"The verdict has been reached."
Aden Vasco stood at the center of the Grand Academy Courtroom, his wrists locked in enchanted iron cuffs that suppressed mana. The air was thick with judgment, the gazes of the Academy's Judges drilled into him like nails hammered into flesh.
The Sun's rays filled into the room, lights gleaming over the towering bookshelves and banners of the Academy's crest.
The Head Judge's voice rang out, no hint of warmth or hesitation. Silence fell over the room. The students, professors, and noble representatives in attendance barely dared to breathe.
"Aden Vasco, you are hereby found guilty of first-degree murder."
Murmurs spread through the audience like wildfire. The heir of one of the Empire's Five Great Houses had been killed. There could be no mercy.
"You are sentenced to imprisonment under the custody of the Imperial Knight Order until further judgment is decreed by the Empire."
Now, all that's left asked was one single question.
How did we get here?
-------------------------
The door closed, and the noise of the banquet vanished. Just like that. Aden Vasco stood alone in the quiet of his room. The polite smile he had to wear all night felt stiff on his face, like a mask that had frozen there. Finally some peace
He shrugged off his formal jacket. It was heavy, embroidered with the silver falcon of his family. He dropped it on a chair, and the fancy bird seemed to wilt, all its importance gone.
Then he saw it.
A book. Sitting right in the middle of his clean desk.
He hadn't left it there. The sight was wrong, like a splash of mud on fresh snow. Who got in here? The window was locked. The door was fine. But the book was real. Its cover was dark, plain leather.
He picked it up. It felt cold. The title, Blades of Deception, was stamped in faint silver. But as he held it, the letters shimmered and disappeared. Not faded. Gone.
His breath caught. What the-
He opened it. The handwriting wasn't his. He read the first line.
17th Night of Winter, Year 1426. Claire Remes will die tonight.
The air left his lungs. Claire? This was dated for today. He read faster, his heart starting to hammer against his ribs. The words described an alley, an attack by an organization called The Public. It said she would be killed by The Public in an ambush and then the blame would be shifted onto Aden. It said the Vasco household will abandon him. It said the Emperor would lock him away for treason.
As he read, the book began to melt.
Not into water, but into a faint, glowing light. The light rose from the page and sank into his skin. It was warm, then it was hot. A sharp, twisting pain ignited deep in his heart, in the place where his core was located.
He couldn't drop the book. His hand was stuck. He was forced to turn the page. The story went on, beyond tonight.
Year 1427. The feud between House Vasco and House Remes splits the northern lords. Aden Vasco is Imprisoned.
The words dissolved into light, pouring into him. The pain flared, making his vision swim. He saw glimpses of a future he didn't want: his father's cold eyes, the grey walls of a cell.
Another page turned against his will.
Year 1440. The Continental War begins.
More pages. More light. More pain. The book was feeding him a history of ruin.
Year 1445. The Chronos Empire falls.
The Book offered a much more detailed glimpse of the future, every details etched on every pages where shocking as they revealed truths about the continents mightiest secrets to aden.
The agony was a fire in his soul, but he was a prisoner to the text. He saw visions of cities burning, of a world drowning in chaos, all because of the lie that started tonight.
He was nearing the end. The script grew sparse, final.
Year 1448. Aden Vasco is Freed. Joins the Mercenary and then rises to the position of King of Mercenary.
A cold horror settled in his chest. He was reading his own obituary.
The final lines on the last page glowed with a sickly light.
He never knew who left the book. He never learned the whole truth. He died with the weight of a continent's fall on his shoulders. And that's how Aden Vasco's story came to an end.
As the last word was seared into his mind, the final page dissolved. The book itself shimmered, grew transparent, and then vanished from his hands. The light was gone. The pain in his mana core faded to a deep, throbbing ache, a permanent scar.
He was on his knees, though he didn't remember falling. He sucked in ragged breaths. The room was silent. The knowledge was inside him now. It wasn't just memory; it was part of him. The fall of an empire, the date of his own death, it was all there, etched into his bones.
He looked at his hands. They were shaking.
A prank, a desperate part of his mind whispered. But he knew it was a lie. No magic in this world could do this. The ache in his core was proof. The vivid, terrible clarity was proof. This was real.
He saw it all again: the alley, Claire's death, his arrest, the long, slow death of everything. The cold fear that gripped him was suddenly forged in the fire of a new, fierce emotion. Rage.
He pushed himself to his feet. His body felt different. Heavier. The weight of the future was now his to carry.
His eyes found the sword on its stand by the wall. The steel gleamed, simple and true in the dim light. It was a tool for cutting knots. And his life had just become the most tangled knot imaginable.
He had to go to the Ironworks Alley. He had to see if the world was already sliding into the nightmare he had been shown.
And if it was true, then the book had not just given him a prophecy of his end.
It had given him a chance to write a new one.
He walked to the sword, his movements deliberate, his mind cold and clear. The ache in his core was a reminder. A countdown.
He picked up the sword. The weight of the hilt in his hand was the first real, right thing he had felt all night.
He now had a choice to make, Stay in the dark and be swallowed by it, or step in the dark and devour it all.
His story would not end in the dark. Not tonight.