"Understanding is the true mark of power."
The stairwell wound tighter than the others, narrow and carved with symbols of language, stars, numbers, and eyes. Eliakim ran a hand over the ancient glyphs as he passed, their meaning flickering in the back of his mind like a dream half-remembered. The air grew thinner the deeper he went, but a strange clarity filled his lungs, as if breathing in pure thought.
At the bottom, he emerged into a vast dome-shaped library, unlike anything he had ever imagined. Floating platforms bore books from every era and language, suspended in slow rotation like planets around a sun. Glowing lines of script moved across the air itself, rearranging into sentences, diagrams, equations.
In the center of the room floated the treasure: The Codex of Imreth. A large tome bound in silver and black leather, chained in midair by glowing runes. It pulsed with a soft, steady light, as though breathing.
"The Book of All That Is..." Eliakim whispered, heart racing.
A whisper echoed:
"To know is to bear the weight of truth. To hold wisdom is to confront madness. Do you seek knowledge, Halfblood? Then prove your mind may bear it."
The moment he stepped forward, the room shifted.
Rows of bookshelves closed in around him like living walls. They spiraled upward and downward, endless, and every shelf brimmed with tomes of every shape and kind. A wooden lectern appeared before him, and on it, a small book with no title.
He opened it.
Inside, a single sentence: Read, and you will find the path.
He picked the first book off the shelf—it was a thick volume on herbal alchemy. As he began to read, the words leapt into his mind with startling clarity. His pace quickened. He turned pages faster and faster, absorbing entire chapters in seconds.
Then another book—an atlas of stars and constellations.
Then a collection of poems in an unknown language—yet he understood.
A book on ancient laws. One on demonology. One on interwoven spell matrices. A novel filled with sorrow and beauty. A children's fable about a fox and a crow.
Eliakim read them all.
He began with care, each book a new revelation. But soon, he felt a strange compulsion—an insatiable hunger. His reading sped up until he wasn't just reading—he was scanning, absorbing whole books in mere moments. Genre after genre blurred past: science, religion, art, battle tactics, cooking, cryptic diaries, and even forbidden tomes cloaked in shadows.
His mind expanded beyond its limits, his thoughts unraveling and reforming faster than he could count. It was exhilarating—and terrifying.
Then the shelves vanished.
He was in a hall of mirrors, each reflecting different versions of himself. Some wore robes, others armor. One version was laughing. One sobbing. One held Skyling—dead—in his arms. One had black eyes, demonic wings unfurled.
The mirrors screamed.
"You are too weak." "You are too proud." "You will become your father." "You will lose them all."
Eliakim covered his ears, but the voices came from inside.
A spiral of glyphs formed beneath his feet, dragging him into a new space: an endless labyrinth of white walls and shifting passages. At each turn, questions appeared—riddles, paradoxes, and moral dilemmas.
"Would you save the one you love or a hundred strangers?" "Can evil be justified by intent?" "If you erase a memory, do you change who you are?"
Eliakim's head throbbed. Every wrong answer warped the path. His knowledge helped, but it wasn't enough—logic alone failed. He had to feel his way forward, trust his instincts, his heart.
At the center of the labyrinth stood a table. Upon it: the Codex of Imreth, open to a blank page.
A final figure awaited him.
It looked like him.
But older. Wiser. And with black, twisting horns.
"You will not survive this book," it said. "You are half a mind. Half a soul."
Eliakim hesitated.
"Why do you keep calling me Halfblood?" he asked.
The horned version of him smirked. "Because that's what you are. Your blood is mixed. Mortal and demonic. That's why the treasures respond. That's why the knowledge aches. You are a fracture made flesh."
A chill ran down Eliakim's spine. Doubt cracked through his thoughts. Am I truly half demon? Is that what my father left behind? Is that why he vanished?
He clenched his fists.
"I don't know what I am. But I'll find out—on my own terms."
He stepped forward and placed his hand on the page.
Pain exploded through his skull.
Images. Words. Histories of worlds. Magic systems. Philosophies. Rituals. Equations. His eyes rolled back as the knowledge flooded him. Blood dripped from his nose. His body seized.
Skyling screeched from above—but couldn't reach him.
He nearly collapsed—until a memory surfaced.
His father. Reading to him by candlelight. Explaining that knowledge was never about power—but purpose.
He gritted his teeth. Focused.
The storm of thought slowed.
He opened his eyes.
The page was written now. His name was the first word.
The Codex snapped shut and flew into his arms. It dissolved into the bracelet.
The fifth sigil glowed bright.
A final whisper:
"You have seen the edge of madness and held firm. You may know, but never forget to understand."
Eliakim fell to his knees, gasping—but alive.
Skyling landed beside him, nudging his shoulder with concern.
"I'm alright," he rasped. "I just know... a lot more now."
The far wall opened, revealing yet another descent.