Brother Aldous leads you deeper into the temple.

The archives are a catacomb of knowledge. Shelves stretch from floor to ceiling, packed with scrolls, books, and tablets. Some look ancient—the materials crumbling, the writing faded. Others are newer, meticulous copies of older works.

“The temple has kept records since Eldermoor’s founding,” Brother Aldous explains. “Most of it is mundane—census data, trade agreements, crop yields. But some…”

He trails off, pulling a heavy volume from a shelf.

“Some of it has been sealed for centuries.”

He sets the book on a reading desk. Its cover is unmarked, but the leather is old enough to crack at the edges. When he opens it, the pages smell of dust and secrets.

“This is the Chronicle of the Founding,” he says. “The original. Not the cleaned-up version they teach in schools.”

You lean closer. The writing is dense, the letters archaic but readable.

Brother Aldous turns to a marked page.

“‘And so the four founders bound themselves to the gem, each giving a portion of their essence to fuel its protection. Seraphine the Wise. Aldric the Golden. Thornwen the Green. And—’”

He stops.

“And Varek the Shieldborn,” you finish.

Brother Aldous looks at you sharply. “How do you know that name? It’s not in any public record. It’s not even supposed to be in this one anymore. Someone—many someones, over many centuries—have tried to erase him.”

“I’ve seen him. In my dreams. In the visions.” You pause. “And I saw him today. A shadow in the square. Watching.”

Brother Aldous is very still.

Then he turns more pages. Past histories and lineages. Past treaties and accords. To a section that has been torn, burned, and painstakingly restored.

“There’s a name for what Varek became,” he says. “It’s in the oldest texts. The ones the founders themselves wrote before they—before three of them—”

He points to a phrase, half-burned but still legible.

“The Hollow King. He who wears the flesh of others. He who cannot die because he gave up living three hundred years ago.”

“The founders didn’t all sacrifice willingly,” Brother Aldous says. “Three of them were murdered. The gem doesn’t protect Eldermoor. It traps them. And Varek—the Shieldborn—he’s been feeding on their souls ever since.”

The words hang in the air.

All your life, you’ve been taught that the founders were heroes. That they gave their lives willingly. That the gem is a blessing.

And all of it was a lie.