As dawn crept over the treetops, painting the sky with soft blush and gold, Alexandrov felt a familiar pulse in the earth. Magic. Old and restless.
He followed it to a grove encircled by stone pillars, half-sunken into the ground like teeth from some ancient beast. At the center stood a woman cloaked in midnight blue. Her face was lined with time, but her eyes were sharp with secrets.
"Alexandrov of Strigoilia," she said before he could speak.
His fists clenched reflexively. "You know me."
"I've always known," she said. "I was the Keeper. I recorded your life... and your fall."
Memories surged. The Council. The betrayal. His forced slumber.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because the world needed to forget," she said gently. "Until it needed to remember."
She handed him a scroll bound in blood-red ribbon. "The truth lies inside. But truth demands a price."
He took it.
"What is the price?"
The Keeper only smiled. "You'll know when it comes."