Byronard and Alexander. His expression had turned grim.

  “Things just got a whole lot more complicated.”

  The room went still. Caine exhaled slowly. Then he looked directly at Alexander.

  “You’re going to want the Codex.”

  Alexander frowned. “The Codex?” Caine nodded. “Fetch it from the locks.” His voice was steady now. “We’re going to need it.”

  The meeting chamber had grown quiet by the time everyone gathered.

  The Azanean leaders stood along one side of the hall, whispering among themselves. Lords Dunwick and Rykard remained near the center table, while the dwarven kings occupied the stone seats that had been prepared for them.

  The rest of the group waited patiently. No one spoke loudly. The moment demanded silence. Heavy footsteps echoed through the chamber doors. They opened slowly. The members of the Seven entered first.

  Michael and Uriel carried the object between them carefully, as though holding something fragile—or sacred. The rest of the Seven walked beside them, their expressions unusually solemn.

  Godric leaned forward slightly.

  His eyes widened.

  “So that’s the Codex…” he murmured. Even Wyatt stared in quiet awe. Few people had ever seen it.

  The Codex of Primera.

  A magical book of laws, history, and vows—one that every citizen of the kingdom had been bound to for centuries. Michael and Uriel approached the central table and gently set the enormous book down. It landed with a heavy, deliberate thud.

  Jophiel immediately leaned forward, eyes shining with excitement. He hurriedly pulled out parchment and began sketching the book with quick strokes of charcoal.

  Azrael glanced over his shoulder.

  “Really?” she asked dryly.

  Jophiel didn’t even look up. “History is happening,” he replied. “I’d like to remember it.”

  Azrael rolled her eyes but allowed him to continue.

  The Codex itself was enormous.

  Its cover was forged from blackened steel, etched with ancient runes and symbols that shimmered faintly in the torchlight. Chains wrapped around its spine, leading to an elaborate lock embedded directly into the front of the book.

  And at the center of that lock—A small crystal vial.

  Inside it rested four dark droplets of preserved blood. Byronard stepped forward slowly. His expression softened the moment he saw it.

  “The lock is still intact,” he said quietly.

  He rested a hand on the table and looked at the vial.

  “For those who don’t know…”

  His voice carried clearly across the room.

  “This vial contains the blood of the first men, elves, dwarves… and Abussonians.”

  Several of the people in the room straightened at that.

  “It is why every citizen of Primera is bound to the Codex,” Byronard continued. “The laws written within it were sealed with a Sacred Vow made by the founders of every race that built this kingdom.”

  He looked around the room. “No one may break those laws without going against the vow itself.”

  A heavy silence followed.

  Finally, Sindras looked toward Caine. “Well then,” the dwarf lord said. “What now?”

  All eyes turned to him. Caine stood quietly for a moment, collecting his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a strange certainty.

  “When I entered Lilith’s mind,” he began slowly, “I saw everything she knew.” He looked around the room. “And I wish I could tell you that what we believed about our history was true.” He shook his head. “But it isn’t.”

  Several people frowned. “What do you mean?” Raphael asked.

  Caine exhaled slowly. “Everything we know about the founding of Primera… begins with Unrel Wolfsbane.” Alexander stiffened slightly. The name carried enormous weight. The founder of House Ilyn. The first king of Primera.

  “The stories and histories we’ve been taught aren’t entirely false,” Caine continued. “But they leave out one very important truth.”

  Byronard frowned. “And what truth is that?”

  Caine looked directly at him. “Unrel Wolfsbane was once just a man.”

  “That much we know,” Byronard replied.

  “Yes,” Caine said. “But the records never explain how he became the man who united the races.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing.

  “Forgive me for speaking plainly.”

  Alexander nodded.

  “Go on.”

  Caine sighed. “Unrel Wolfsbane was not a hero when his story began.” He folded his arms. “He was a broken man. He had lost everything,” Caine continued. “His family, his home, his purpose. And like many broken men…he became desperate.”

  Godric frowned. “What are you implying?”

  Caine’s expression darkened.

  “That he wanted power. Enough power to change the world.” He paused. “And someone heard that desire.”

  The Thief’s voice quietly murmured in Caine’s ear.

  Tell them.

  Caine nodded slightly. “One day,” he said, “a stranger appeared before Unrel. He came disguised as a simple traveler. But he was anything but.” The room leaned closer. “His name was Seraphex.” A ripple moved through the chamber.

