The Temple of Hollow Names sat half-swallowed by the earth.
Cracked marble columns jutted from the hillside like forgotten bones. Vines twisted around its ruins, black with thorns. Glyphs lined the broken archway, pulsing faintly beneath layers of moss.
Cazriel was the one who insisted they stop.
"This temple once belonged to the Sunless Order," he said, crouching beside a fallen stone. "They were vampire monks. Obsessive scholars. Outcasts even to their own kind."
"Didn't know bloodsuckers had monks," Lyra muttered.
"They had desperation," Cazriel replied. "It's not the same thing—but close enough."
Qin watched Cazriel closely. His voice was calm, but his body was rigid. Tense.
"I've been here before," Cazriel added after a long pause. "But I didn't know what I was looking for then."
"And now you do?" Qin asked.
Cazriel looked up, and—for the first time—there was something vulnerable in his gaze.
"Yes."
They entered the temple through a fractured wall, stepping into shadow.
The air inside was stale with memory. Dust and old blood. The scent of a library long buried. Rows of broken stone benches and shattered statues lined the great hall, but beneath the decay, one thing remained untouched:
A sealed door of obsidian.
Across its surface was a single glyph: a sun split in half.
Qin reached out his hand instinctively.
The glyph pulsed.
Then the door opened.
Inside the vault, a spiral staircase descended into darkness.
They followed it wordlessly, torches lit. The further down they went, the more the walls changed—no longer stone, but layered metal and glass, covered in thousands of tiny inscriptions etched with precision.
Qin slowed his steps, reading what he could.
"'Trials of Flame'... 'Mirrorsong'... 'Chronoscar Ritual'... What is this place?"
"An archive," Cazriel said softly. "The Sunless Order tried to catalog the impossible. Spells that could twist reality. Break taboos. Or, in this case…"
"Walk in the daylight," Lyra finished.
Cazriel nodded. "To them, sunlight wasn't a curse. It was the final chain."
They reached the bottom of the spiral, entering a vault filled with ancient scrolls and shattered relics.
Most of it had turned to ash and ruin.
But in the center stood a single glass pedestal. Intact. Protected by a dome of golden light.
Inside it floated a scroll—silver thread binding it closed, and a sun insignia burned into the wax seal.
Cazriel stepped forward like he was dreaming.
"That's it," he whispered. "The Sunspell."
"Wait," Qin said, holding out a hand. "That thing's protected."
"I don't care."
But Qin stepped in front of him.
"I do."
He placed his palm against the dome and whispered a grounding spell.
The light around the scroll hissed, flickering. Symbols raced across the floor, revealing a hidden sigil—one Qin recognized.
"Celestial Binding. It'll burn you if your soul isn't balanced."
Cazriel's face darkened. "So I have to be… what, pure?"
"No," Qin said. "Just aligned. It needs intention. Purpose."
Cazriel stared at the scroll, jaw clenched. "I've walked this earth two hundred years. Watched friends turn to dust. Watched lovers die. I don't care about purity—I care about freedom."
Lyra stepped up beside them.
"You want it for yourself?" she asked quietly.
"Yes," Cazriel said, blunt. "You've felt the sun your whole life. You don't know what it's like to hide from morning."
The pain in his voice was real. Not theatrical. Not cloaked.
Just raw.
Qin studied the symbols, then took a step back.
"I think I can bypass it," he said. "But I'll need a truth. From you."
Cazriel frowned. "A truth?"
"Yes. Something buried. Something only the spell can taste."
Cazriel looked away.
Silence.
Then he said, "Her name was Elira. Human. Black hair, loud laugh. I loved her for twenty-eight years."
Qin blinked. "That's… long."
"I turned her," Cazriel said. "To save her. But the change failed. She burned from the inside out."
He turned to the dome.
"I haven't felt sunlight since the day she died."
The spell reacted instantly.
The golden dome shimmered—then vanished.
The scroll floated down into Cazriel's waiting hands.
They sat in silence after that, around a small fire on the temple steps.
The scroll sat unopened in Cazriel's lap. He hadn't spoken since retrieving it.
Qin watched him quietly. "You're not going to read it?"
Cazriel finally looked up. "I can't. Not yet. It's encoded. I'll need time, maybe blood magic. But more importantly…"
He trailed off.
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"The spell's not complete."
Qin blinked. "What?"
Cazriel unrolled the parchment just slightly and showed them: the glyph chain inside was broken. Two-thirds intact. One section ripped away.
"There's a second scroll."
"Where?" Lyra asked.
Cazriel hesitated. Then said: "The Library of Solace. In the City of Glass."
Qin frowned. "That's east of the Divide. Isn't that…?"
"Vampire territory," Cazriel finished. "Worse—Royal vampire territory. If we go there, we'll be hunted."
"So?" Lyra said, standing. "We've already pissed off Umbhrax, escaped time loops, and awakened ancient echoes. What's one suicidal library trip?"
Cazriel looked at her, almost smiling.
"You're insane."
"You're welcome."
Qin took the scroll into his own hands later that night, when the others slept.
The ink shimmered faintly under moonlight. Not just glyphs. A map was buried within.
He whispered a decoding spell under his breath, and just for a moment—*just one—*the scroll unfolded in full:
"Sunlight for the Damned. Blood of the Betrayed. Soul of Three."
"Only one who bears the ancient fire may unlock the path."
Qin froze.
That phrase again. Soul of Three.
His hand trembled.
Was the spell only possible through him?
He rolled the scroll back up and sat silently until morning.