Underneath, she noted a single, fatal flaw she had discovered: Ajit’s heart wasn't made of stone, but of fragile glass—he was terrified of being forgotten. He didn't want love; he wanted an audience for his power.
The stone beneath them groaned. The floor split open, revealing a chamber that hadn’t seen light in a thousand years. Inside: no treasure, no weapon. Just a single brass plate engraved with the full Index—all nine nodes complete. index of chathuram