The air in the hidden library of the convent was thick with the scent of decay and dust. Candles flickered, casting dancing shadows across the crumbling shelves packed with forgotten tomes. Sister Agnes, her brow furrowed in concentration, ran a trembling hand across the brittle parchment. Days she had spent here, fueled by lukewarm ale and the gnawing dread that clawed at her soul. Days turned into nights, blurring into a single, unbroken vigil.