Mason did not ask the question.

For several seconds after Zereth revealed the sentence from the damaged record, he simply stood there in the corridor staring at the faded parchment.

When the Witness returns, the debt will awaken.

The words lingered in his head.

Not because he understood them.

Because Athlian’s reaction terrified him.

She was completely silent.

Not avoiding the conversation.

Not refusing to answer.

Just silent.

The difference mattered.

Normally she did argue, deflect, change topics, and mocked him.

Now there was nothing.

And somehow that felt worse.

Zereth studied him carefully.

The immortal’s silver eyes are missing very little these days.

Especially when it involved Mason.

Or Athlian.

Or anything remotely suspicious.

Which unfortunately included most of Mason’s existence.

"You recognize something," Zereth said quietly.

Mason immediately shook his head.

"No."

Not technically a lie.

He didn’t recognize anything.

Athlian did.

And Athlian wasn’t cooperating.

A distinction he intended to abuse for as long as possible.

Zereth looked unconvinced.

Most people are becoming unconvinced lately.

An unfortunate trend.

The silver-eyed immortal eventually folded the document.

"The archives contain more gaps than answers."

"That seems to be the kingdom’s official policy."

A faint smile appeared.

Gone almost immediately.

"I’ll continue searching."

Mason nodded.

"Please do."

Because if Zereth found answers first, maybe Athlian would finally stop treating every mystery like a state secret.

Unfortunately that felt optimistic.

The conversation ended shortly afterward.

Mason returned to his chambers with a headache and approximately three new reasons to distrust ancient civilizations.

The moment the door closed behind him, he spoke.

"Athlian."

Silence.

"Athlian."

Nothing.

He walked toward the balcony.

The capital stretched beyond the palace walls.

Lantern lights illuminated damaged districts.

Construction crews still worked through the night.

Even from here he could see evidence of the Heaven Fracture.

The city was healing.

"Athlian."

Finally...

’I remember them.’

Mason froze.

That alone was more honest than usual.

"The Witnesses?"

A long pause followed.

’Some of them.’

Interesting.

He sat heavily in a nearby chair.

"What were they?"

Again silence.

Not complete silence.

Hesitant silence.

The kind that suggested somebody choosing their words very carefully.

’Observers.’

"Observers of what?"

’Everything.’

That answer wasn’t remotely helpful.

Mason pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You have a gift for making conversations harder."

’I learned from immortals.’

Unfortunately that was funny.

He hated that.

Athlian continued before he could respond.

’The Witnesses existed before many kingdoms.’

"Religious group?"

’No.’

"Political faction?"

’No.’

"Secret organization?"

Another pause.

’Closer.’

Wonderful.

Progress measured in millimeters.

His life remained consistent.

"What did they witness?"

Athlian immediately withdrew again.

There it was.

The wall.

Every time the conversation approached something important.

The Wall.

Mason sighed.

"You’re doing it again."

’I know.’

At least she admitted it.

That was new.

The admission softened some of his irritation.

Only some.

Before either could continue, another knock sounded.

Peace remained impossible.

"Enter."

The door opened.

Draca stepped inside.

For a moment neither spoke.

The commander looked exhausted.

Armor partially removed.

Dark circles beneath his eyes.

Dust is still clinging to one shoulder.

Apparently saving a kingdom was tiring.

Who knew?

"You should be sleeping," Mason said.

Draca raised an eyebrow.

"So should you."

Annoyingly fair.

The commander crossed the room and placed several reports on a nearby table.

"Problems?"

Mason asked.

Draca stared at the stack.

"Many."

"Excellent."

"The eastern temple district nearly rioted."

"There it is."

A tired smile briefly touched Draca’s face.

The commander sat opposite him.

The movement felt casual.

Athlian noticed immediately.

Of course she did.

Mason ignored her.

Professionally.

"The temples are fighting each other now?" he asked.

"Verbally."

"That’s political language for ’not yet physically.’"

Draca nodded.

The kingdom continued improving.

The commander leaned back slightly.

"The Coalition representatives arrive tomorrow."

Mason groaned.

"More meetings."

"Several."

"You’re determined to ruin my week."

"I don’t control politics."

"You participate in politics."

"Unfortunately."

That answer surprised a laugh out of him.

A genuine one.

Draca looked pleased.

Which felt suspicious.

The conversation shifted naturally afterward.

Damage reports.

Recovery efforts.

Supply shortages.

Reconstruction plans.

Normal problems.

For almost half an hour, they discussed ordinary matters.

And somehow Mason found himself relaxing.

Not completely.

But enough to breathe.

Enough to forget ancient debts and mysterious witnesses for a little while.

Athlian felt it too.

The change, comfort and safety.

Her emotions stirred quietly through the soul bridge.

Before Mason could examine that further, Draca suddenly spoke.

"You trust Zereth."

The statement caught him off guard.

"What?"

The commander remained calm.

"You trust him."

Interesting question.

Mason considered it.

Did he? Maybe, a little?

More than was probably wise.

"I think he wants answers."

Draca nodded slowly.

"So do I."

The sincerity in that response hit unexpectedly hard.

Because it was true.

Draca wasn’t investigating him.

Or Athlian.

Or hidden conspiracies.

He simply wanted to protect people.

The simplicity felt refreshing.

Athlian noticed his thoughts.

’You’re smiling again.’

"I am not."

’You are.’

