CHAPTER 157: THE RING OF THE FORGOTTEN KING

[Leif’s POV—Holy Temple, Inner Sanctum—Nightfall]

The further we descended into the temple, the louder my heartbeat felt.

Not in my chest.

But in the air.

A low, ancient thrum pulsed through the stone beneath our feet, like the temple itself remembered something the world had forgotten—and was trying to warn us.

The spirit goddess walked ahead, her glow flickering like a candle in storm winds. Alvar stayed close behind me, hand hovering near his blade, silent but burning with fear he refused to show.

Eryndor, Thalion, Daren, Caelum, Priest Caldric...All of us walked deeper. And deeper.

Until the light of the upper temple faded entirely behind us. Only the golden runes on the floor guided our path. Only the ancient heartbeat kept echoing.

Only the dread kept tightening.

***

[The Sealed Archive]

The hallway opened.

A massive door loomed before us—obsidian stone, carved with spiraling patterns of light and shadow twisting together like lovers and enemies.

The same pattern is etched on Luminael’s blade. Priest Caldric stepped forward and pressed his palms to the door.

Golden characters lit beneath his fingers.

"By divine authority," he whispered, "I unseal the archive of the First Seraph King."

KRNNNNNNK—!!

The door groaned—low, ancient, heavy—like an old god waking from centuries of sleep.

A gust of stale, cold air blasted out. Daren flinched. "It smells ancient. And... wrong."

Thalion narrowed his eyes. "No. Not wrong." He inhaled sharply. "Hidden. Something has been sealed here for a reason."

Alvar’s grip on my waist tightened. "Stay close."

I didn’t argue. Because even without stepping in, I could feel it.

A pressure.

A weight.

A presence.

Something inside the archive was alive.

Inside the Archive

The chamber was circular—like the sanctum above, but darker, older, and untouched by time.

Shelves lined the walls, filled with cracked scrolls and crumbling tablets. Dust swirled in the air, lit by beams of golden light dripping from the ceiling like threads.

But my eyes went straight to the pedestal at the center.

The book. The missing chronicle’s counterpart. The one written in the original divine script—untouched, untranslated.

The only one gods could read. The spirit goddess stepped forward, hand trembling slightly as she hovered it over the open page.

"The language..." she whispered. "It’s shifting. Even as I look at it, it changes."

Thalion frowned. "What does that mean?"

She didn’t answer at first.

Her pupils dilated.

Her glow flickered.

Then—

"It responds to the reader," she said softly. "This language... shows you only the truth you are meant to know."

A chill ran down my spine.

"That sounds like a trap," Daren muttered.

"That sounds like destiny," Caelum corrected.

"That sounds like bullshit," Alvar growled under his breath.

I took a breath and stepped closer.

"What do you see?" I asked the goddess.

Slowly... she began to read. The runes glowed beneath her fingertips.

Her voice wavered. "The First Seraph King... was not meant to survive the final battle."

The air turned cold.

I felt Alvar’s hand tighten on my arm—hard enough to bruise, hard enough to steady himself.

And then—the goddess’s voice suddenly stopped. Her breath caught. Her eyes widened. As if the words themselves had struck her.

"And..." she whispered, throat bobbing. "...the Seraph King never descended from Heaven."

Silence slammed into the room.

"...What?" I breathed.

Her glow flickered violently as she read the ancient script again, confirming what she saw.

"He was not born of this world," she said softly. "He... came from an alternate universe."

My vision tilted. Alvar’s fingers clamped around my arm, trembling.

Alternate... universe?

Thalion stepped forward, frowning deeply. "You’re saying the first Seraph King wasn’t divine at all?"

"No," the goddess said. "He was human. A human from another world. Pulled here by destiny. Chosen by the heavens. Given power not meant for mortals."

My heart thundered.

Because I understood. I understood too well.

The first Seraph King and I—we shared the same fate. The same impossible origin. The same cruel, twisted destiny.

His story...was my story.

Alvar’s grip tightened again—as if realizing he might lose me the same way the first Seraph King was lost.

Caelum’s voice broke through the suffocating silence.

"What does it say more?" he demanded, wings trembling behind him.

The goddess looked back down and continued reading. "The first Seraph King did not kill the Devil. He couldn’t," she continued. "Because the Devil... cannot die."

"What?" Daren choked out. "What do you mean cannot die?!"

The goddess’s eyes darkened.

"He pressed Luminael against the Devil’s chest—right where a heart should be—and the Devil was torn apart, scattered into darkness."

She turned a page.Her voice lowered.

"But he was not killed."

Alvar’s jaw clenched so hard I heard his teeth grind.

"Why?" he demanded. "Why didn’t he die? How do you destroy something that has no body?"

