Night brings no rest to the High King’s Castle. The stench of the Kirin’s blood—thick and sickly sweet—seems to seep through the crevices of the stone walls, an invisible warning that only a few can interpret.

  The following morning, Elian and Zech arrive punctually at the Library. Master Silas awaits them, sipping a hot beverage. He notes the nervousness of his pupils; it betrays not only their curiosity but, above more, an awareness of the role they are to occupy from this moment forth. This is a good sign to Silas. To be a Warden of the Forbidden Truth carries a staggering weight of responsibility.

  "I had hoped to let more time pass—years, even—before laying this burden upon you," Silas begins. "But after what has transpired, and seeing as I am alone and aged, I can wait no longer. You two must also become Wardens of the Forbidden Truth."

  Neither Elian nor Zech speaks. They watch Silas intently, sensing that the Master has something to reveal that transcends their usual lessons.

  With a sharp motion, Silas beckons them. He does not stop among the monumental shelves of the common hall. Carrying an oil lamp, he leads them with resolute strides toward the far end of the chamber, where the light of the common lanterns fails to reach. There, shrouded in shadow, lies a dead end between the towering stacks.

  It is a cramped place, saturated with heavy air that tastes of millenary dust and crumbling paper. Here, the silence of the Library becomes absolute, sepulchral. From the furthest shelf, Silas removes a massive tome. Hidden behind it is a wooden lever. As he lifts it, the bookcase swings open slowly—a door of wood and words—revealing a small hidden room. It is filled with smaller shelves packed with texts, most dating back to the Old World. There are leather-bound journals, loose parchments, oxidized metal fragments salvaged from the Wasteland, and technical diagrams pinned to the walls that resemble the neural pathways of some monstrous machine.

  In a corner, upon the left wall, the lamplight illuminates a lectern holding a modest book. It is encased in a layer of clear plastic to shield it from dust and decay. The cover bears a symbol incomprehensible to the boys: a golden tree intertwined with a black tree, withered and leafless. It resembles a heraldic crest, yet it is clearly a sigil designed to encapsulate the mysteries within.

  Silas stands with his hands clasped behind his back, the reflection of the flame dancing across a face etched with wrinkles as deep as canyons. "Look closely," he says, his voice vibrating with a solemnity Elian has never heard before.

  The two boys step forward, their footsteps echoing like heartbeats on the cold floor. On the wall hangs a map; it depicts the Luminous Forest not as a mere expanse of trees, but as a dense network of pulsing connections—golden synapses branching in every direction.

  "General Valerius believes he has struck down a trophy to feed the Militia’s pride," Silas begins, pointing to a spot where the parchment looks almost scorched. "Archbishop Aldrich believes he has defeated a pagan demon to validate his Doctrine. But what the Wolf Squad killed was not a solitary individual. It was not an isolated beast foraging in the scrub. It was a scout. The Luminous Forest to the South and East is expanding in our direction."

  He pauses for a moment before continuing. "The Luminous Forest is a single, immense organism. A biological computer that breathes with millions of lungs and sees with millions of eyes. The Kirin was its receptor on this border—a sensory organ sent to test our aggression, to measure the weight of our corruption."

  Silas takes a step forward, his shadow looming large against the walls, nearly swallowing the boys. "By killing it, we have not won a battle. We have informed the entire ecosystem that the humanity of this colony is an infection to be purged. The Garden has received the data it lacked and has updated its defense protocol. Make no mistake: the Kirin is among its least dangerous inhabitants. The Forest conceals far more lethal entities—gentle beings who, if provoked, reveal themselves as calamities beyond our darkest nightmares."

  Zech attempts a rebuttal. "But with these new weapons... can we not win? They killed the Kirin with a single shot. Perhaps humanity has a chance."

  Silas responds with a grave tone. "The Wolf Squad brought three crates of 'Orichalcum' rounds. A fitting name for those who feel no remorse in slaying a god. They have seven siege rifles compatible with such shot. But the Forest has grown vast over the last century. Seven rifles against an army of divine power is naught. The more blood we spill, the more the Forest will churn out creatures ever more numerous and terrible."

  Elian lets slip a thought that stuns Zech: "This is catastrophic. If we are truly the last colony, the human race is at risk of vanishing."

  "Are we the last?!" Zech asks, shaken. "Elian, do you mean it?"

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  It is Silas who answers. "The world is dying for men, confined as we are to the Wasteland. But the new ecosystem of the Forest advances where it can. It stops only in lands tainted by the 'Steel Hearts' that vomited invisible poison—the so-called Silent Lands. Elsewhere, it marches on, leaving no room for a species as aggressive and incompatible as ours. Over time, the Forest has extinguished many colonies. We risk the same end."

  The Master lowers his voice to a rasping whisper. "Yet that is not the root of my fear. The beasts of the Forest are guided by a divine power that has returned to Earth after millions of years. A vast, ancient, and absolute intelligence that accepts no compromise. This world no longer belongs to men. In truth, we were never its masters—only squatters about to be evicted. Currently, this colony sits between the anvil and the hammer: to the West and North, unlivable ruins; to the South and East, the advancing Forest."

  "But then... the Lord of the Old World... who rules the ruins of the great cities... who is he?" Zech blurs out.

