She was dragging Prometheus deep into the heart of the building. Night had fallen outside, and unseen creatures roamed the deserted streets, claws clicking, flesh slithering and rasping. She could make out their rancid odor: they smelled like crocodiles.

Zephaniah discovered a room deep in the heart of the library. The unusually tall doors were locked, but a section of the glass wall close to the floor was missing. In ages past, an earthquake must have rocked the city and a section of the floor given way; the wall’s glass blocks had shifted and pulled apart, creating a wide gap.

She crawled through the opening and pulled her brother into the safety of the room just as the monsters surged into the building above. She could hear them hissing and snapping, could hear the sound of clay shattering.

When she straightened, the room instantly lit up with a soft milky glow. The walls were empty-though they must have once held countless books-and all that remained in the center of the room was a crystal skull on a plinth of polished metal.

Zephaniah watched as light flickered through the skull and it started to pulse, and she discovered that it was beating in time with her heart.

And then it spoke to her…

And its revelations were terrifying.

Sophie knew what the skull was, knew its origins and its powers.

This was Archon technology, and they had created the skulls based on even older knowledge. The Witch had spent centuries searching for artifacts just like it, and when she’d found them, she had destroyed them utterly. She had erased countless millennia of knowledge, burning vast caches of metal books; melting into slag the ancient objects and artifacts that looked like swords, spears and knives; shattering crystal balls and grinding fabulous jewels to powder. Zephaniah had spent fortunes-several fortunes-in search of the Archon skulls. They were impossible to break, impervious to blade or tool, but she had finally discovered that she could destroy them by tossing them into the mouths of active volcanoes, where they were swallowed by the molten lava. Once she had rid the world of as many magical objects as she could find, the Witch had set about killing the storytellers who kept alive the memories of the Archons and the Earthlords who had come before them.

But all that had come later.

Much later.

After the Fall of Danu Talis.

After she had realized just how dangerous the skulls truly were.

“Sophie?” Perenelle leaned forward, eyes fixed on the girl’s face. “We need your aura. Put your hand on the skull.”

Sophie shook her head, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement.

The Sorceress blinked in surprise. “Do you-or rather, does the Witch-know anything about the crystal skull?”

Sophie looked into the Sorceress’s eyes and slowly and deliberately shook her head. Instinct-or was it the Witch’s knowledge?-made her lie: “No,” she said.