The helicopter blades roared overhead as Mara stared through the open side door. Below, the derelict sprawl of Argenfell stretched out like a decaying skeleton—rotting skyscrapers cloaked in vines, shattered windows reflecting a sun long exiled from the lives below. Once, this city had been a thriving hub of diplomacy and magic, but now it was little more than a ghost wrapped in rumors. Official reports claimed a chemical leak had poisoned the air years ago, prompting an evacuation. But Mara knew better now.
There had been no leak.
"Beneath this city," Adrian said over the headset, "is one of the last true repositories of vampire history—the Archive of Whispers. If the Mirror King really was the first vampire, this is where we'll find the truth."
Mara gripped the steel frame of the helicopter's doorway, her knuckles pale. "And the Third Seal?"
"No guarantee. But the Archive might point us to it."
They landed on the rooftop of what had once been the Argenfell National Library. The stone sign above the entrance had eroded to near illegibility, and a portion of the roof had collapsed under the weight of time and neglect. Their boots hit the gravel-coated landing pad, and the pilot gave them a two-hour window before the city's energies became unstable.
"Two hours," Adrian muttered. "Not nearly enough."
The moment Mara stepped onto the rooftop, she felt it—the strange, humming vibration beneath her feet. The city might have died, but something below still pulsed with life. Magic? Memory? Or something worse?
They made their way down into the library, descending through broken stairwells and crumbling corridors. Inside, vines had taken over the walls, twisting into unreadable murals. Dust hung heavy in the air, and every creak of floorboards echoed like cannonfire in the silence.
"Are we alone?" Mara asked.
Adrian didn't answer right away. He paused, eyes narrowed. "No."
Mara turned sharply. "What do you mean?"
He pointed toward the floor where long, faint scratches formed concentric circles—like claws had been dragged across the stone repeatedly.
"Scouts," he said grimly. "The Mirror King's creatures. They were here."
They pressed on.
After twenty minutes of winding through passageways that twisted far beyond the original library's blueprints, they reached a set of black iron doors embossed with vampiric runes. Four statues flanked them—guardians carved from obsidian, their eyes set with red gems.
"They'll only open for Caelestis blood," Adrian said.
Mara stepped forward cautiously. As she approached, the runes across the door began to glow, soft red light pulsing like a heartbeat. The statues remained still, but their eyes flared, watching her.
Then, without a sound, the iron doors creaked open.
Inside lay the Archive of Whispers.
Mara gasped.
It was nothing like the rotting library above. This chamber pulsed with eternal magic—shelves that stretched into infinity, staircases that defied gravity, and books that hovered midair, pages turning slowly. The architecture was impossible, as though a piece of the universe had been folded into itself and bound in ink and silence.
"Is this even real?" she whispered.
"It's not meant to be," Adrian replied. "The Archive was built by the first scholars of the old bloodlines. It exists partially out of phase with the world."
Floating lanterns illuminated the endless rows, casting dim golden light over titles written in languages long dead. One shelf contained only memories—bottled like perfume, glowing gently.
"This is where truth sleeps," Adrian said. "And sometimes screams."
They passed through sections labeled with silver sigils. Histories of the Lost Kingdoms. The Caelestis Prophecies. The Fall of the Obsidian Tower. And then—deep within the oldest wing—The Seals of Eternity.
"This is it," Adrian said, pointing to a pedestal shaped like a spiraling tree trunk. "The Archive will show you what it remembers. But be warned—what it shows cannot be unseen."
Mara placed her palm on the pedestal.
A blinding surge of magic burst forth, pulling her consciousness into the Archive's memory. She no longer stood in the chamber—but in the past.
She was looking through another's eyes.
The world was on fire.
A great citadel, once beautiful and bright, collapsed into itself. Screams tore through the air as shadows devoured everything. At the center of the chaos stood a man—tall, regal, clothed in royal garments soaked in blood. His eyes were pools of darkness. In his hand: a mirror made of obsidian, glowing with unnatural light.
It was him.
The Mirror King.
Only he wasn't a king yet. Not then.
He was a scholar. A prince. A man obsessed with knowledge—and terrified of death.
Mara watched as he performed an ancient ritual, binding his soul to the mirror and drinking the blood of a dying star. He screamed as his body changed, twisted, transcended mortality. He became the first vampire—not out of hunger, but out of desperation.
She saw the betrayal of his allies. The slaughter of his kin. The birth of his monstrous army.
When she tore her hand from the pedestal, she was crying.
Adrian steadied her. "You saw it."
"He was human," she whispered. "He wasn't born evil."
"No," Adrian said. "But his fear made him into something worse."
Suddenly, the room darkened.
The lanterns flickered and died. The books stopped floating. A low growl echoed from the shadows.
"Not again," Adrian growled, drawing his blade.
Out of the black came twisted shapes—creatures formed of sinew and glass, faces twisted into eternal agony. Sentinels of the Mirror King.
"They followed us!" Mara cried, raising her staff.
The battle was instant and brutal. Adrian's sword moved like lightning, severing heads and limbs. Mara unleashed waves of light, blasting creatures into dust. But for every one they destroyed, another emerged.
"They're trying to destroy the Archive!" Adrian shouted. "We can't let them wipe the memory!"
Mara reached toward the pedestal again—but it was shattering. Pages tore themselves from ancient books, burning midair.
"Grab what you can!" Adrian yelled.
Mara's fingers closed around a glowing orb—a crystal encoded with ancient script. The Key to the Third Seal. It burned in her hand like the sun.
Adrian slashed down the last creature just as a final tremor rocked the chamber.
"It's collapsing!" Mara screamed.
They ran.
Bookshelves toppled. Ceilings cracked. Magic groaned under its own weight. They barely made it through the iron doors before the Archive imploded behind them, sealing itself in stone and silence once more.
Outside, the sun was setting behind the ruined skyline. Smoke curled up from the library's shattered windows.
They stumbled to the rooftop, where the helicopter waited, blades already spinning.
"You make it out?" the pilot called.
"Barely!" Adrian shouted back, pulling Mara aboard.
As they lifted into the air, Mara looked down at the burning ruins.
"We lost the Archive," she said.
"No," Adrian replied. "We saved the key."
He looked at her, eyes serious. "And now we know the truth."
Mara held the glowing crystal in her lap. It was heavier than it looked.
"He was the first," she whispered. "The beginning of it all."
"And now," Adrian said grimly, "you must be the end."