The Astral Dogma

The morning sun filtered through the narrow streets as Belial walked down Roselia Street, his mind heavy with the weight of his memories. The faint bustle of the neighborhood around him felt distant, as if the world itself had softened to accommodate his reflective mood. His steps slowed as he approached a familiar alleyway—the same place where he had first opened a rift with the shard now resting in his pocket.

Belial's hand brushed against the shard, his fingers clenching around its jagged edges. The cool, rough surface sent a shiver through his palm, a reminder of the power it held. He stopped and glanced at the alley, the walls still stained with faint, indiscernible marks of etheric energy. The memory of that night lingered, a strange mix of exhilaration and trepidation.

The alley looked different in the daylight. Shadows that had once seemed menacing were now nothing more than harmless patches of shade. The air, which had been thick with tension and possibility that night, now carried the mundane scents of the city—baked bread from a nearby bakery, the earthy smell of potted plants on windowsills, and the faint trace of smoke from morning fires.

His gaze drifted to the spot where he had first seen the yakitori stand. It was gone, replaced by an empty stretch of street. The absence felt like a void, a piece of his new world suddenly missing.

I wonder where that miracle yakitori guy is… he muttered under his breath, 

letting out a disheartened sigh. The thought of the warm, smoky flavors and the man's unexpected kindness felt like a distant dream, one he wished he could return to. He could almost taste the savory meat, feel the warmth of the grill on his face. That small act of kindness had been a beacon in the confusion of his arrival, a moment of normalcy in a world that felt alien to him.

As he turned onto Voss Street, his eyes were drawn upward to a looming building etched with the symbol of a phoenix. The emblem blazed in the morning light, a proud reminder of the guild's presence and influence. The sight stirred something within him—hope, perhaps, or a sense of belonging he wasn't quite ready to admit.

The phoenix, wings spread wide and beak open in a silent cry, seemed to watch him as he approached. Its golden feathers, intricately carved into the stone, caught the sunlight and appeared to shimmer with life. Belial found himself wondering about the symbolism. 

The streets grew busier as he neared the guild building. People of all sorts hurried past—merchants with carts full of goods, apprentices carrying stacks of books or equipment, and the occasional group of adventurers, their armor glinting in the sunlight. Belial felt a mix of curiosity and unease as he observed them. Each person was a mystery, a potential ally or threat in this world he was still learning to navigate.

Inside the guild, Belial moved through the bustling corridors, searching for Cole. The guild's energy was palpable—members sparred in training areas, scribes shuffled through scrolls, and the occasional burst of laughter or argument echoed through the halls. But Cole was nowhere to be found.

The interior of the guild was a marvel in itself. High ceilings supported by ornate columns stretched above him, their surfaces adorned with intricate carvings depicting heroic deeds and mythical creatures. Tapestries hung on the walls, each telling a story of great adventures or historic battles. The air hummed with a subtle energy, a mix of excitement, ambition, and the faint traces of magic that seemed to permeate every corner of the building.

Belial found himself pausing occasionally, drawn in by the sights around him. In one room, a group of mages practiced runic enchantments, their hands weaving complex patterns in the air as flames danced and ether swirled. In another, a grizzled warrior demonstrated sword techniques to a group of wide-eyed novices, his blade singing through the air with each precise movement.

It was all so different from the rigid hierarchy and constant power struggles of the demon realm. Here, there was a sense of camaraderie, of shared purpose, that was both alien and oddly appealing to Belial.

Approaching the reception desk, he found Natalie, her golden hair tied neatly back as she sorted through stacks of parchment. She looked up as he approached, offering a polite smile. The sunlight streaming through a nearby window caught her hair, giving it a warm, golden glow.

"Looking for Cole again?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. It seemed Belial's search for the guild master was becoming a familiar sight.

Belial nodded, feeling a twinge of disappointment. "Yeah, but he's not here. Do you know where I can find a library? There's... something I need to look into."

Natalie's eyes brightened at the mention of the library, a spark of unusual enthusiasm lighting up her face. "We actually have one here, but it's a bit of a walk. It's on the far end of the campus. It's smaller compared to others, but it's well-stocked." She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. "And between you and me, it's got some of the rarest books in Oasis. The guild takes pride in its collection."

Belial thanked her, his curiosity piqued by her words. What kind of rare books might he find there? What secrets of this world might be hidden in their pages?

As he made his way out, following her directions, Belial found himself looking forward to the prospect of delving into the guild's collection. Knowledge was power, after all, and in this unfamiliar world, he needed all the power he could get.

The path to the library took him through a series of courtyards and smaller buildings. Each space seemed to have its own character—a garden filled with medicinal herbs, a quiet meditation area with a softly burbling fountain, a workshop where the clanging of hammers on metal rang out. The diversity of activities and spaces within the guild complex was impressive, a testament to the many facets of a hunter's life.

When he arrived at the guild's library, he was struck by its sheer size. Though Natalie had said it wasn't as large as others, the rows of towering shelves lined with countless books were an impressive sight. The soft glow of enchanted lanterns illuminated the space, casting shadows across the intricate carvings on the shelves.

