Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users - Chapter 85

85: Why Do You Seek The Truth Of… 85: Why Do You Seek The Truth Of… Lilith stepped forward without hesitation.

The moment she crossed the spiral of silver light behind her, the world shifted.

What she left behind-the softly glowing chamber, the hum of ancient magic, the comforting presence of carved stone and whispered warmth-vanished like a breath held too long.

Gone.

And in its place… It was not just a library.

A world made of books.

Endless towers of knowledge stretched beyond the horizon, curving outward like the roots of a divine tree.

Some shelves soared so high they vanished into the sky.

Others twisted into sideways loops, floating effortlessly above the ground as if gravity had been dismissed from its duties.

The air was still.

Cool.

Reverent.

Not lifeless-but waiting.

The scent in this place was unlike anything from the mortal world.

It was a mix of parchment and aged ink… but beneath it, something older still.

A dry, aching sweetness that smelled like memory, like time ground down into dust.

Lilith looked up.

There was no ceiling.

No walls.

No windows.

And yet, the entire space glowed with an ethereal white light, like moonlight distilled into breath.

It didn’t flicker.

It didn’t move.

It simply was.

Above her, the stars rotated slowly across an endless canvas of night.

But they weren’t stars.

No-these lights pulsed with knowledge.

Each one was a world, a realm, a vault of its own-glowing planets etched with words and runes, casting stories from their surfaces like a silent broadcast.

There were no doors.

No guards.

No echoes of life.

Only her.

And the Vault.

Lilith didn’t speak.

She didn’t have to.

In this place, intention was louder than words.

The Vault responded to desire, to focus.

It did not serve, and it did not obey-but it revealed.

So she walked.

Every footstep rang too loud in the sacred quiet, not because of noise but because of presence.

Each step sent a ripple through the marble beneath her, like ink dropped into still water.

The Vault was listening, feeling, and testing her.

It pressed against her thoughts-not harshly, but curiously.

As if asking, Why now?

She didn’t answer.

The shelves around her stood impossibly tall, filled with books glowing faintly.

Their titles flickered in and out of languages, some known, some long dead, and some never meant for mouths to speak.

She saw volumes from races forgotten by even the River of Time-stories of ascension, extinction, betrayal, and redemption.

Whole civilizations reduced to memory.

Every book shifted its language the moment her eyes touched it, adapting to her comprehension like they wanted to be read.

But she didn’t reach out.

She didn’t touch a single one.

Lilith kept walking.

The Vault didn’t need her to search.

It had already been decided.

The deeper she went, the more the shelves began to thin.

At first, it was subtle-a missing row here, an empty space there.

Then it became obvious.

Shelves vanished behind her, not with sound or movement, but with quiet purpose.

The Vault had acknowledged her need.

It was guiding her.

Narrowing the path.

Until only two shelves remained.

One stood to her left.

It was wide, sturdy, and covered in fine carvings.

Its single glowing title burned bright: “History of the Succubus Clan.” Her lineage.

Her legacy.

Her burden.

To her right stood a shelf far thinner and taller.

It held just one book.

A singular, isolated tome.

Its title shimmered faintly: “The Truth of ???” Lilith turned toward it, her brows lowering just slightly.

The question marks were not placeholders.

They weren’t hiding anything in the conventional sense.

Instead, they pulsed like living symbols-constantly shifting.

They changed with every blink, every breath.

Her eyes couldn’t hold onto them.

They weren’t meant to.

They didn’t want to be understood.

She stepped closer.

The air shifted again.

The cold deepened-but it wasn’t physical.

It was emotional.

The atmosphere thickened, the silence becoming heavier, like she had walked into a room full of sleeping gods, ancient regrets, and secrets long left undisturbed.

The scent changed, too.

The smell of parchment faded.

And something deeper took its place.

Origin.

A weight that belonged not to pages, but to beginnings.

Lilith reached out- But paused.

Even in her long life-through battles, betrayals, ascensions and losses-the Vault had never reacted like this.

The title of this book wasn’t just unfamiliar.

It actively resisted her.

Her mind didn’t reject it because it was too complex.

It rejected it because the truth wasn’t ready to be known.

She took another step forward.

Then one more.

But she didn’t extend her hand again.

Because something else had changed.

Behind her… the stillness broke.

A voice.

Low.

Measured.

Impossible to ignore.

It didn’t echo-it simply existed, the way stone exists.

The way gravity exists.

“You stand before knowledge not meant to be known.” Lilith didn’t flinch.

She didn’t turn around.

The voice was not a threat.

It was a presence.

Not male.

Not female.

Not warm or cold.

It was… structure.

Architecture given thought.

“You seek the origin of something that should not be possible for you to handle.” Her hands twitched, fingers flexing slightly.

But she remained silent.

The Vault was not finished.

It waited.

Then continued: “Why do you seek the truth of…” What came next wasn’t a word.

It wasn’t a sound.

It had an impact.

A concept too big for any mind to hold.

Her ears didn’t hear it-her being did.

There was a roar and a whisper, a scream and a hush, a wave of silence that pressed behind her eyes, cracked across her bones, and curled around her heart.

And then… it was gone.

Not faded.

Withdrawn.

Like the Vault had offered her a glimpse of something not meant for her, yet closed the door.

Lilith didn’t collapse.

She didn’t gasp.

But her soul flinched.

Not from pain.

But from scale.

From understanding how small even the greatest of queens truly was compared to that.

She stood in the silence.

Her breath is slow.

Her posture was steady.

But her hands curled just slightly tighter.

Not in fear.

In awareness.

Because whatever had just spoken-whatever had echoed through her-was not for her to carry.

Not yet.

And now, as she stood between two shelves-one marked by history, the other by a truth too raw to name-she understood something she had never put into words.

The Vault didn’t just contain knowledge.

It protected it.

It preserved the truths that shaped reality itself.

And some truths… Refused to be spoken to.

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