Soren moved down the rows of shelves with calm precision, pulling out volume after volume from the demonology section. The tomes were thick with age, their pages brittle, their covers often cracked or bound in faded leather. He skimmed through each one rapidly—his left hand trailing the script with the aid of his mana sense, the other flipping through pages with increasing urgency.
Field reports. Taxonomies. Ritual records. None held what he was looking for.
The hours passed quietly, shadows stretching across the marble floor as the sun began to dip below the western ridge. The golden light of evening filtered weakly through the stained-glass windows, painting streaks of red and amber across the towering shelves.
Still, he read.
Then came the soft patter of footsteps—familiar and light.
Cassie Wynne appeared at the end of the aisle, hugging a stack of returned books to her chest. She looked both impressed and slightly concerned.
"Instructor Noctis," she said gently, "just a heads up—the library closes in fifteen minutes. I'm required to clear the wings before sundown."
Soren nodded without looking up. "Understood. I won't be long."
Cassie gave a small smile, hesitating for a heartbeat before turning and walking back toward the central desk.
As her footsteps faded, Soren reached for one last volume—half-buried beneath a stack of dustier works. Its binding was dark green, nearly black, and etched with silver script in an archaic dialect. He paused.
The title read: On the Infernal Lineage: Eyes of Sovereignty and Ruin
There was something about the mana residue on this one—old, heavy, as if the book itself had once been near something wrong.
Soren opened it carefully, pages whispering as he turned them. The text was written in archaic Common, the ink slightly faded but still legible. A faint chill passed through his fingertips as he brushed over a symbol etched into the margins—an eye, drawn with seven faint slashes radiating from its iris like a crown.
Then—there it was.
"Among the ancient dominions of the Nether, where Demon Lords rule by pact and primal authority, there exists a rare and dreadful inheritance. Passed only through the blood of the Sovereigns, it is said to be the truest manifestation of their essence: the Eye of Finality."
"Known in the old tongue as Ruin, this eye does not merely see, but defines. It is not a tool of perception, but of judgment—an eye that anchors absolutes."
"The power of Ruin is shaped around the seven primordial concepts mankind once called the Deadly Sins. Not mere emotions, but governing principles—forces that corrode the will and undo the soul. The Eye draws upon them as facets of dominion: Wrath, Greed, Envy, Lust, Gluttony, Sloth, and Pride. Each a law. Each a weapon."
"To bear the Eye is to carry temptation and power in equal measure. Each Sin offers an ability—to see desire, to consume potential, to ignite hatred, to paralyze action, to reflect ambition. But to wield these fully is to risk corruption... or ascension."
A marginal note followed, hastily written:
"They say a Demon Lord who mastered all seven became a being who could unmake legacies, cities, even time itself. Not through brute force—but through inevitability."
Soren's grip tightened on the page.
In my left eye, he thought, is this truly the Eye of Finality, Ruin? If so, then why would a Demon Lord grant such a power to me? This burden was too vast, too immense to bear alone. Wasn't it the same as marking him as the inheritor of the Demon Lord's will?
His mind drifted to last night—the moment his eye had spiraled out of control, devouring everything like a black hole. The boundless void swallowing all light and matter.
If the book's explanation was correct, if this was truly the manifestation of the Seven Deadly Sins, then that power must be… Gluttony—the sin of endless consumption, of swallowing everything whole.
The thought sent a chill down his spine.
Soren closed the book carefully, the aged cover warm with latent mana. He carried it to the front desk where Cassie was finishing up, gesturing with subtle flicks of her fingers to dim the hovering lightstones floating above the aisles. One by one, they faded into soft glows, then extinguished entirely—responding to her touch like obedient fireflies.
She looked up, surprised to see him approach. "Found what you were looking for?"
"In a way," he replied, setting the tome gently on the counter. On the Infernal Lineage: Eyes of Sovereignty and Ruin. "I'd like to check this out."
Cassie blinked at the title, curiosity clear behind her round glasses. "Heavy reading for a field mission."
"It might be more relevant than I expected."
She didn't question further. Instead, she reached for the registry crystal, channeling a thread of mana into it. The book glowed faintly, sigils binding it to Soren's name.
She handed it back with a reassuring smile. "Then… good luck, Instructor. Stay safe out there."
Soren nodded silently and turned, the book tucked firmly under his arm as he stepped out into the cool, violet dusk.
The road home was quiet. Magic streetlamps flickered on as he passed, sensing movement and bathing the cobbled paths in a pale, arcane light. By the time he reached his house nestled near the forest's edge, the sky had already turned to indigo.
He was unlocking the front door when it opened from the inside.
"Soren? You're home late," Lyra said, standing there with a light robe draped over her shoulders.
"I was at the library," he replied, his voice flat from exhaustion.
"All day?" she frowned slightly. "Did you even eat anything?"
He stopped. Something about the question—so ordinary, so familiar—irritated him in a way he couldn't explain.
"I don't need you checking on me like I'm a child," he snapped. "Just leave it."
Lyra froze, her expression dimming with confusion. "Soren…?"
That single word—quiet, unsure—cut through him like a blade.
And in that instant, Soren felt the surge of anger drain out of him, leaving only a hollow weight behind. He stood there, stunned—not at her reaction, but at himself.
What did I just say?
He couldn't believe it. The words that had come from his mouth moments ago didn't feel like his own. That tone—that edge—that wasn't him.
His voice caught as he turned toward her, guilt crashing over him in waves.
"Lyra, I—" He stepped forward, hand half-raised as if to bridge the space he'd just torn open. "Lyra, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."
She stared at him, silent.
"I mean it," he said, more desperate now. "That wasn't me. I just… maybe I'm really exhausted. I—please, forgive me."
Quietly, gently—Lyra stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
"It's okay," she whispered, resting her head lightly against his chest. "I know you didn't mean it."
Soren stood frozen for a moment, guilt still burning in his chest. But the warmth of her embrace, the steady rhythm of her breathing—it grounded him.
His arms came around her slowly, carefully, as though afraid he didn't deserve to hold her back.
"Thank you," he murmured. "I'll do better. I promise."
Soren then stepped past her into the quiet hallway, the sound of his cane suddenly loud against the wooden floor. The warmth of their home, usually so grounding, now felt distant. Cold.
The Eye under his left eye pulsed.
Heat. Pressure. A silent weight pressing inward, as if something unseen loomed just behind the veil.
A feeling—not a voice, but closer than thought.
Entitlement. Frustration. Superiority.
Was that… Pride? Or Wrath?
Whatever it was, it wasn't him.
But it was inside him now.
His hand rose instinctively to his covered left eye.
He remembered the warning in the book:
"Each Sin bears not only power, but influence. The Eye whispers. The Eye tempts. The bearer must master it—or be mastered in turn."
A tremor ran through his chest.
He had lashed out at the one person who stood by him without question.
And for the first time… he was afraid.
Afraid of what the Eye might make him become.
Afraid of losing himself.