The Devil's Broken Doll のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 291 - チャプター 300

(Apollo)The records chamber had not been opened by royal hand in centuries, and the mountain seemed to know it, the stone holding a peculiar stillness around the sealed doors, the sort of silence found in tombs built for kings and abandoned by time.Apollo knew that before the doors groaned apart, before the old hinges shrieked into the corridor with a sound like something waking hungry beneath stone, before the first stale breath of preserved dust, dead ink, and cold vellum slipped out to meet him. He knew because the mountain knew. He felt it in the way the wards around the archway tightened at his approach, recognised him, trembled, then obeyed. Ancient locks uncurled from the door’s black iron bones one by one, sigils flaring dull red beneath centuries of grime before guttering out again, as if even magic resented being dragged from sleep for the sake of an old wound.The corridor behind him lay silent. Too silent.The sort of silence that gathered around the Devil when Hell had

(Apollo)He found three mentions of Arkael.One placed him dead at the western breach. One placed him fleeing through the lower tunnels with a bloodied hand pressed to his side. One claimed he had been seen carrying a child.Apollo went very still. The vault seemed to tilt around that single line.He read it again. Seen carrying a child.No gender listed. No age. No identifying mark. No witness name. The report was unsigned, marked unreliable in a hand Apollo recognised as his own. A cruel annotation slashed across the margin: fantasy born of panic. Discard.His fingers hovered above the words.He remembered writing that.The war had been chaos then, every corridor wet with blood, every loyalist inventing miracles to comfort themselves, every surviving servant insisting someone had escaped, someone important, someone who would return one day wrapped in prophecy and vengeance. Apollo had dismissed most of it because it was mostly nonsense. Hope made liars of the defeated. He had learne

(Apollo)Adelaide's scent was faint. Almost gone. But not gone enough.The discovery struck harder than it should have.Her scent lingered across the bedding in fragile traces, woven through the fabric so lightly that another demon might have missed it entirely. Apollo did not. He recognised her instantly. For one brief, terrible moment, relief flooded through him. Because she was there, this was proof that she still existed somewhere in the world beyond his reach.Then the relief died, because another scent emerged beneath it. Smoke. Leather. Cold ash. Shadow.Cael.Apollo's eyes opened. Slowly. Very slowly.The room seemed to tighten around him. The mountain itself felt quieter. Listening. Waiting.His gaze followed the scent toward the narrow space beside the bed where several travel items had been stored. A pack rested against the wall. A weapons case sat beside it. Partially concealed beneath both lay a dark cloak that had likely gone unnoticed for too long.Cael’s cloak.Apollo

(Adelaide & Cael) The forest transformed itself long before Adelaide glimpsed the palace. It started as a pressure beneath her ribs, subtle enough to masquerade as exhaustion, the ache of too many impossible truths pressed into the architecture of one body. With every step, the air thickened, not with heat but with a mineral density that clung to her skin, raising the fine hairs along her arms in silent warning. The trees had been ancient for miles, but here they had crossed an unseen threshold into something older than age, a realm where time did not simply pass but gathered, coiling in roots thick as sleeping serpents and trunks broad enough to make her feel, for a moment, exquisitely small. The canopy above wove itself into a cathedral of black-green leaves, and the scant light that pierced it arrived in fractured shafts, catching ash, pollen, drifting spores, until the air shimmered with slow-falling gold. Adelaide moved with her wings folded close, the white-gold flame of them

(Adelaide & Cael)The passage devoured them by degrees. Daylight thinned behind them within a handful of steps, shrinking to a pale slit through the roots before vanishing as the stone curved inward. Adelaide’s wings became their first light, dim white-gold flame spilling over the tunnel walls, revealing black volcanic rock polished smooth by ancient heat and the passage of countless hands. The floor sloped downward in uneven waves, worn at the centre by centuries of use, and the sound of their footsteps shifted as they descended, trading the hush of forest soil for the hollow echo of boots on stone.The air inside the tunnel pressed close. It was not suffocating, but it held them more intimately than the forest had, wrapping sound around their bodies and returning each breath to them altered. Adelaide could hear the small scrape of Cael’s boot when he adjusted his footing, the quiet shift of leather at his shoulder, the faint metallic whisper of his blade. She could hear her own puls