  “The Circle of Fraud,” Raphael whispered.

  Caine nodded. “He offered Unrel power beyond anything a mortal had ever known, and in return…”

  He paused.

  “…he promised that he—and his master—would reclaim that power one day.”

  Wyatt leaned forward. “And Unrel accepted?”

  “Yes.” Caine’s voice was quiet now. “He accepted, and he became the Unrel Wolfsbane that history remembers.” The conqueror. The unifier. The king who brought together men, elves, dwarves, and Abussonians to form the kingdom of Primera.

  “But there was something the stories never recorded,” Caine continued. “Unrel eventually learned the truth about Seraphex, the master of the other Circles, and what he—they—truly were. But by then it was too late.”

  Byronard stepped forward slowly.

  “What did my ancestor do?”

  Caine gestured toward the Codex. “He realized the power he had been given would eventually be reclaimed. and when that happened…everything he had built would fall.”

  He looked around the room.

  “So Unrel did the only thing he could. He gathered the leaders of every race that had joined him. And he asked them to make a vow. The most powerful kind.”

  Caine rested his hand lightly on the Codex. “They each offered a portion of their blood. Men, elves, dwarves, and Abussonians.” He looked up. “Lilith's memories claim that a Sacred Vow is engraved onto the Codex itself. It binds the kingdom together, and more importantly…it protects the world from the power Seraphex intended to reclaim.”

  The chamber erupted into quiet murmurs.

  Anarór? spoke first. “My father…” she said softly. Everyone turned toward her. “He knew so much about our history.” Her voice trembled slightly. “And he carried this burden alone for so long.”

  A faint smile touched her lips.

  “I wish he had told me.” She shook her head gently. “But… I’m proud of him.”

  Jophiel, still sketching furiously, glanced up.

  “Well,” he added casually, “that explains something.” Everyone looked at him. “King Ennoris knew. He still knows,” Jophiel corrected himself. “He is, after all, still the king of the Abussonians. And the Abussonians have always been very good at keeping secrets. I know from experience. Even now, my mind still racks at how they were able to provide me a breathing rune.” Jophiel shrugged. He continued sketching.

  The room slowly fell quiet again.

  Caine looked down at the Codex. “Which brings us back to the real problem.” He glanced toward Alexander. “Seraphex. Vaedra. Dante, and the Ninth Circle.”

  His voice grew serious again. “They’re not attacking Primera just to conquer it.” He tapped the Codex. “They’ve come to collect what Unrel Wolfsbane promised them.”

  The chamber remained silent after Caine’s final words. The Codex sat motionless on the table, its ancient runes glowing faintly beneath the torchlight. For a moment, no one dared touch it.

  Then Byronard stepped forward again, his expression growing more serious.

  “There is something else we must consider.”

  Everyone turned toward him. The commander of the royal guard folded his arms. “We are not the only ones with a Vessel.”

  That statement immediately drew the room’s attention. Wyatt frowned.

  “You mean the Circles?”

  Byronard nodded slowly. “Yes.” He looked toward Anarór?. “And I believe we already know who it is.”

  Anarór? stiffened. “My brother,” she said quietly. The room grew tense. “Ióm?.”

  Several people shifted uneasily at the name. Godric glanced at Byronard. “I had encountered him again in the final moments of the siege at Vandralis. You’re certain?” The elven prince was one whom Godric considered a close friend. The thought of fighting him left a bad taste in his mouth.

  Byronard shook his head slightly. “Not entirely, but the reports from the front lines leave little room for doubt.” He looked toward the lords. “Voraxx has been moving under direct command.”

  Dunwick nodded grimly. “That’s what our scouts have been saying."

  "We've seen it ourselves,” Rashid commented. "An elf giving orders to the beast.”

  Anarór? closed her eyes briefly. Her voice came out quieter this time. “That would be my brother.”

  “If the Circles are truly moving to reclaim their power, then it stands to reason they would prepare a Vessel of their own.” Byronard continued.

  Raphael frowned. “You believe Ióm? is being turned into one?”

  Byronard nodded.

  “Yes.”

  He gestured toward Wyatt and Godric. “A Vessel contains a fragment of Divinity. A shard of a god’s power.” He looked at Caine. “The Divines cannot intervene directly in mortal affairs, so they act through chosen hosts, individuals like us.”