  "The true owner of the past... he who dominated the Earth through us," Silas states.

  His gaze, previously alight with the fire of revelation, fades into a cold mask of caution. With a sharp nod, he signals his pupils to withdraw and closes the secret bookcase. The mechanism groans—a lament of wood and dust sealing away the secrets of the old world. Soon, the tolling bells will summon every living soul in the Castle: a solemn religious service that no one may miss, least of all the three librarians.

  ***

  Common masses are usually held within the cramped walls of the inner chapel, but for great celebrations, the Castle’s main square is transformed into a temple. The morning air is biting, heavy with the damp scent of old stone and anticipation.

  An imposing wooden stage stands in the square, topped by a monumental altar. Archbishop Aldrich, draped in sacred vestments, stands tall like a golden idol. The rite, concelebrated with Don Thomas and another cleric, is no simple thanksgiving; it is an exaltation. God is invoked for guiding the Wolf Squad’s hand against the "forest demon," turning the slaughter of a magnificent creature into an act of liberation.

  Though atheism is the daily bread of many militiamen, General Valerius’s order was absolute: all must witness the victory. The Wolf Squad occupies the front rows, looking like aliens in their fatigues. Among them, Julien Martel stands out; he wears light plate armor—a choice that puzzles his comrades until the rite shifts its form.

  Elian stands further back, lost in the crowd with the Serpieri family. He spots Zech nearby; both are bound by a shared sense of alienation. For them, raised in a faith of humility, this celebration of blood feels like a profanation. Elian searches for Silas’s hunched frame, but the Master has vanished into the shadows of the square.

  Aldrich’s homily cuts through the air. "Today, we remember the act of goodwill God asks of us to absolve the sins of our ancestors!" the Archbishop thunders. He speaks of a "new beginning," of a man who can finally repopulate the earth by defeating the monsters born of ancient arrogance. "We shall transform the Luminous Forest into the New Eden prepared for us!"

  Elian clenches his fists. The Church, meant to be a guardian of peace, is turning faith into a banner of conquest.

  As the liturgy ends, the scene turns theatrical. Aldrich summons Julien Martel. The boy advances, his armor reflecting the pale sun. Clerics help him don a white-and-gold surcoat. Upon his chest sits a massive golden cross. Julien looks like a paladin from an ancient poem, lost in an age of mud and rust.

  The Archbishop descends the steps as Julien drops to one knee. Before thousands of eyes, he is blessed and named "Protector of Humanity"—one chosen by God for saving them from the demon.

  Behind Martel’s solemn mask, his ego screams in triumph. In this moment, his skepticism collapses: his ascent is, to him, the final proof of a God who has chosen him.

  In the front row, the Wolf Squad watches, petrified. Mira Vance cannot hide her disgust. Giada remains perplexed; to her, it is a cynical charade, yet she cannot forget that Julien has saved her life. Vargo Cortez is a block of marble. He looks at General Valerius, who sits nearby, looking satisfied. Cortez understands: this is a play orchestrated to bind the Church and the powerful Martel family to the General’s will.

  Elian is frozen with fury. That opportunistic Martel, named "Defender of Humanity"? It is a grotesque joke. His anger turns toward the Church itself—a structure now rotten and bent to power.

  Zech catches Elian’s eye and twirls a finger near his temple: he mouths. Elian calms himself slightly, clinging to the hope that any person of sense must find this ridiculous.

  The service ends, and the crowd dissolves. Elian and Zech try to reach their friends, but the Militia allows no rest for heroes. The squad is escorted away to be honored by the colony’s notables. Elian watches Giada disappear among the uniforms—another separation that weighs on his heart like lead.

  ***

  Back in the Library, Silas returns his pupils to the secret room. He intends to delve into secrets that the men of the High King’s Castle could never accept.

  Elian asks about the "return of divine power." Silas becomes less cryptic. "I was once an explorer myself," he reveals. "I journeyed into the Luminous Forest and found it harmless to those with good intentions. But I discovered that the Forest is merely a living wall protecting a true Eden: a place where divine beings, once extinct, have reclaimed the Earth."

  "You saw gods?" Elian asks.

  "Yes. I moved deep, apart from my squad. I found beings whose beauty cannot be called human. They are in perfect harmony. They told me the time of the 'sons of men'—our time—was over. I returned to my squad and told a lie: that the Forest was infinite and filled with monsters."

  "So the mind of the Forest is a people of gods?" Zech exclaims.

  "It is. And I am not the only scout to have found them. The journals the Church would burn were saved by us librarians. Humanity survived the Fire Avalanche, but we have entered an epoch that no longer belongs to us."

  "What does 'sons of men' mean?" Elian asks.

  "It is polysemic," Silas says sharply. "It refers to a lineage born only of human flesh, devoid of divine nature."

  "But then... the Lord of the Old World... who is he?" Zech repeats.

  Silas raises a hand. "You have had too many revelations today. In the coming days, we shall face the link between men and the 'Lord of the Old World.' Now, return to your duties."

  He ushers them out and seals the room. Elian’s mind remains on the symbol: the two intertwined trees—one golden and flourishing, the other black and sterile. He is convinced the truth of the Dark Witnesses lies within that plastic-wrapped text.