We were running low on answers. The War Essence relic helped in small fights, but Lirael kept pushing for more intel on the old gods especially anything tied to “vessels” and broken powers like mine. The System stayed cagey, feeding me bits and pieces that made my headaches worse instead of better. So when word came through one of her shadow contacts about a mage-thief who knew the pantheon better than most, we didn’t have much choice.His name was Sylas Veyra.We found him in a dingy tavern on the edge of a half-ruined border town, the kind of place where people went to disappear. Skinny guy, sharp features, messy dark hair, and fingers that never stopped moving like he was always palming a coin or a spell. He wore a patched cloak that probably had more hidden pockets than sense, and his smile never quite reached his eyes.Lirael did most of the talking at first. “You know the Fallen Wing temple lore. The old alignments. We need that knowledge. Join us, and you get protection. Refuse