  Caine nodded slightly.

  “That much is true.”

  Byronard continued his reasoning. “If the Circles intend to oppose the Divines, then they would need someone capable of wielding power equal to a Vessel.”

  Godric slowly pieced the thought together.

  “You’re saying Ióm? is being shaped to contain Divinity.”

  A heavy silence followed. Caine suddenly looked up. His eyes had gone distant for a moment.

  “I believe Byronard is correct.”

  Several people turned toward him. “I saw something in Lilith’s memories,” Caine continued. “She knew far more about how things worked than we realized.”

  He glanced toward the Codex briefly. “Among the Nine Circles…there is only one who stands above the rest.” The Thief’s quiet voice whispered in his mind.

  Careful.

  But Caine continued anyway.

  “The Ninth Circle.”

  Godric frowned. “The Circle of Treachery.”

  “Yes,” Caine said. “He is not merely their leader. He is their master.”

  Several people exchanged uneasy looks.

  “What exactly are you implying?” Michael asked. Caine’s voice grew more cautious. “Lilith believed something that most people would consider impossible.”

  He paused.

  “That the Ninth Circle is not just a powerful being. He may be something far older.”

  Raphael’s eyes narrowed.

  “Older than the Circles themselves?”

  Caine nodded.

  “Yes, and one far more dangerous.”

  Wyatt leaned forward.

  “Speak plainly.”

  Caine looked around the room before finishing the thought. “Though it was never confirmed, Lilith believed the Ninth Circle may once have been a god.”

  That statement stunned the chamber into silence.

  “A god?” Dunwick repeated.

  “But not one we remember,” Caine clarified. “A forgotten one, to be more specific.” His voice dropped slightly. “One erased from history.”

  Godric looked toward the Codex.

  “Erased… how?”

  Caine shook his head. “That part wasn’t clear. But if Lilith was right…” He looked toward Anarór? now. “…then your brother isn’t just being controlled.”

  A terrible realization began spreading across the room.

  “He’s being prepared.”

  Wyatt finished the thought quietly.

  “To carry the power of that forgotten god.”

  No one spoke for several seconds.

  Finally, Jophiel—who had stopped sketching entirely—looked up slowly. “Well,” he muttered. “That sounds like a terrible problem. We have barely come to grasp the powers of the Vessels we know of, but a Vessel of a forgotten, and possibly outcast god?” Jophiel shivered in excitement. "That sounds fascinating, and at the same time, terrifying."

  Azrael crossed her arms. “Understatement of the century.”

  The room’s attention slowly drifted back toward the Codex. Caine rested his hand on the table beside it. “If the Ninth Circle truly intends to reclaim what Unrel stole…” His eyes hardened. “…then we’re not just fighting the Circles anymore.” He looked around the room.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re on course to fight a god.”

  Caine suddenly went quiet. At first, no one noticed. But inside his mind, another voice stirred.

  Well, the Thief said, sounding amused. This has become far more interesting than I expected.

  Caine sighed inwardly.

  “What now?” he muttered under his breath.

  I would like to borrow your body for a moment.

  Caine closed his eyes.

  “Absolutely not.”

  Oh, come now, the Thief replied lightly. You’re surrounded by fascinating mortals, ancient secrets, a forgotten god, and a divine contract forged in blood.

  A pause.

  And you expect me to simply observe from the sidelines?

  Caine rubbed his temple.

  “You’re insufferable.”

  I’ve been told.

  Caine exhaled slowly.

  “You get one minute.”

  Marvelous.

  For a brief moment, Caine’s expression went blank. Then his posture shifted. His shoulders relaxed. And when he opened his eyes again, they glimmered with something older.

  The Thief smiled.

  “Well then,” he said cheerfully. “That’s much better.”

  Several people in the room groaned immediately. Wyatt leaned back in his chair.

  “Oh great.”

  Godric folded his arms.

  “You again.”

  The Thief gave a small bow. “In borrowed flesh, yes. That's quite a reaction you have there, especially since most faithful would gasp at the idea of being in the company of a Divine.”

  He looked around the chamber with open curiosity, as if seeing everything for the first time.

  “Now then,” he said, pacing slowly around the table. “At least we now understand what our delightful enemies are after.”

  He tapped the Codex lightly.

  “A divine debt.”

