Chapter 50 Whispers in the Stacks

Weeks bled into months, the memory of the harbinger battle a constant weight on Friesland's mind. The city, however, hummed with renewed life, oblivious to the darkness they had averted. One crisp autumn afternoon, with a chill biting at the air, Friesland found himself drawn to the familiar comfort of the library. The scent of aged paper and leather offered a welcome respite from the weight of his responsibilities. He yearned for knowledge, a weapon against the unknown he faced. He found Elizabeth nestled in a corner, surrounded by dusty tomes. Her brow furrowed in concentration, she barely acknowledged his presence with a nod. "Anything interesting?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. Elizabeth glanced up, a flicker of frustration crossing her face. "These prophecies," she muttered, tapping a weathered scroll with a slender finger. "They speak of ancient rituals, forgotten pacts, and the potential return of the entity." Friesland's stomach clenched. "Ancient rituals? What kin