Dawn came like a thief, stealing the last moments of sleep before necessity dragged them into motion. Avian had been awake for an hour already, checking weapons, reviewing maps, trying to ignore the feeling that they were riding toward something that would change everything.

Three days. Find the monk, get answers, get back. Simple.

Nothing was ever simple.

They met at the eastern gate—Avian and Kai already mounted, Seren arriving on foot with saddlebags that looked suspiciously heavy with books.

"Research," she said defensively when Kai raised an eyebrow.

"We're hunting a hermit, not writing a dissertation."

"Knowledge is never wasted." She accepted Avian's help mounting the spare horse they'd brought. "Besides, if this monk has been studying the real history for twenty years, I want to compare notes."

The guards at the gate barely glanced at them—three young nobles heading out for a morning ride. Nothing unusual. Nothing worth remembering if anyone asked later.

The road to Thornwood was well-traveled for the first few hours. Merchant caravans heading to outlying towns, farmers bringing goods to market. Normal traffic that thinned as the sun climbed higher and the road grew worse.

"So," Seren said as they rode, "what makes you think this monk will talk to us? If he's been hiding for twenty years, he's not going to welcome visitors."

"We'll be persuasive," Avian said.

"You mean threatening."

"I mean whatever works."

They rode in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. The landscape changed gradually—cultivated fields giving way to wild growth, maintained roads becoming rutted tracks. By noon, they were alone on a path that barely deserved the name.

"Tell me about the Thornwood," Kai said to Seren. "You mentioned it was a battlefield?"

"The Third Battle of Thornwood," she confirmed. "Fifteen thousand dead in three days. One of the bloodiest conflicts of the Demon War."

"What were they fighting over?"

"Control of the western passes. The demon forces were trying to cut off supply lines to the capital." She pulled out one of her notebooks, flipping through pages as she rode. "Commander D. led the human forces. Outnumbered three to one, but he held the line."

Three to one. I remember that. Remember the taste of blood and dirt, the weight of command, the terrible mathematics of acceptable losses.

"How?" Kai asked.

"Unconventional tactics. He used the forest itself as a weapon—controlled burns, deadfalls, guerrilla strikes. The demons expected traditional battle lines. They got chaos instead."

"Sounds effective."

"It was. But the cost..." Seren's voice dropped. "The reports say he personally lost over three hundred soldiers he'd trained himself. Men who'd followed him from the beginning."

Three hundred and seventeen. I remember all their names.

"Ancient history," Avian said, his voice rougher than intended.

Seren glanced at him sharply but didn't comment.

By late afternoon, they reached the Thornwood proper. The trees here were wrong—not diseased, just hostile. They grew too close together, branches interlocking like fingers trying to strangle the sky. The undergrowth was thick enough to hide anything.

"Bandit country," Kai muttered, hand never straying far from his knives.

"Former battlefield," Seren corrected. "The dead don't rest easy here."

"Poetic."

"Historical. There are reports of ghost sightings, unexplained sounds, people disappearing without trace."

"Wonderful. We're riding into a haunted forest to find a paranoid hermit." Kai looked at Avian. "Your plans get better every time."

"You could have stayed at the Academy."

"And miss this? Never."

They found the monastery—or what was left of it—by late afternoon. It had been beautiful once, carved into the living rock of a hillside. Now it was a ruin, overtaken by vines and time. But smoke rose from one section, suggesting current habitation.

"Careful," Avian warned as they dismounted. "If he's survived here twenty years, he's either very good at hiding or very good at killing."

They approached on foot, leading the horses. The path was maintained—barely—suggesting regular use. As they neared the inhabited section, a voice called out.

"That's far enough."

They stopped. A figure emerged from the shadows—tall, lean, wearing robes that had seen much better decades. Brother Neamus, presumably. He held a crossbow with the easy competence of someone who'd used it for more than hunting rabbits.

"We're not bandits," Avian said, hands visible and empty.

"I can see that. Bandits don't usually travel with young ladies carrying libraries." His eyes were sharp, intelligent. "State your business."

"Information," Avian said. "About the Demon War. The real history."

Neamus laughed—bitter, broken. "The real history? Children, the real history would burn the Empire to ash. Why would you want that?"

"Because lies are already burning it. At least truth would burn it with purpose."

The monk studied them for a long moment. "You're from the Academy. I can smell the privilege on you."

"We're trying to stop a war," Seren said. "My articles—"

"Articles?" Neamus lowered the crossbow slightly, interest flickering in his eyes. "You're a writer?"

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"A historian. I've been publishing truths about the Church's lies."

"Dangerous hobby for someone so young."

"My family's already dead because of it. What more can they take?"

Something shifted in the monk's expression. Sympathy, perhaps. Or recognition.

"Come inside," he said finally. "But the weapons stay at the door. I've survived twenty years by being careful."

His dwelling was sparse but clean. Books lined every wall—not Church texts but older things, books that predated the Empire. He gestured for them to sit on worn cushions while he remained standing, still holding the crossbow though no longer pointing it at them.

"Tell me why you're really here," he said.

"We need to know what really happened," Avian said. "During the Demon War. After it. The truth the Church is hiding."

"The truth." Neamus set down the crossbow, suddenly looking ancient. "You don't want the truth. Trust me on that."

"We'll take our chances."

"Will you?" The monk moved to his bookshelf, pulling out a journal worn smooth by handling. "Twenty years I've been studying this. Twenty years of piecing together fragments, finding discrepancies, following trails the Church tried to erase."

"And?"

"And I wish I'd never started." He opened the journal. "But you won't leave without answers, will you?"

"No."

"Then let me tell you what I've found. But understand—once you know this, you can't unknow it. It will change everything."

He began to flip through pages covered in cramped writing, diagrams, references to texts that no longer existed.