  His eyes then shifted toward Alexander. “But there is one rather burning question that remains unanswered.” The room followed his gaze.

  “Why you?”

  Alexander straightened slightly.

  The Thief continued. “As I recall, the Circles originally targeted Alaric.”

  Alexander nodded slowly.

  “Yes.”

  “And yet,” the Thief continued, tilting his head, “their attention has now shifted to you.”

  He spread his hands.

  “Why?”

  Silence.

  The question hung in the air like a blade.

  No one answered. Not Dunwick. Not Rykard. Not the dwarven kings. Even the Seven had nothing to say.

  Finally, Wyatt spoke.

  “If we knew the answer to that, we probably wouldn’t be sitting here guessing.”

  The Thief nodded thoughtfully.

  “Quite.”

  He glanced around the chamber. “And unfortunately, everyone who might actually know the truth appears to be…” He gestured vaguely.

  “Dead.”

  A few uneasy murmurs followed that statement. Alexander sighed. “Our ancestors are gone. And anyone who might have known the full truth died years ago.”

  The Thief clapped his hands once.

  “Well then. That’s terribly inconvenient.”

  Another silence followed.

  Then—

  Godric suddenly spoke.

  “There may be someone we can ask.”

  Everyone turned toward him. Ziyad’s eyes narrowed.

  “You’re not serious.”

  Godric looked back at him calmly.

  “Oh, I’m serious.”

  Wyatt frowned. “Serious about what?”

  Godric slowly leaned back in his chair.

  “If the living don’t know the answer…” His gaze drifted toward the Codex. “…then perhaps we should ask the dead.”

  Several people blinked. “What?” Raphael asked.

  The Thief’s smile widened immediately. “Oh, this I like.”

  Ziyad rubbed his face.

  “You can’t possibly be suggesting what I think you are.” Godric nodded. “I am.”

  The room waited. Then Godric said it plainly.

  “We ask Lady Death for an audience.”

  The reaction was immediate. Rashid stood abruptly. Khor’gul and Malrik followed suit. All three bowed their heads the moment her name was spoken. The room grew tense.

  Michael spoke next, his expression uneasy.

  “You realize what you’re proposing.”

  Godric shrugged slightly.

  “Yes.”

  Michael looked toward the others.

  “The last time we crossed into her domain…” He paused. “…we nearly caused an incident. It was a hauntingly beautiful sight, I will admit, but you made a promise to her, if I remember correctly.”

  Ziyad snorted quietly. “That’s one way to describe it.” He then shook his head. “You’re talking about stepping directly into the domain of Death herself, again.”

  Godric nodded.

  “Yes.”

  “And asking her to allow us to speak with the dead.”

  Silence followed. Finally, Dunwick spoke.

  “And you believe she’ll simply agree?”

  Godric shrugged.

  “It's worth a try. We shadowwalkers have a direct line to the Lady herself." He looked to Malrik, who nodded in agreement. "I'm sure she can help us out.”

  Rykard leaned forward.

  “You truly think that’s wise?”

  Godric smiled faintly.

  “Probably not.”

  That answer did not reassure anyone.

  Michael folded his arms.

  “If we anger her…”

  Godric raised a hand. “It’ll be fine.” The room stared at him.

  “You sound very confident,” Raphael said.

  Godric scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I have to be. Confidence is something I'm finding myself more of these days, whether I like it or not.”

  That did not help.

  Finally, Wyatt asked the obvious question. “And how exactly do you plan to do this?”

  Godric stood. “I’ll go to her.”

  Azrael immediately looked up.

  “You’ll what?”

  Godric shrugged. “I’ll enter her domain.” Several people began speaking at once. Godric raised a hand again.

  “Relax.” The room slowly quieted. “I won’t drag anyone else into it. Not like last time.”

  He looked around the chamber.

  “I’ll go alone.”

  The Thief suddenly began laughing. Not loudly, but with unmistakable delight.

  “Oh, I adore mortals.”

  Everyone looked at him.

  “What?” Wyatt asked.

  The Thief grinned.

  “You’re planning to send one man into the realm of Death to politely ask for help.” He tilted his head. “That is either the bravest idea I’ve ever heard…or the stupidest.”

  Godric shrugged.

  “Probably both.”

  The Thief leaned back in Caine’s body, still smiling. “Well then,” His eyes gleamed. “I absolutely want to see how this turns out.”