Forbidden by the Triplet Alphas
Cold like a tomb that had been sealed for centuries.
In the center, on a stone table, lay a book.
It was old, leather-bound, its pages yellowed and brittle. The symbols on the cover matched the symbols on the Kingslayer, on the rings, on the dagger from the chest. They pulsed faintly, as if the book was still alive.
Lysander opened it. His honey eyes scanned the pages, moving faster and faster. His face grew pale.
A ritual, he said. To unmake the shadow. Not bind it. Not transfer it. Unmake it. Permanently.
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