"I was a Church scribe once," he said. "Young, idealistic. I noticed things—small inconsistencies in the texts I was copying. Dates that didn't align. Battles that appeared in some records but not others. So I investigated."

"What did you find?"

"Evidence of revision. Systematic, deliberate revision of history." He pulled out a sheet covered in notes. "The Church worked with the noble houses. Together, they changed the narrative. Changed who was the hero and who was the villain."

"What do you mean?" Seren leaned forward, eager.

Neamus was quiet for a moment. Then: "Have you ever wondered why they always say 'hero of the time period' in the oldest texts? Never a name, just that phrase?"

"I assumed it was a title," Kai said.

"No. It was deliberate vagueness. Because the real hero's name became... inconvenient."

Here it comes.

"Fuck the dancing around," Avian said, his patience snapping. "Just tell us what you found."

The monk blinked at the crude language from someone so young, but continued.

"The hero of the time period wasn't Saint Vaerin," he said quietly. "It was Commander D. A common-born soldier who rose through merit, who led from the front, who actually killed the Demon King."

Seren gasped. Kai went very still. Avian just waited.

"But that contradicts everything we've been taught," Seren breathed. "Every record, every text..."

"Every lie." Neamus's voice turned hard. "Vaerin was there, yes. But as support. As the political face while Commander D. did the actual fighting. After the Demon King fell, something happened. The records go dark. When they resume, Vaerin is the hero and Commander D.—Dex was his name—has become the villain."

"They really did it," Kai said, voice hollow. "They actually rewrote five centuries of history."

"You can if you control all the records. If you have the power to enforce the new narrative." The monk turned more pages. "But they couldn't erase everything. And some things they kept because they needed them for other purposes."

"What purposes?" Avian pressed.

"Experiments." Neamus's expression darkened. "In a place called Malethar."

Fuck. Malethar. Where Thane and I nearly died getting the Covenant Seal.

"What kind of experiments?" Avian kept his voice level despite the recognition.

"They were trying to recreate the hero's power. Commander D. had abilities that shouldn't have been possible—strength beyond human limits, techniques that defied conventional understanding. The nobles wanted that power for themselves."

"Did they succeed?"

"Barely. After decades of failure, they managed to create... something. Artificial beings with fragments of that power. Constructs that could fight like the hero but without his mind, his will." The monk shuddered. "Abominations."

"What happened to them?"

"They were sent to guard the Mountains of Calfont. That's why Saint Vaerin went there—not to ensure the seal held, but to deliver these creatures to their posts."

"Guards," Seren whispered. "The rumors about powerful warriors..."

"Not warriors. Constructs. Things that look human but aren't. Things that will kill anyone who approaches the mountains." Neamus closed his journal. "That's your truth. The hero was murdered and made into the villain. His power was stolen and perverted. And the whole Empire was built on those lies."

Silence fell like a shroud. Seren looked shattered. Kai was calculating implications. Avian was remembering Malethar—the laboratories, the failed experiments, Craine saying he was created for a purpose.

They made weapons from my legacy. Turned my strength into chains.

"Why tell us this?" Kai asked finally.

"Because you're young enough to maybe do something about it. Old men like me, we just hide and hope to die before the truth destroys everything." Neamus stood. "Now go. Take your terrible knowledge and leave me to my books."

"Wait," Avian said. "These constructs—how many?"

"The records suggest seven. Why?"

Because I killed one in Malethar. Six left.

"Just curious."

They left as the sun set, minds reeling from revelations. As they made camp a safe distance from the monastery, Seren finally spoke.

"Commander D. was the real hero."

"Seems that way," Avian said, poking at their fire.

"My entire life, everything I believed..." She laughed bitterly. "The Church didn't just lie about some details. They inverted everything."

"Now you know why your articles are so dangerous," Kai said. "This isn't just about corruption or power. It's about the fundamental legitimacy of the entire system."

"We have to tell people."

"Do we?" Avian asked. "Think about it. Really think. What happens when everyone learns their entire civilization is built on lies?"

"They deserve to know!"

"Maybe. But releasing this all at once would cause chaos that makes your current articles look like gentle suggestions." He met her eyes. "We need to be smart about this. Strategic."

"You mean controlled."

"I mean careful. There's a difference between revelation and revolution."

She was quiet for a long moment. Then: "You knew, didn't you? Before the monk told us. You weren't surprised."

"I suspected."

"No. You knew." She studied him in the firelight. "Just like you knew about Malethar. You recognized the name."

Shit.

"It came up in family records."

"Bullshit." But she didn't press further. Not yet.

They took watches through the night—Kai first, then Seren, then Avian. During his watch, Avian stared into the darkness and thought about constructs made from stolen power, guarding mountains where answers waited.

Six guardians between me and the truth. Between me and understanding why Vaerin killed me.

Dawn came gray and damp. They broke camp quickly, eager to leave the Thornwood behind. The journey back was faster—they knew the route now, pushed harder.

"What will you do?" Avian asked Seren as they rode. "With what you know?"

"I don't know. This is too big to just... publish. People need to be prepared."

"Then help us prepare them. Work with us instead of alone."

"Us?"

"The Academy has people who want change. Controlled, careful change, but change nonetheless." He glanced at her. "Your articles started something. Help us guide it instead of letting it burn wild."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you do what you think is best, and we do damage control. But I think you're smarter than that."

She rode in silence for a while. Then: "I'll think about it."

It was the best he could hope for.

They reached the capital as the sun set, three unlikely allies bound by terrible knowledge. At the gates, they separated—Seren returning to Benedict's shop, Avian and Kai heading for the Academy.

"One day left," Kai noted. "Cutting it close."

"We got what we came for."

"Did we? All we learned is that everything is worse than we thought."

"Sometimes that's enough."

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