"Traitor."

She laughed softly.

The sound surprised him.

Because she hadn’t laughed in days.

The realization lingered long after Draca left.

The following morning brought new problems.

A messenger arrived before breakfast.

Mason immediately distrusted the situation.

Nothing good ever arrived before breakfast.

The message summoned him to a smaller council meeting.

Not the full council.

The important one.

When he entered the chamber, several familiar faces were already present.

Seraphine.

Draca.

Zereth.

Assura.

Three senior ministers.

And one empty chair.

Mason immediately disliked the arrangement.

The empty chair was obviously for him.

Tragic.

He slowly sat.

The meeting began.

No introductions.

No ceremony.

Everyone looked too tired.

"The Coalition arrives within hours," one minister announced.

Another immediately followed.

"They are demanding access to the investigation."

Seraphine looked unimpressed.

"They can demand whatever they like."

"Unfortunately they possess influence."

Political language.

Mason was learning.

It roughly translates to: they can make our lives miserable.

The discussion continued.

Funding.

Authority.

Jurisdiction.

Documentation.

Everything politicians loved.

He endured it bravely.

Mostly by imagining escape routes.

Then Zereth spoke.

"The archives remain the greater concern."

That changed the atmosphere instantly.

Several people stiffened.

Interesting.

Assura’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"What did you find?"

Zereth hesitated just briefly.

"Evidence that someone began removing records long before the fracture."

Silence followed.

The ministers exchanged looks.

Not a surprised look.

Worried looks.

Mason noticed.

So did Zereth.

Interesting again.

One of the ministers cleared his throat.

"Many records disappear over centuries."

"No."

Zereth’s answer came immediately.

"Not like this."

The room grew quiet.

The silver-eyed immortal continued.

"The removals were systematic."

Another silence.

Longer this time.

Athlian felt uneasy.

Mason could feel it through the soul bridge.

Like a distant storm gathering.

Eventually the meeting ended.

No conclusions.

Only more questions.

As everyone departed, Assura approached unexpectedly.

The ancient immortal looked unusually serious.

That alone felt concerning.

"Athlain."

Never a good sign.

"Yes?"

Assura studied him.

Like somebody examining a fragile object.

The attention made him uncomfortable.

"The dreams are becoming stronger."

Mason immediately disliked that.

"Why does everyone keep knowing things?"

Assura ignored him.

Ancient beings truly enjoyed that habit.

"The soul bridge is changing."

Athlian instantly became alert.

The reaction did not escape Assura.

Nothing escaped Assura.

That fact alone remained deeply irritating.

"What does that mean?" Mason asked.

"It means the separation is weakening."

Wonderful.

Those words sounded terrible.

"What separation?"

Assura’s expression remained unreadable.

"The one keeping old memories buried."

Athlian recoiled.

Mason felt it immediately.

Fear.

Not fear of Heaven.

Not fear of the chained creature.

Something else.

Something personal.

Assura noticed.

Of course he did.

The immortal’s gaze softened slightly.

Which somehow felt even more alarming.

Then he left.

Just like that.

No explanation.

No clarification.

Nothing.

Mason stared after him.

"I hate immortals."

Athlian laughed.

"They’re all terrible."

’Not all.’

Interesting answer.

That evening the Coalition finally arrived.

The palace transformed instantly.

Additional guards appeared.

Servants rushed through corridors.

Officials ran between meetings.

The atmosphere shifted.

Politics had entered the building.

Mason preferred cosmic horrors.

At least cosmic horrors were honest.

A formal reception followed.

Lengthy...filled with speeches.

Mason survived through sheer determination. And several internal complaints.

The Coalition representatives appeared polite, professional and reasonable.

Which immediately made him suspicious.

Athlian agreed.

That was never encouraging.

The reception ended shortly before sunset.

Mason escaped at the first opportunity.

A tactical retreat.

Draca called it something else.

Mason ignored him.

The palace gardens provided temporary relief.

Fresh air.

Quiet paths.

Actual peace.

Rare luxury.

He followed one of the stone walkways toward a secluded section of the grounds.

The moment he arrived, he realized somebody else was already there.

Zereth.

He stood beside a fountain...thinking.

"My goddess."

There it was again.

That tone.

The serious one.

"What happened now?"

Zereth didn’t answer immediately.

Instead he produced another document.

Mason immediately regretted asking.

The silver-eyed immortal handed it over.

Ancient parchment.

Faded writing.

"What is it?"

"A copy."

"Of?"

"The oldest surviving reference to the Witnesses."

Interesting.

Mason unfolded the document carefully.

Most of the text had deteriorated beyond recognition.

Only fragments remained.

Sentences broken by age.

Words missing.

Meaning incomplete.

Yet one section remained readable.

Just enough.

His eyes moved across the page.

Then stopped.

The fragment read: They were not chosen to witness the world. They were chosen to witness the gods.

Mason’s stomach tightened.

Athlian froze.

Not fear this time.

Something else which is a memory.

A memory so sharp it felt like a blade.

For a brief second, an image flashed through the soul bridge.

A distant hall.

Countless lights.

Someone standing alone.

Then it vanished.

Gone before he could understand it.

Mason looked up sharply.

Zereth was already watching him.

And then he asked the question Athlian had been dreading.

"The Witnesses observed the gods."

A pause.

A measured breath.

"So why were all records about them hidden by the heavens themselves?"