The room where Elysiel and Seraphis stood was small and stifling, illuminated only by a single flickering candle that cast wavering shadows across the stone walls. The air was thick, laden with the weight of the knowledge they had just uncovered. The ancient manuscript lay on an old wooden table, its yellowed pages filled with words written in a forgotten language, whispering long-lost secrets.
Elysiel scanned the words, her mind reeling from the revelation she had just read. What had once seemed like a guide to achieving balance between light and darkness had now turned into something far more ominous, far more dangerous. Seraphis stood beside her, his expression tense, his eyes fixed on the pages as if each word were a sentence of impending doom.
— This can't be right... — Elysiel muttered, her voice almost lost in the stifling atmosphere. Her hands trembled as she held the manuscript, the words swirling in her mind. — It can't be possible that..."
