The pact folio warms in Kynes's hands, its gold script beating like a second pulse. The whole vault leans toward the moment, waiting for the witness name that will make House Domini answerable at last.

Corthain strains against the lattice, his face tight with dread and expectation. The mirrored walls hold every reflected name, every vow, every buried clause, all of it ready to be claimed or broken.

The folio flares bright enough to turn the chamber white. Gold lines race through the wall script, locking the transition into place and dragging the house's old authority into Kynes's keeping.

Bren's grip tightens on Kynes's arm, steady and relieved. Ahead lies the real burden, to wield the archive's authority without becoming another Domini lie.

The blinding radiance of the pact folio settles into a warm, steady hum that vibrates through the floorboards. Kynes feels the weight of the archive not as a crushing burden, but as a vast, quiet library of names waiting for his guidance.

Kynes lifts the folio a fraction, and the amber glow answers like a breath held too long. The archive does not roar. It listens.

Gold script stirs along the floor, threading itself into a clean clause beneath his feet.

The pact folio warms in Kynes's hand. A second line of script forms beside his title, plain and unadorned, as if the house itself is correcting its own hand.

Corthain's lattice burns brighter, but the light is steady now, not cruel. The archive seals the answer into amber silence, waiting for Kynes to decide what truth he names next.

Learn the final demand of the pact