Deep into the winter, Haveskon was beautiful this time of the year. Blanketed in a pristine layer of fresh snow, the modern city reminded Norman of the children's tales of a magical and enchanting wonderland. The usually bustling streets were now hushed, and the crisp air carried the soft crunching of footsteps and the gentle hush of snowfall. The city's numerous towering glass buildings reflected the twinkling lights of the holiday season, casting a gentle glow all over the landscape.

Norman and Flavia walked into the Ortimus estate through the expansive and opulent front gate. They were immediately ushered in by the virtual intelligence - Aranius that oversaw the operations of the estate. A pacing and visibly angry Greymus was waiting for them in the guest hall.

"Finally." Greymus exclaimed. "You are a resourceful man, Mr. Norman." Norman had wondered if Flavia would find some way to notify the family ahead of time and if he would be walking into an ambush. But it didn't look like Greymus had any clue about their new collaboration. The angry obese man reminded Norman of a fat cat growling in anger.

"What can I say, I have had the best teachers." Norman looked around. His unconcerned demeanor only seemed to fan Greymus's anger further.

"So, Mr. Norman, why don't you tell us the route to this Yaskh settlement that you accidentally stumbled upon, and we can all leave this sordid business behind us? If you cooperate, your life ... and maybe even your career may still be salvaged."

"I'd need access to your Yaskh archives first." Norman took the liberty to seat himself on one of the plush velvety sofas. Celine casually settled herself on one of the shelves next to a vase. Everyone else continued to stand.

"Excuse me?" Greymus exploded.

"I may have promised him access to our Yaskh archives in exchange for his cooperation." Flavia's voice was strained.

"Exchange?" Greymus scoffed. "Mr. Norman, do you have any idea where you are standing? Do you think you are in a position to make demands?"

"Dad. It would be better if you let me handle this. He can be dangerous." Flavia tried to salvage the situation.

"Like hell, I will. You have done your job. Good work. I'll take it from here."

"Third floor, 5th gate from the right." Flavia muttered and exited the room.

"I thought you were one of the brightest students at the academy. Do you really not see that you have no choice in the matter?"

Norman inhaled deep, and expanded his awareness. He could now sense the life essence of all the people in the building. He wasn't sure what Aranius was capable of, but apart from a few servants and a few mechatron guards, the main building didn't have many people. Flavia had omitted anything about a centralized intelligence governing the estate, and now Norman was sure the omission was intentional.

He thought to Celine, "Well you wanted access to leadership of our people. This is the highest that I can reach. Why don't you take charge for once?"

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Celine grew. First the vase next to her toppled, and then the entire shelf. Deep tendrils of darkness seeped out from her, and her eyes gleamed red in the dark.

"What the hell?" For the first time, Greymus felt like maybe he was not in charge after all. The lights flickered across the room.

Before he could say anything else, a flood of tentacles enveloped him. Two of the mechatron guards in the room rushed towards him as he screamed, but they were swept aside before they could even analyze what they were facing. The virtual intelligence was alerted by the disturbance, and from the hidden slots in the ceiling, two automated laser launchers emerged. The room was plunged into chaos as the assault weapons rapidly fired on the writhing tentacles, only for them to effortlessly weave away and around them.

Norman had long left. Reaching the fifth gate, he pulled out a glass ampule from his coat. The ampule held an eye. Remus's eye. The security in the archive scanned the eye and opened its gate. The family still hadn't deactivated his access. Norman entered and plugged himself into one of the terminals.

The archive terminals had a direct line of access to the imperial library. After a couple minutes of searching, he found a complete, unredacted collection of Yaskh texts from multiple recovery sites. It took him a whole hour to trick the organization system with believing that it was actually Greymus accessing the archives. Eventually though, using a rootkit that Flavia had shared with him earlier, he managed to get unrestricted access.

The library only had a few references to purgatories. There were apparently four known gates within the Irvanian empire. Their locations were highly classified, but there was an elaborate research paper by an academic who had dedicated his life to understanding them better. As he scrolled through the pages, Norman realized that the level of physics needed to understand it was far beyond his current comprehension skills. So he copied over the documents and moved on. His next quest was to understand how the wormholes worked.

As he dove in, Norman found himself overwhelmed yet again. There was actually enough evidence that Wormholes were originally created by the Nightwyrm. They had to pass through a star - no other energy source was powerful enough to initiate a spatial distortion. Creating a wormhole usually resulted in the complete collapse of that star. In the case of Yaskh, they had, on multiple occasions, intentionally killed off stars supporting enemy worlds, causing entire planets to fall into ruin. Norman assumed that the nightmares he had been subjected to depicted one such instance.

In fact, genocides like that had attracted the attention of elder races. Minor wars and trifles between races were too insignificant for beings who planned strategies at the scales of hundreds of centuries. But the demolition of entire star systems and distorting spatial curvature did affect even their plans. The leading theorists hypothesized that one such race had either eliminated or trapped the Nightwyrms to stop them from interfering with our realm.

As with all studies directly related to galactic security, these documents were L9 classified and accessible only to the upper echelons of the Protectorate.

Accessing each of these resources triggered a deduction of a few thousand sols from the Ortimus account balance, but Norman had a feeling the Senator would not mind.

Meanwhile, the senator sat on his couch, silent. The gunfire had died down, and the tendrils of darkness had long dissipated. Before Aranius could attempt to notify the estate's security, electrical lines had been disrupted, and that entire floor was now plunged into darkness.

To anyone else, Greymus would have just looked like someone deep in meditation. He sat tranquil amid an absolute mayhem. Inside his mind though, a storm raged.

The Nightwyrm fragment that had planted itself on his arm showed him what the elder power could help him accomplish. It offered him riches beyond the wildest of his dreams. He saw himself at the helm of the empire, the immense power of the Nightwyrms at his disposal.

The senator was a greedy man, utterly ruthless toward his competitors. But he was also a renowned strategist and well-read. He had studied the history of the rise and fall of numerous civilizations.

He may have done some hideous things to rise to the position of Senator. But the one thing he was not was disloyal to the empire. Deep down, he always knew that everything he could have accomplished was because the God King had kept anarchy at bay. He could not betray that. He would not betray the core founding principles of Irvania.

After hours of silent battle, he managed to force through the invasion in his mind. He yelled, "Aranius, confine the premises. L9 biohazard situation..." Aranius may have been cut off from the floor, but there was also a secondary security mechanism that independently operated on standby. As one of the richest people in the empire, the Senator had spent millions on the security of his home.

The moment he uttered the words "L9 biohazard", the backup system sprung into action. Every door was immediately sealed. A high-priority notification was sent out to the upper echelons of the Protectorate.

When the Protectorate arrived, they found the senator sitting on his drawing room sofa. He looked almost at peace with himself. Except for the splatter of blood on the wall to his left side. The senator had shot himself before he could say anything about the Nightwyrm.

Systematically, soldiers swept the room one by one. Once they entered his private archive, they found Norman deeply engrossed in research.