The Living Scripture… doesn’t know yet.

  Doesn’t know what exactly?

  It threads through my mind, curling around my consciousness like smoke. I can't grasp it, can't hold onto the words, but I feel them: pressing against my thoughts, slithering into the cracks of my understanding.

  My gaze sweeps the group, my pulse steady, my expression unreadable. But when I land on Thania, I know.

  She knows.

  She doesn't flinch beneath my stare. Her eyes, cool and detached, drift over me with the precision of a scalpel… dissecting, assessing.

  There’s something calculating in her stillness, something that makes the air between us stretch tight like the moment before a thread finally snaps.

  She tilts her head, a silent acknowledgment. I see you.

  “I need to ask you something.” My voice is even, unshaken. I nod at her, a silent challenge. I caught your hint. Now, let’s see if you’ll own up to it.

  A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, slow and deliberate. The kind a predator wears when the prey has already walked into its trap.

  “Go ahead,” she says, waving a hand in invitation.

  I take a step forward. Not in aggression, not in intimidation, but in understanding. She needs to know I won’t back down, not after everything I’ve seen and everything I’ve done.

  “If the Sentinels are the highest rank within the Tribunal,” I say, my voice calm and unwavering, “then who stands above you?”

  She doesn’t react, not visibly, but I see it: the way her fingers twitch ever so slightly at her sides.

  I take another step.

  “You see,” I continue, voice steady, watching for the flicker of truth behind her mask, “I think there is someone.”

  Another step.

  “And I heard something…” My tone drops lower, measured. “The Living Scripture doesn’t know yet.”

  The words hang between us like a guillotine blade.

  Thania leans back, arms folding with slow deliberation. If she feels cornered, she doesn’t show it. But she isn’t denying it either.

  “I am not permitted to share any details with you,” she says finally, her voice smooth and carefully neutral. “But I can tell you this…”

  Her gaze flicks, just for a second, in Daniel’s direction before returning to me.

  “You are The Living Scripture.”

  A beat of silence. A confirmation. A warning.

  “But,” she continues, pushing herself away from the chair, “if you truly want answers, I may suggest you visit the Sepulcher of Echoes.”

  She turns, walking past me toward Daniel and the others, her movements slow and deliberate. But just before she leaves, she pauses. Looks back.

  “A word of caution.”

  Her lips curve, not quite a smile, not quite a smirk.

  “No one has ever succeeded in deciphering the divine symbols or inscriptions.” She meets my gaze, unwavering. “Only those with divine will can.”

  And then, just like that, she’s gone. But her words coil around my thoughts like a serpent.

  The Sepulcher of Echoes.

  What the hell am I... I look at my teammates... we're about to walk into?

  Alec strides over, pressing a shot of whiskey into my hand without a word.

  I throw it back in one gulp, the burn searing down my throat, spreading like liquid fire through my veins.

  The sharp sting grounds me, dulling the edges of exhaustion just enough, but it does nothing for the ache beneath my skin, where the glyphs have started to thrum on their own. Not glowing. Not reacting. Just... aware. As if the Living Scripture is listening to something I can’t hear yet.

  I shift in place. The burn fades, but the weight does not.

  Alec nudges me toward the sofa, his fingers latching onto mine as he lowers himself beside me. His grip is steady, anchoring.

  “Given everything that’s happened these past two weeks,” his voice is low, measured, “we should call Master. He needs to know.”

  The weight of his words settles over me. Master Dan. Five decades in deliverance. A man who’s seen the worst the supernatural has to offer and walked away standing.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  I exhale, long and slow, the sound drawing the others closer. “Yeah. Things are getting too complicated. We need someone who can guide us. Someone who understands what the hell is going on.”

  Jamey, Master’s favorite, is already pulling out his phone. The call is short. When he hangs up, he turns to us.

  “Master will meet us at Halo. Ten a.m.”

  Halo.

  The name alone carries weight, a sanctuary hidden in plain sight. Situated deep in Saint Helena’s CBD, we leave the cars behind in an open lot and make our way in on foot. The city hums around us, cars and voices blending into a background blur.

  Crossing the stairway bridge over the main road, Alec suddenly stiffens.

  A shift in the air. A ripple.

  I feel it too.

  Then: movement.

  Alec is gone from my side.

  The moment stretches thin. A flicker in the space where he stood. A disturbance in the light itself. No one else reacts, pedestrians walk by, oblivious, eyes locked on their phones, their conversations, their own lives.

  But we see it.

  And when we look down at the street below, Alec is already there.

  The little boy sways on unsteady legs, unaware that his next step would have sent him straight into traffic. But now, he is in Alec’s arms, held securely, as if he had never been anywhere else.

  By the time we reach them, the boy’s small frame is slack, unconscious.

  Something is wrong.

  Not in what I see, but in what I feel.

  Discernment.

  A sharp pulse presses behind my eyes, one of the Living Glyphs flaring for a second before settling. It shouldn’t be reacting to Alec’s move. Not unless the boy… no. Not now. Not here.

  My breath catches. For a moment, I feel the world tilt. Just a little.

  “Alec.” My voice is firm, cutting through the growing tension. “How fast can you get him to Master Dan?”

  Alec’s frown deepens. “A minute or two, max. Why?”

