The capital of Phaedra was a slap in the face with a chaos of cobblestone streets, towers scratching a dirty sky, and markets boiling with people.
Raziel, pushed by the tide of people, clung to his bag like it was his only anchor, the smells, the screams, and the simple movement of the crowd were overwhelming.
Even though he had been to the capital before.
In another life, of course.
But he had always been locked behind the Church walls, talking only to clerics and the occasional idiot noble.
Now it was different, since without the habit protecting him, walking among the common people, he saw it for what it really was.
He saw the poverty hiding under elegant buildings, the empty gaze of beggars, and the casual cruelty of guards while "keeping order".
He saw the darkness not as a theological concept, but as something alive, a sick pulse beating right under the surface of daily life.
"Hey! Don't get left behind!"
Lucian's voice cut through the noise.
Raziel turned. Lucian was twenty feet ahead, moving through the crowd without effort, people stepping aside for him automatically.
Noble privilege.
Raziel jogged to catch up.
"What do you think?" Lucian asked, grinning. "Better than the academy, right?"
Raziel grunted.
He wasn't here for sightseeing.
He needed answers about Seraphina, necromancy, the power the System kept hinting at.
"Relax," Lucian said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You won't find anything with that face. Enjoy the trip."
Raziel sighed.
Arguing with Lucian was pointless.
The noble had already decided what today was going to be.
"Where are we going?" Raziel asked.
"First stop," Lucian said, his grin widening, "a friend's shop."
***
Lucian's "friend" ran a shop that smelled like rot and burnt hair.
The shelves were packed with things Raziel recognized from forbidden texts.
Dried herbs in bundles.
Animal skulls with symbols carved into the bone.
Glass jars filled with liquids that moved when nobody touched them.
The shopkeeper was a skeletal man with a gray beard and sharp eyes that tracked them the moment they walked in.
"Ah, young Master Lucian," the man said and his voice was rough, underused. "It's been a while."
"Master Silas," Lucian said, nodding. He walked up to the counter and leaned on it. "Just picking up the usual."
Master Silas smiled but didn't reach his eyes.
"Of course. Discretion is my specialty." He glanced at Raziel. "And who's your friend?"
"Nobody important," Lucian said, waving it off. "He's just here to carry things."
Silas's gaze lingered on Raziel for another beat, then he turned back to Lucian.
"I have something new," Silas said, lowering his voice.
"A relic. Very old. They say it contains secrets about becoming more than what you are."
'More than what you are.'
The words hit Raziel harder than they should have.
He looked at Lucian, but the noble was already bored, looking at a display case of daggers instead.
"Maybe another time," Lucian said. "Today I just need the standard items."
Silas nodded and his smile disappeared.
He turned and pulled a small carved wooden box from a hidden shelf behind the counter.
While Lucian haggled over the price, Raziel's attention drifted to a pile of books near the back of the shop.
Old books. Cracked spines, faded covers.
He stepped closer.
The pages were filled with diagrams and text in multiple languages. Some of it was High Zhalyrian and he recognized the syntax.
But other symbols were wrong, they twisted on the page, warping at the edges, pulsing with something that felt alive.
He reached out.
His fingers hovered over the brittle parchment.
Something in his head whispered. Not the System. Something older.
'Open it. Read it. Take it.'
His hand moved closer.
CRACK.
Pain split through his skull.
The world tilted. His vision blurred at the edges. He stumbled back, grabbing his forehead.
'Not yet,' a voice whispered. 'You are not ready.'
"Raziel!"
Lucian's voice yanked him back.
Raziel straightened up, blinking hard. His head was pounding.
"Just a headache," he muttered.
Lucian was looking at him with something between concern and annoyance.
"Too much excitement for a cloister boy," Lucian said. He grabbed the wooden box from the counter and tucked it into his coat. "Come on. Let's get out of here."
Raziel followed him out.
Behind them, Master Silas watched from the doorway, his sharp eyes tracking Raziel until they turned the corner.