A muffled drip echoed through the dimly lit archive vault, mingling with the distant howl of wind across the palace rooftops. Nora crouched before an iron-bound chest, breath shallow, as Leon's ragged soldiers stood guard at the grated doorway. The torches cast dancing shadows over the ancient scroll cases scattered across oaken tables. Elsa lingered by the far wall, her pale hands trembling against the ledger clasp in her grasp.
Nora lifted the lid and drew out her father's final diary—the one she'd brazenly reclaimed in chapter 3. She smoothed the cracked leather cover, then flipped through pages stained with ink and blood. “Here," she whispered, “his notes on the Canglan trials."
Leon stepped closer, hooded cloak brushing stone. “They can't hide this any longer," he said, voice low. H
