They opened the book together.
The Ledger responded imdiately, pages turning with deliberate precision until the faintly embossed na surfaced near the center.
Fritz Calder.
Ryn’s breath eased—just slightly.
Rhean Ledgers were connected to their paladins, if they existed and had content, it ant their corresponding paladin was alive.
They both leaned closer as the entries resolved.
Fritz’s na appeared again and again.
But sothing was wrong.
The wording.
Ryn scanned the first entry.
"Eastern Kraken Suppression Campaign — auxiliary combatant. Performance noted as consistent, but unremarkable."
His jaw tightened.
"That’s not how it happened," Ryn muttered.
They read on.
"Helior Pass evacuation — presence confird. Tactical hesitation observed, more training is required."
Aurelian Voss’s na followed imdiately after.
"Captain Voss assud command following operational delay. Civilians evacuated successfully."
Ryn’s fingers curled against the page.
The pattern repeated.
He was there.
But diminished.
Present, but frad as late.
Capable, but never decisive.
Reliable, but never exceptional.
Soone was putting him down on purpose.
Ryn felt sothing cold settle in his chest.
In his previous life, Fritz had been many things—idealistic, stubborn, painfully earnest.
But weak?
Never.
"He’s been buried," Alia said. "Not erased."
"Yes," Ryn agreed. "Buried under soone else’s shadow."
He closed the book slowly, looking around again.
This ti—for Aurelian Voss.
It took several minutes. The ledger had been tucked away far more carefully than Fritz’s—strange, considering it belonged to Raias’s Hero Candidate.
He pulled it free. The cover was intact, and na was still imprinted onto the leather.
Aurelian Voss.
Ryn opened it.
Nothing.
His breath caught. The realization hit him like a hamr.
"...He’s dead," Ryn said quietly.
Alia’s breath caught.
Ryn’s gaze hardened.
"Which ans whoever’s wearing his na—"
Ryn didn’t dwell on it.
The mont the conclusion settled, he was already moving.
"Alia," he said quietly, "watch the corridor."
She nodded without question, stepping back to keep line of sight on the chamber entrance.
Ryn reached into his coat and produced a small, palm-sized artifact, a dark glass wrapped in thin silver filants.
Jay’s work.
Ryn pressed it gently against Fritz Calder’s Ledger.
The artifact pulsed once.
Soft.
Lines of light bled from the pages, flowing into the glass like breath drawn from lungs. Dates, annotations, marginal judgnts—everything copied perfectly, including the bias written between the lines.
He repeated the process with Aurelian Voss’s ledger.
This ti, the artifact hesitated.
Then pulsed harder.
"...That’s not normal," Alia murmured.
"No," Ryn agreed. "But it’s enough."
He slipped the artifact away, already turning.
"We leave," he said. "Now."
Alia didn’t argue. She moved imdiately, retracing their path as Ryn erased small signs of disturbance—resetting shelves, rearranging objects, and even dusting off his prints.
They were gone monts later, slipping back into the sleeping cathedral as if they’d never existed.
Outside, Ryn didn’t slow until the spires were behind them, slipping into a narrow alley wedged between closed shops.
Alia leaned against the wall, catching her breath.
"...So," she said softly, "Fritz is alive."
"Yes."
"And Aurelian Voss is dead."
He nodded once.
"In Dunwick," Ryn said quietly, "I uncovered sothing."
Alia’s eyes sharpened. She didn’t interrupt.
"The Cult had their hands in that town," he continued. "They lured a Rokhan Cardinal there."
Her brow furrowed. "...Alive."
"Yes." Ryn’s voice stayed flat. "Captured. Not killed."
He exhaled once.
"Soone in their ranks can consu a soul," he said. "Take everything that made a person who they were—and wear it."
Alia went very still.
"...A shapeshifter," she said.
Then the realization hit her instantly as she gasped, a hand covering her shocked expression.
"I thought it was an Admin at first," Ryn admitted. "But looking at the scale—"
He shook his head.
"Only a Seat could pull this off," he finished. "And only a Seat would dare ss with sothing as large as the Hero’s Ceremony."
The implication settled between them.
"...So Aurelian isn’t a candidate," Alia said quietly.
"No," Ryn replied. "He’s a disguise."
Silence stretched between them, broken only by distant footsteps and the muted hum of the city settling into sleep.
Alia broke the silence first.
"...Even if we’re right," she said quietly, "we can’t expose him."
Ryn didn’t argue.
"No," he agreed. "Not without burning Fritz in the process."
She pushed off the wall, folding her arms.
"The Ledger won’t help us publicly. The Church would side with the records."
"And the Cult would welco the chaos," Ryn added. "They don’t need him to be believed. They just need doubt."
Alia exhaled slowly.
"So we play along."
"Yes."
"And we win," she finished.
Ryn nodded once.
That was the only option left.
For a mont, the alley felt narrower.
"Which brings us to the real problem," Ryn said, eting her gaze. "Fritz isn’t a candidate."
"Not officially," Alia replied.
"The Crown Princess decides who advances," she continued.
"Though, in all honesty, it’s probably going to be . And I’d rather not..."
Ryn looked past her, toward the distant glow of the inner city.
"Don’t worry," he said, placing a hand on Alia’s head. "I’ll convince her."
Alia’s brow furrowed—but she didn’t move his hand away.
"You do realize Taylor Gremory doesn’t move on faith," she said. "Right?"
"No," Ryn agreed easily. "She moves on leverage."
"And we don’t have proof," Alia said.
Ryn’s mouth curved faintly.
"Not the kind she’d accept," he said. "But I don’t need to prove the Cult exists."
Alia’s eyes narrowed.
"I just need to convince her," Ryn continued calmly, "that betting on Fritz Calder is the most optimal choice."
"...You’re going to ask her to gamble," Alia said.
"Yes."
"With a man the world thinks is diocre."
"Yes."
"And stake the future on it."
Ryn t her gaze.
"She already is," he said. "She just doesn’t know it yet."
"You also know you’re trying to convince her," she added, "while being the diocre Arctis child yourself."
Ryn nodded, a grin plastered all over his face.
"Well," he said lightly, "now she’d be betting on two diocre people."
Once he decided on sothing, it was always pointless to try and stop him.
"...So," Alia said at last, "when are you going to talk to her?"
Ryn turned toward the street.
"Right now."
Alia froze.
"...Right now?" she repeated.
Ryn was already turning toward the street.
"You can’t be serious," she hissed, catching his sleeve. "You’re not actually going to walk into her compound, are you?"
He looked back at her.
That grin was already there.
The one that ant he’d decided.
"Define walk," Ryn said.
"I’m not dropping by," he replied. "I’m requesting a conversation."
Her eyes widened. "...Now?"
"Yes."
She dragged a hand down her face.
"...You’re unbelievable."
"And yet," Ryn said mildly, "you’re already thinking of a contingency."
She paused.
Then scowled. "...I hate that you’re right."
Alia released his sleeve, stepping back.
"Fine," she said. "If you’re not back by dawn, I assu you’ve been detained, silenced, or politely imprisoned."
Ryn flashed her finger guns.
"That’s why you’re the best."
Before she could respond, he vaulted onto the nearby roof and vanished into the night.
Her cheeks flushed bright red.
Alia watched him go, exhaling slowly once she regained her composure.
"Plan A," she muttered. "Convince the Crown Princess."
She straightened, eyes hardening.
"And Plan B," she added quietly, "is getting him out alive."
The city swallowed Ryn whole.
And sowhere ahead, Taylor Gremory was to be hit with a rude awakening.
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