The Last Godfall: Transmigrated as the Young Master

Vencian sat in the library, his gaze locked on the pages of The Hypothesis of Lunar Covenant. The silence around him was broken only by the quiet flipping of paper. He followed every line carefully, noting the author's intent as much as the words themselves.

It was by no means a discovery but instead a study on one of the ancient clan that lingered during the previous eras of the world. The work examined an ancient clan from earlier eras called the Erythrai.

Roselys Marendil had studied their culture with focus on its religious patterns. Yet the name of their deity was absent, replaced instead by crude sketches.

Drawings that suggested worship, prayer, and ritual. Among them was a symbol — a minimalist geometric pattern consist of connected rectangular block arranged in a stepped or L-shaped formation.

Roselys described how the Erythrai had painted this mark at the doors of their homes. A form of devotion, a prayer etched into stone and soil. Below the explanation, Vencian saw a comparison: the scarlet trail on the moon. The match was not exact, but the likeness struck him all the same.

The thesis offered no conclusions about the connection. The scarlet trail, a red fracture across the lunar surface, had appeared only recently. It looked like blood running across the sky, a wound left open.

Vencian lowered the page and glanced toward Quenya, who had perched near the window. "Can you recall anything from this?" he asked. "Whatever this pattern is."

The thesis offered no explanation for why the Erythrai clan drew the symbol. Vencian, however, knew from his own background that patterns only gained meaning through intent.

A mark on a doorway could be prayer, protection, or a warning depending on the will behind it. If they uncovered what purpose the Erythrai had in mind, it might bring them closer to knowing whether the scarlet trail truly connected to the past.

"I wish I knew," She answered.

"So do I." He closed the thesis, sliding it into his satchel. His expression eased for a moment, but the weight of the thought remained.

After leaving Elias earlier, he had drifted across the campus before settling in the library. The library was full. Dozens of students shifted between shelves and tables, but none looked at him longer than a second. He had taken the most secluded corner, where distraction was less likely.

Quenya's voice came again. "What's the plan now?"

Plan? The same as before." he answered, picking up another book from his stack. "This coincidence doesn't change what we came here for. It only adds a few new tasks to the list."

First, I need to know how the original Vencian learned that ritual. Or what it was for.

He had debated whether Elías knew anything about it. The chance seemed low, but not impossible. If Elías ever stumbled across the pattern of that weird ritual Vencian had performed, his reaction might reveal more than any explanation.

The next priority is to find who killed Caesor and Moses.

Vencian turned to look at Quenya who has once again flown of to the window behind him. Looking outside.

It was not revenge that drove him. His attachment to them was distant, and the little time he had spent in this body with them left the attachment weak.

His reason was simpler: why had their killer spared him? Three men of the family had been attacked, yet only he lived. Coincidence was the last thing he trusted.Whoever spared him had a reason.

But I can't expect to find them, ask why, and leave unharmed. That's childish. If I want the truth, I'll need to approach it with more caution than ever.

The evidence so far pointed to an Arkspren. Yet the reports in the archives had mentioned nothing about one capable of killing in that way.

He remembered the bodies as the medics had described them. Wounds neat, single strikes that ended lives without wasted motion. No chaos, no struggle. An execution disguised as a battle that had never taken place.

A quiet hum reached his ear. "Hmm? What's that?" Quenya said.

He glanced at her. "What is?"

She didn't answer, her eyes fixed outside. His curiosity pushed him from the chair.

At the window, he followed her line of sight. Below, a lone figure walked toward one of the academy's older buildings. Few ever visited it, as its edge touched the Tolstall Forest.

"Where is she going?"

The girl was Roselys Marendil. The same one whose work he had been reading moments ago.

Her arrival doesn't sit right. Too sudden and convenient. A High Preceptor's daughter could hold a better post than an academy assistant. Something doesn't fit.

"How would I know?" Quenya said.

"Would you like to find out, miss curious?"

"Say you want to follow her," she replied. "Don't put it on me." Her tone carried a faint huff.

That drew a thin smile from him. "Then don't lose sight of her."

He shifted toward the far end of the library, where a smaller door led to a quieter hallway.

The main entrance would take too long.

Vencian reached the quieter hallway. Tall windows lined the stonewall, their frames slightly worn with age. He glanced both ways, listening for any footsteps, then moved to the third window where the outside wall offered the most grip.

He pushed it open, cool air brushing his face. The drop below was long, but the backside of the building lay hidden from view. He climbed onto the ledge, his fingers finding the small hooks of stone carved into the wall centuries ago.

Lowering himself carefully, his boots scraped against rough edges. His grip shifted from one stone to the next until he hung low enough to judge the jump. He exhaled slowly, then closed his eyes.

A tug stirred inside him, faint but distinct. The thread in his consciousness pulled against him, waiting to be taken. He reached for it without hesitation. Strength surged through his veins, his body growing lighter, his muscles charged with borrowed energy.

He let go.

The ground rushed toward him, but his body answered the pull of the pact. The moment he willed it, strength surged through his veins, tightening every muscle and lending force to his frame.

It was one of the benefits he had discovered a month ago — the pact granted him bursts of physical strength when he called for it. The energy never stayed on its own, but appeared the instant he reached for it.

He landed lightly, balance kept as if the drop had been nothing.

Without it, I wouldn't risk this kind of fall.

He smoothed his coat and turned toward the path Roselys had taken.

The forest fringe pressed close here, trees thick enough to shield him from open view. The girl's figure moved steadily in the distance. Quenya's faint glow drifted behind, her presence trailing close enough to follow but far enough not to draw attention.

He matched their distance, each movement placed with care. The ground was littered with twigs and dry leaves. Even the smallest crack could betray him. He shifted his weight with precision, letting each boot meet earth where it would make the least noise.

The air here carried no sound of students, only the rustle of branches. Old buildings stood along the path, their walls chipped and roofs sagging. Some had windows boarded, others wide open to the hollow inside. They were shells, long unused, remnants of the academy's past.

Roselys passed by them without pause. Vencian counted each turn she made, marking them in his memory. His eyes followed her closely, never letting her leave sight.

At the end of the path, she veered sharply behind a collapsed shelter. The move was sudden, precise, as though she had walked this route more than once.

Vencian slowed his breath, pressing a shoulder lightly against the trunk of a nearby tree.

His eyes narrowing on the collapsed shelter. Roselys was out of sight. He turned his head slightly toward Quenya, who hovered close.

"My view is blocked from here. If I move closer, she might notice." His voice was low. "Go find out what Miss Marendil is up to."

Quenya gave the faintest nod before her form blurred and vanished. Only the ripple of air hinted at her movement as she drifted forward, invisible to anyone but him.

Vencian adjusted his footing against the roots beneath him. He let the silence stretch, forcing patience.

Quenya moved along the treeline, low, and silent. She slipped past the corner of the collapsed shelter and eased around its far side. Roselys stood there, weight set on one heel, gaze on the narrow path that cut between the old buildings.

A man approached from the path. His appearance was unremarkable: average height, plain clothing, forgettable features. Yet his bearing carried a quiet confidence that made him stand out.

Roselys's voice reached first, sharper than expected. "Why meet here? We could have spoken later."

The man reached into his coat and withdrew a thin stack of papers. He placed them in her hands without hesitation.

"These are the last of Professor Danis's documents. The ones I was holding back. I took them from his secret safe."