The goddess swallowed. "Because the Devil has no physical form. No true shape. No heart. Nothing to pierce. Nothing to break."

Caelum’s breath hitched. "Then the sealing—"

"—was all the first Seraph King could manage," she finished. "He sealed the Devil in the void. Buried him. Bound him. But he did not end him."

I felt my knees weaken.

Not killable.Never killable.

Alvar’s voice trembled—rage leaking through each word.

"Then how," he hissed, "do we end him now?"

The goddess flipped through the fragile pages—desperate, frantic—only for her face to twist in frustration.

"That..." she whispered, "...is where the record stops."

She lifted the ruined edge of the chronicle.

The pages were torn. Ripped violently. As if someone did not want us to see the answer.

"This is all that was written," she said. "Everything after—the method, the solution, the key—"

She lifted the ragged scraps of parchment, fingers trembling.

"...was destroyed."

The room fell into a suffocating silence. A silence that felt like fate itself laughing at us.

Alvar lunged forward and slammed his hand against the pedestal.

"THEN WE HAVE NOTHING!" he roared. "NOTHING TO END HIM WITH!"

The walls vibrated with the force of his voice. I grabbed his hand—tight.

"Alvar..."

His head turned sharply toward me—eyes wild, terrified, and furious. But beneath all of that—

Broken.

"Then we must find the missing scripture," Caelum said, voice strained but resolute. "Somewhere in this temple—it must be here. He couldn’t have destroyed everything."

His desperation mirrored something inside me.

Hope.

Fear.

Denial.

I nodded slowly and said, "Then let’s separate. We cover every corner. Every archive. Every hidden passage. Anything that might hold the missing truth."

No one argued.

We split up instantly, scattering like shards of light in the dim halls.

***

[Searching the Archive]

I tore through shelves of ancient scrolls, cracked books, and brittle parchments that dissolved at the edges when touched. Alvar searched the upper alcoves, jaw clenched so tight the muscle twitched violently. Thalion and Daren combed wards and hidden seals, and Caelum swept through elevated platforms, wings brushing away centuries of dust.

We searched.

And searched.

And searched.

Minutes bled into hours. Hope thinned. The silence in the archive grew heavier.

And then—Daren stopped.

His footsteps stilled.

"...There’s nothing," he said hollowly. "Not a scrap. Not a glyph. Not a clue."

Thalion closed the final stone drawer—empty. Caelum landed silently beside us, wings folding in defeat. Even the spirit goddess’s glow dimmed to a faint flicker.

We all stood there—Surrounded by thousands of years of knowledge.

And none of it gave us what we needed. Priest Caldric stepped forward, face pale as marble. His voice trembled with reluctant truth.

"Then... there is only one option left."

Everyone turned toward him.

He swallowed hard.

"We must seal him... just as the first Seraph King did."

The words hit like a blade.

Harsh.

Cold.

Final.

I exhaled—long, shaking—feeling the weight settle on my shoulders like stone.

"You’re right," I murmured, staring down at my hands glowing faintly with power I didn’t fully understand. "There’s... only that way left."

The spirit goddess bowed her head.

Alvar’s eyes darkened. Caelum’s wings twitched with grief. Because everyone understood what "sealing" meant.

It didn’t kill the Devil.

It only bought time until someone else summons him.

Time that could cost me everything. Everything.

I lifted my head, swallowing the fear burning in my throat.

"Then..." I whispered, "...we seal him."

Everyone nodded. My breath hitched—because out of the corner of my eye... something glowed.

A faint shimmer.Silver... and red.Resting in a dark alcove as if it had been waiting.

A ring.

Large.Intricately carved.Humming with a strange rhythm that tugged at the edges of my power.

It was shining too brightly to be ordinary.

Too alive.

Almost as if—It held the answers the Chronicle could not give.

Drawn inexplicably, I stepped forward. The others were still frozen unaware of the relic calling to me.

My fingers closed around the ring.

Warm.Pulsing.Like a heartbeat trapped inside metal.

I examined it—the swirling patterns, the flickering red gem, the divine-script symbols etched along the band. Unreadable... but familiar.

"What is this...?" I whispered.

Before I could look closer—

"Leif." Alvar’s voice cut through the tense silence.

I turned.

He was watching me from the entrance of the sanctum, expression taut with worry, hand extended toward me as if afraid I’d vanish into the darkness.

"Let’s go," he said, voice low, firm—but trembling at the edges.

I nodded lightly. Without another word, I slipped the ring into my pocket—its warmth lingering against my palm.

A secret.

A clue.

I stepped forward, falling into stride beside Alvar as the doors of the sanctum closed behind us with a heavy echo.

The war had begun.

And somewhere in my pocket...A ring pulsed quietly.

As if waiting.