Leon's eyes darted across the faded ink, each word painting a picture of the world outside Shantel. The more he read, the more pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place, and yet those pieces formed a shape that made no sense at all.
The four races had always been at war, that much was obvious. Pages described bloody conflicts, campaigns that stretched over decades, the endless cycle of conquest and vengeance. That, Leon understood. Power demanded war. It demanded conquest. For different races with their own strength and pride, coexistence was nothing but a pretty lie.
And yet… it ended. Suddenly.
The book spoke of no powerful empire uniting the four races, no common enemy forcing them into alliance. There was simply a line; the races chose peace.
Leon's grip tightened on the brittle parchment. His brows drew together. "This isn't normal," he muttered, his voice echoing in the still library. "People don't just drop centuries of bloodshed for nothing."