  Eric steps closer, gaze locked on the child. “Because,” his voice is grim, certain, “he’s not just a little boy.”

  Alec doesn’t hesitate. One moment he’s there, the next he’s gone.

  Wind rushes in his wake, the space where he stood now empty.

  By the time we step into Master Dan’s office, my pulse has finally steadied. Relief unfurls in my chest at the sight before me.

  Master is already tending to the boy.

  He knew.

  He was waiting.

  And that only makes the unease settle deeper in my bones.

  We are ready. Every single one of us.

  Master Dan placed a Seal on the boy, a safeguard. An unbreakable barrier against whatever lurks beneath his fragile skin.

  The waiting is the worst part. The anticipation coils in my gut like a viper poised to strike.

  Then it happens.

  Alec stiffens first. Eric's breath hitches. My pulse slams into overdrive.

  The boy convulses, his small frame writhing against the invisible force holding him in place. His lips part, and a viscous foam spills forth—not white, not natural, but black. The stench of rot curls through the air, thick and suffocating, like a graveyard exhaling its secrets.

  His fingers claw at nothing, his body jerking in protest. When his struggle fails, he opens his eyes.

  Or what should be eyes.

  Two hollow sockets gape back at us. Deep, endless voids where innocence should have been.

  We all recoil. All but one.

  Master Dan remains exactly where he is, his expression unreadable except for the unmistakable spark of curiosity dancing in his eyes.

  “Well now,” he muses, voice light, almost amused. “And who might you be, hiding in there?”

  The boy’s mouth stretches wider, an unnatural gape. A guttural gurgling seeps from his throat, something wet. Something wrong. The black foam recedes, drying up almost instantly.

  Then, the words begin.

  His lips don’t move. But his voice slithers through the air like a whisper through cracked glass.

  The sound scratches against my mind. Familiar, yet foreign.

  My breath shudders. The language is not one I should understand.

  But I do.

  Master Dan leans in slightly, casting us a sideways glance. “Does anyone understand what he’s saying? I certainly don’t.”

  I tug at his Changshan, my fingers gripping the smooth fabric. “I… I can,” I murmur. “But it’s not straightforward. It’s like he’s speaking in riddles.”

  Master's brow lifts. His patience thins. “Well, don’t just sit there, girl. Spit it out.”

  I focus, letting the cryptic words settle in my mind. The boy's voice drones on, repeating the same haunting phrase over and over.

  "Find the one who knows it all… to show the one that needs it. Guide him to his place of birth… to uncover the Holy secret."

  And then: silence.

  A beat passes.

  “That does not sound creepy,” Jamey mutters, wide-eyed. Judging by the tight set of his jaw, I don’t think even he believes his own words.

  Samantha, standing like a soldier over the boy’s body, leans forward. “I don’t think so either,” she says, her voice steady, thoughtful. “The riddle, or poem, or whatever it is, sounds like he’s helping us. Why would a bad entity reveal this information if it wasn’t meant to guide us?”

  The boy’s voice drones on. The same chilling phrase cycles over and over. Three times.

  Then silence.

  An electric stillness grips the room, so absolute that even the air seems to hold its breath.

  No one moves. No one speaks.

  Then, without warning, his body begins to dissolve.

  It starts at his feet, black ash curling upward, devouring him inch by inch. The decay spreads fast, relentlessly, as if he were never meant to last beyond this moment.

  And then, just before the darkness claims his face, a single tear escapes his hollow socket.

  A lone drop of sorrow slipping down a featureless cheek.

  Then: nothing.

  The last remnants of his form crumble into weightless dust, scattering into the air before settling in an eerie stillness across the floor.

  Master Dan exhales slowly, the only sound in the suffocating quiet.

  A sudden heat coils around the glyph on my shoulder. The Living Scripture pulses once, then twice, before cooling to a faint throb. Not pain. Not power. Something... watching.

  It feels like an ancient eye just blinked open, somewhere beneath the world, and for a moment, it looked through me.

  A sharp chill spirals down my spine. Not cold. Not air. Something older.

  My stomach clenches as an ache stirs beneath my ribs, like my soul recoiling from the touch of something primordial. Not evil, not yet. But vast. And sentient.

  I force my body to stay still, to breathe evenly, but inside, my thoughts are already reaching for walls to brace against.

  Whatever that was… it knew me.

  And I don’t know how to feel about that.

  Alec and Eric move first, each gripping an arm to steady him as he pushes to his feet. They guide him toward a chair, but he waves off their concern with a tired smirk.

  “I’m not that old, boys.”

  Settling into his seat, he gestures to the other vacant chairs. “Come. Let’s have a chat. I want to know everything that has happened.”

  We obey, but the weight of what we just witnessed clings to us like a second skin.

  Eric is the first to break the silence. “I think what’s bothering us most, Master, is the tear we saw.”

  Master Dan leans back, rubbing slow circles against his temple. His gaze flickers toward the blackened traces of ash on the floor.

  “A tear…” he muses. “That changes things. Some forces don’t scream. They remember. What we saw wasn’t just power. It was memory, rising.”

  Alec nods, his jaw tight. “I don’t think demons, or dark spirits, are capable of that.”

  A charged pause follows.

  If not a demon, then what was he?

  ?? The presence you can’t quite name.

  ?? The Living Scripture no longer sleeping.