CHAPTER 156: THE MISSING PAGES

[Leif’s POV—Aurelius Outer Gates—Nightfall]

The corruption didn’t just stop at the city borders.

It bled through them.

By the time Zephyy descended toward the cracked stone road leading to Aurelius’s northern gate, the sky had turned a bruised purple—thick clouds swirling like something alive was coiling beneath them.

Zephyy landed with a trembling thud, wings folding in tightly.

"Master..." he whispered, voice thin. "I—I don’t feel safe here."

"None of us do," Luminael’s voice came, and Alvar slid off Zephyy’s back with his hand already on his sword.

I hopped down beside him, my boots sinking slightly into the blackened, ash-like dust coating the ground.

The smell hit me.

Rot.

Iron.

Magic gone wrong.

Alvar stepped in front of me automatically—protective, sharp-eyed, his posture coiled like a predator ready to strike.

Eryndor, Thalion, and Daren arrived moments later, their horses trembling beneath them—ears pinned back, nostrils flaring, hooves scraping the corrupted soil as if it burned.

Even the spirit goddess’s glow flickered.

Dim.Strained.Like the corruption was trying to swallow her light too.

"This..." Daren whispered, voice barely holding steady. "...this is no longer a city."

"No." Thalion’s tone was grim and hollow. "This is a corpse. A living corpse."

We stood there, staring at the once-beautiful capital now suffocating under a shroud of writhing darkness. Buildings were cracked open like broken ribs. The sky pulsed with red veins. And somewhere deep within the city, a heartbeat—slow, monstrous—shuddered through the air.

Thalion tore his gaze away first.

"We must reach the Holy Temple."

He pointed toward the distant white spire—still glowing faintly, resisting the corruption like the last candle in a storm.

"The divine circle protecting it is ancient," Thalion continued. "The corruption cannot reach its walls. Not yet."

Not yet.

That single crack in his voice chilled me deeper than any shadow.

Alvar wrapped an arm firmly around my waist—reassuring, grounding, but also desperate.

"Let’s go," he said.

Low.Unshakable.But the tension in his jaw betrayed his fear.

I nodded, though my heart felt heavier than all the darkness around us.

No one—not the goddess, not the elves, not even Luminael—had expected the Devil to rise this fast. This violently. This powerfully.

But the question gnawed at me with every breath: How did he gain so much power so quickly?

As if sensing my thought, the spirit goddess stepped closer, her expression hard.

"We’ll find out inside," she murmured. "Before the Devil turns the entire kingdom into his feeding ground."

We mounted again—Zephyy was determined—as we rode toward the only place left untouched by corruption.

The Holy Temple.

The last sanctuary.

The last hope. Or maybe—

The last battlefield.

***

[Leif’s POV—Holy Temple—Capital City]

The Holy Temple rose before us like a miracle carved in stone.

Its white spires glowed faintly through the darkness, the ancient divine barrier shimmering like golden mist. The corrupted fog around the city’s streets recoiled from it, hissing, twisting away as if the temple’s presence burned.

The second our feet stepped inside the protective circle—Silence.

No screaming shadows.

No tendrils clawing upward.

Just stillness.

Peaceful.But fragile.

Priest Caldric stood at the entrance, robes torn, face pale with exhaustion, but resolute. He bowed deeply the moment we approached.

"I have been waiting for you all," he said, voice hoarse yet steady.

Alvar narrowed his eyes. "How did you know we were coming?"

A voice answered behind us.

"I told them."

We turned—and my breath caught.

"Caelum...?" I whispered.

He stood inside the barrier, wings dimmer than usual but still spread proudly. His expression was calm—but beneath that calm was grief so raw it cut through the air like shattered glass.

"Why are you here?" I asked softly.

He smiled faintly—sad but determined.

"Because I am an angel," he said. "And fighting the Devil is not just your duty, Leif."

His wings tightened behind him. "It is mine as well."

Something warm flickered in my chest, even amidst the dread.

"Caelum..." I whispered, "thank you."

He nodded once—sharp, resolute. "Do not thank me yet. We haven’t done anything."

Priest Caldric stepped forward.

"Please," he said. "Follow me. The inner sanctum is protected by ten layers of divine wards. It is the only place where the Seraph Chronicles can be safely revealed."