The library was housed in a circular building, its domed ceiling painted with constellations that seemed to twinkle in the magical light. The air was heavy with the scent of old parchment and leather bindings, a smell that spoke of ancient knowledge and forgotten lore.

After a while, Belial found himself standing in the dimly lit corridor, frustrated. He had searched through countless rooms, each one more perplexing than the last, but none had what he was looking for. His mission felt futile, the endless hallways leading to dead ends. 

Then, just as he was about to give up, a sudden message flickered across a blue screen that appeared out of nowhere:

[Notice: Air vent found, it appears it leads to a different area.]

Belial paused. His gaze shifted to a small air vent just above the floor, barely noticeable in the corner of the room. Intrigued and desperate for any lead, he bent down, inspecting it closely. It was old, rusted at the edges, but it seemed to lead somewhere. 

Following the instructions on the blue screen, he moved cautiously, crawling through the narrow vent. His mind raced with possibilities—what could this lead to? Another hidden area? A treasure trove of secrets? Or perhaps an even deeper mystery? 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he emerged into a new space. It was an unexpected discovery—a small, secret library, tucked away behind a false wall. The room was smaller than he had imagined, but the air smelled faintly of dust and old leather-bound books. Shelves were stacked high with ancient Books, their spines weathered and faded. The atmosphere was heavy with the weight of forgotten knowledge.

A chill ran down Belial's spine. This was it. This was what he had been searching for.

But why had it been hidden away like this? And what knowledge could these books hold that was so important it had to be kept from the world? His fingers grazed the spines of the books, each one seeming to whisper secrets long buried.

The quiet sound of a door creaking behind him broke his concentration, and Belial turned to face the new challenge that awaited him. The path ahead was unclear, but he had no choice but to explore further. The library might just hold the answers he needed.

Belial moved through the aisles, his fingers brushing against the spines of ancient Books. The titles were a mix of familiar and strange—some in languages he recognized, others in scripts he had never seen before. He couldn't help but compare it to the Demon King's library, a place he had visited only a handful of times. The Demon King's collection was a fortress of knowledge, guarded zealously and filled with texts chronicling the history of the demon realm. But it had little to offer about Oasis, the human realm, or its history.

Still, what little he had gleaned from the Demon King's library had been invaluable. It had given him a basic understanding of the human language, enough to communicate without much issue. Though, if one listened closely, they might catch a faint trace of Demonese in his speech—a slight inflection here, an unusual phrasing there.

As he browsed, Belial found himself wondering about the differences between the knowledge valued in the demon realm and what was prized here in Oasis. In his world, books on strategy, dark magic, and the manipulation of souls were the most sought-after. Here, he saw Books on healing magic, the history of heroic deeds, and treatises on the balance of nature.

Belial's search was methodical. He moved from section to section, scanning titles until he found three books that seemed promising:

"3rd Aeon: The Legends of Lords" - a thick volume bound in deep blue leather, its cover embossed with silver runes that seemed to shimmer as he touched them.

"2nd Aeon: The Rise of Kings" - this one was older, its binding cracked and worn, but the gold lettering on its spine still gleamed with a hint of magical preservation.

"Crowned Heroes" - the newest of the three, its pages still crisp and its cover adorned with intricate illustrations of crowned figures surrounded by mythical beasts.

Belial gathered the books in his arms, their weight a comforting presence. He found a secluded corner of the library, a small alcove with a comfortable chair and a reading table. Settling in, he opened the first book, "2nd Aeon: The rise of kings," and began to read.

Belial flipped through the dusty pages of yet another ancient Book, frustration mounting with each passing moment. He had been scouring the library for hours, seeking any mention of the angel who had sealed the demon realm, but his search yielded nothing. It was a futile endeavor—or so it seemed.

"This is useless!" he muttered, slamming the book shut with a sigh.

The dim light of the library cast flickering shadows on the towering shelves, and the faint scent of old parchment filled the air. Despite his exasperation, Belial couldn't shake the nagging curiosity gnawing at him. The snippets of information he'd come across were intriguing, even if incomplete. They hinted at something far greater, a mystery buried deep within the annals of history. For someone like him, who thrived on adventure and had an insatiable love for uncovering the past, the allure was irresistible.

Belial leaned back in his chair, staring at the pile of discarded books. "An angel… dying," he mused aloud, the words tasting foreign on his tongue. It was a shocking thought. Angels were said to be eternal, untouched by the ravages of time or the cruelty of death. And yet, the mere suggestion of such an event sent a ripple of unease through him. How could something so significant remain hidden from the records? How could he, a demon who prided himself on knowing the histories of both realms, have never heard of it?

He rubbed his temples, trying to piece together the fragments of what little he had learned. The implications were vast, and his mind raced with questions. Who was this angel? Why had their sacrifice been forgotten?

With a resigned sigh, Belial reached for the last book in the pile. Its leather cover was cracked and worn, the title barely legible: 

The Crowned Heroes. 

He traced the faded letters with his clawed fingers, feeling a spark of anticipation flicker within him. This was his final lead, his last hope of finding something—anything—that could shed light on the mystery.

"Now..Let's see what secrets you hold," he murmured, opening the book. The pages groaned in protest, but they offered no resistance as he delved into their contents, determined to uncover the truth.