Hasib was a difficult one, Archeron soon realised. No matter how much harm was brought upon him, he refused to turn against the Lyriumians. Had his spy's information been wrong? No, the King assured himself. His spy had never gone wrong before. Then again, the stakes had never been this high. He decided to give it another week. If Hasib had not changed his mind by then, it would mean the spy's information was faulty and he would be removed from his post. Spies were easily replaced. 

Archeron rubbed his temples. This was proving to be more difficult than expected. If the girl didn't have the power of the Photon Core in that damned necklace, it would be easier. He could swoop in and steal it from whatever room it was kept in. If he had the power. That was the other problem. The girl held one of the two ultimate powers and Archeron did not. He needed a power that matched hers. No. He needed a power that rivaled hers. 

The King yelled. One of his messengers ran into the room and bowed.

"Bring the Historian to me," the King commanded.

The messenger bowed again and left.

Archeron begun pacing his room. The Historian could help. He knew all the stories of power on Terpola. He knew the stories of the Photon Core and the possible weaknesses that came with it. Apparently, no one knew if the stories were true. There was only one way to find out. Archeron needed all the power he could get. He needed more than what the Photon Core could give. He needed . . . He needed . . . He needed something! Its name was lost to him. It was there but it was not. He roared. 

The messenger brought the Historian into the chambers and was dismissed. The Historian bowed. The King looked over the man. He was beginning to show signs of aging. There was lines around his brown eyes and his black hair was beginning to grey. About seventeen-thousand then. Archeron sat at his stone desk and the Historian sat opposite. There was silence between them as though they were searching for what to say to each other.

The King cocked his head to the side. "A power that is stronger than the Photon Core."

The Historian bristled. "There is no such thing, my King."

Archeron frowned.

"There is, however," the Historian quickly said, "a power that is its equal."

"Tell me."

"The Silent Core."

The Silent Core. Its power was legendary. Supposedly, it belonged to the Dark Ruler of Terpola. Those had not existed in generations. 

"According to the stories, the very first King had been a Dark Ruler. There has not been one since." The Historian continued, "It's power was that of the ultimate darkness and a exact opposite to that of the Photon Core."

Oh, yes. The power of the Silent Core would do nicely. There was more darkness than light in the multiverse, after all. All light eventually faded. The Silent Core's power would have to be stronger! Darkness was what was coming for them all in the end. Light was merely an illusion.

"Where is it?" Archeron asked.

The Historian blanched. "We don't know."

The frown deepened.

"But I can find out!" the Historian blurted before all but slamming a hand over his own mouth.

The King's lips twitched. "Then why are you still sitting here?"

The Historian ran from the room.