The spirit goddess exhaled. "Good. Then we must hurry. Every minute outside these walls, the corruption spreads."

War tension pressed against the temple walls like a rising tide. We walked in silence down long marble halls, our footsteps echoing beneath ancient murals depicting angels, gods, and the first Seraph King.

The deeper we went...the colder the air grew.

Not corrupted.Not dark.

But heavy with power.

Ancient power.

And as the priest pushed open the gilded doors of the inner sanctum—a golden pulse rippled through the chamber.

Divine.Pure.Awakening.

Priest Caldric bowed his head.

"Welcome," he whispered. "To the place where the first Seraph King forged the fate of the world."

My heart pounded.

Because somewhere inside this sanctum was the truth of how the Devil was defeated the first time.

And possibly—how he could be ended forever.

The doors of the inner sanctum closed behind us with a soft, echoing thud—a sound that felt far heavier than wood meeting stone.

It sounded like a lock turning on fate.

The chamber was circular, bathed in warm golden light that pulsed gently from the inscriptions carved into the floor. Ancient murals spiraled across the domed ceiling—angels, gods, and a figure crowned in radiant fire.

The First Seraph King.

Priest Caldric stepped forward with reverence, his hands trembling—not from fear, but from the weight of what he carried.

A thick, worn book was cradled against his chest. Bound in ancient leather. Runes carved deep into the cover, glowing faintly with slumbering power.

"My lord," he said, voice low, heavy. "I have searched every surviving archive, every sealed chamber, every forbidden vault. And this is the only chronicle of the Seraph King that remains."

He extended the book toward me with both hands—like an offering.

"It has been translated into our current language," Caldric continued softly. "The original text... No living priest could read it anymore. Its divine script was lost with the old tongue."

My fingers hovered over the cover.

A chill ran through me.

Translated?Only one surviving record?What happened to the rest?

Alvar stepped closer, his hand hovering near mine—ready to steady me if the book itself struck me with divine backlash.

"Is it complete?" he asked sharply.

Caldric hesitated.

"No," he admitted. "Half of the chronicle is missing. Torn away. Burned. Destroyed. We do not know if the Devil did it... or someone else involved in it."

A cold weight pressed into my stomach.

"The part that remains," Caldric said gently, "records how the Seraph battled the Devil for the first time."

My heartbeat quickened.

"And the missing part?" Daren asked.

Caldric lowered his head. "...The part that explains how he ended the Devil."

Silence shattered through the sanctum.

My breath caught. Alvar stiffened beside me. The goddess’s glow flickered violently.

"How much is missing?" I whispered.

Caldric pressed trembling fingers to the book’s torn edge. "Everything after the final battle begins."

Everything after. The most important moment. The crucial knowledge.

Gone.

I tightened my grip around the book, pulse racing.

"Then how are we supposed to defeat him?" Alvar demanded, voice sharp with fear he hid behind anger. "Are we supposed to guess? Gamble? Hope we get lucky—?"

He cut himself off and ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight.

Then priest Caldric said, "I found some ancient scriptures in the sealed archive," he muttered. "Texts older than this chronicle. But there’s a problem—they’re written in a pure ancient tongue."

Thalion stiffened. "Not even elves can read that language anymore."

I turned toward the spirit goddess slowly. "...You can translate it, right?"

Her expression tightened.

"I can try," she said, voice careful. "The ancient divine language is not something even gods use anymore. Its meaning shifts with time... and with the reader."

"What does that mean? " Daren asked.

She sighed. "It means the truth may reveal itself... or hide itself. Depending on who opens it."

Great.Just what we needed—mystical cryptic homework.

But we had no other choice.

I nodded, feeling the weight of the chronicle pulse against my palms like a heartbeat.

"Then let’s find out," I said quietly. "Before the Devil finishes what he started."

Alvar stepped beside me—close enough for his arm to brush mine, warm enough to anchor me when the entire world felt like it was collapsing.

The priest bowed deeply.

"Follow me," he whispered. "To the sealed archive beneath the sanctum. Where the forgotten scripts await."

The goddess lowered her glowing hand to the chronicle and murmured, "Let us hope the past wishes to be remembered... and not buried."

And with those words, we moved deeper into the temple.

Toward ancient scripture. Toward forgotten truth. Toward the answer the first Seraph King died for.

Or the reason he fell.