Leon stood in the scriptorium before dawn, alone among shelves thick with dust and binding runes. The place hadn't been disturbed in years. Not truly. Not beneath the surface wards that only opened to the Vault-marked. And now, the stone doors had answered to him like they'd waited centuries to be spoken to.
He passed scrolls that looked older than dynasties. Tablets whose inscriptions still shifted if stared at too long. There was no longer fear in him now. Only intent.
By the time Marien entered, he'd already unearthed three sealed writs and a ledger bound in metal.
"You beat the sun up," she said, rubbing her arms as the cold of the chamber bit. Her eyes swept the room. "Are you seriously going through the Founding Oaths?"
Leon nodded once, placing a scroll flat against the table. "If we want a new rite, it needs to be built on something."
"That means cracking more than secrets."
"Then we crack it."
