Romans & histoires The Tharchiate Codex

With forbidden knowledge. It was almost indecently thrilling. I pulled the nearest volume toward me and opened it. The pages were brittle, edges browned with age. The script was cramped but surprisingly elegant, some sections in fading ink, others in more recent, sharper strokes where later scribes had added notes. I scanned headings. “Pact of the Seven Rivers—Alpha Thorne of Redclaw and the Water‑Binder Witches.” “Blood Price of the Crescent War.” “On the Folly of Binding Wolves to Moon Sorcerers.”

Tyr replied, “My two subordinates are Xanthus Meryem and Xyris Labelle. Xyris is one of the Eighteen Generals of Regal Palace that I established in Rayne, whose ancestors originated from the Eighteen Fortresses of Maddox. She was already a very powerful Kodoku practitioner even back in Rayne. “As for Xanthus, he comes from the pure heritage of the Hymenoptera community. I once went to Northern Rafinesque with Xyris to save my wife. We shared a connection with the last descendents of the Maddox Hymenoptera community and obtained the Maddox Scriptures there. “The scriptures are divided into two books. One book contains information on how to poison others with Kodoku poison. In contrast, the ot

But I had no path of retreat. The few vials left on me were nothing compared to his inexhaustible magic. “All of you. Move. Capture her alive,” Thor said coldly. “Don’t you want to be with Sif anymore?” “Wait.” The slaughter warriors halted immediately. Thor’s expression did not waver in the slightest. Without hesitation, he opened the Dark Codex fully, raised one hand, and chanted several incantations toward the warriors.

The rarest and most precious items from this collection had led to the formation of our society, and also helped christen it. Through means we had never discovered, Patterson’s Uncle had procured perhaps the only surviving copies of the Codex Transfiguratio, the Codex Conscientia, and the Vos Hokkumah Scrolls. Among the most forbidden and blasphemous texts in the history of civilisation, this collection of writings comprised the only known repository of the heretical Qu’rm Saddic teachings, also known, in times of yore, as The Faith that Came Before Man. Each one of them had been copied by hand and translated into Anglo Saxon from tongues so ancient that no record of them yet remains. “It wa

He smiled and said: “Yes, I know what you're thinking, but of course this book is not a thousand years old. It is only a copy and at the same time a translation. The real one lies in the temple of Tena-lo-Ghan and is written in Alt-Hy. But this one is already its three hundred years old. After a fire destroyed the first of the Shari clan, a new one was made. ” Raen hardly dared to breathe as he turned the next page. They were solid parchment pages with clear, neat handwriting. Raen saw that the book began with a kind of table of contents. His eyes widened enthusiastically as he scanned the dots. "Am I going to learn all of these things?" He asked. “Yes, everyone,” said Chodan, “I will teach

Archer held up a journal bound in cracked leather. "This belonged to Theron. He wrote it the night before they burned him." The archive was a hole in the ground beneath the healer's tent, a cramped stone room that smelled of damp paper and old dust. Shelves lined the walls, stuffed with scrolls and ledgers and boxes sealed with wax that had turned brown with age. A single lantern hung from a hook in the low ceiling, and the flame guttered every time someone moved above us.

The guards stationed outside the restricted archives didn’t dare question his presence. The torches burned low. The air smelled of dust, wax, and time. He found the ledger room locked, but that didn’t stop him. The lock gave way under a precise twist of his gauntlet’s edge. Inside, shelves rose like a forest of parchment trunks, scrolls stacked from floor to ceiling. He lit a single candle. His eyes swept the seals—the ancient wax marks that denoted lineage and trade authority. Then he saw it: the House of Tareth emblem, pressed in deep crimson, duplicated in several variants.

"How do you know the Manarch's Swordplay? No way! What kind of luck is this? "The Triarchs' Codex—only the Skyarch and the Eartharch techniques remain. Don't tell me you know those, too. Have you mastered all the Triarchs' Codex techniques? Impossible!" Yohan was shaken. Deep within, an uncontrollable urge to retreat arose. Chase's foundation was unfathomable. The Triarchs' Codex was an ancient legacy, and for countless ages, nearly no one had been able to fully master it. Yet now, Chase had already demonstrated the Codex and the Manarch's Swordplay. Only the Skyarch and the Eartharch techniques remained.

“This will test the archive’s tolerance. The Codex does not often see foreign bindings.” Bastion arranged wards around our camp, and the scholars from the hermitage helped cradle the disk in linen wrapped with runes. The journey was a vigil of sorts; we moved like people carrying something fragile and dangerous all at once. When we stepped into the archive again, the air felt like an embrace. The walls hummed, and symbols pricked into sharper relief. The sentinel led us deeper than before, to a chamber we'd only seen in the Codex's heart — a place where the stone’s memory overlapped the lineage's core. It smelled of old ink and rain.

I descended slowly, each step an echo in a crypt. The torchlight flickered to life as I stepped into the archive—a vast cavernous chamber lined with shelves of rotting leather-bound tomes, each one older than the last. But in the farthest corner, protected by chains and sealed glass, sat The Blackwell Codex—a book wrapped in red velvet and sealed with melted wax bearing the Blackwell crest. It pulsed. Not figuratively. Literally. I reached for the iron key I'd stolen years ago and unlocked the case. The chains rattled like they were trying to warn me. I broke the wax seal.