The tablet.

Nine glyphs encircling a wheel of memory. The same structure. Older than logic.

Aldric stepped forward, instinctively reaching out.

Veylor’s arm blocked him.

“Same rule. Hands off.”

He reached out.
Then hesitated.

Looked at Aldric.

“…No. You do it this time.”

Aldric blinked. “Why?”

Veylor’s eyes lingered on the glyphs.

Then the knight just shook his head.

“Call it instinct.”

Aldric stepped forward.

Then hesitated. “What happens when I touch it?”

“I don’t know.”

“…But you’ve used them before. You must know.”

“Wouldn’t that be convenient?”

Aldric rolled his eyes. “So we’re improvising.”

“We always do.”

Aldric laid a palm on the stone.

Nothing.

Or maybe something.

A flicker behind his eyes. The sensation of a room, of a presence. A memory just outside of language.

But no vision.

No clarity.

Just static.

“It’s not working.”

Veylor was already stepping closer.

He raised one hand and muttered:

“Let the wheel turn,
Let the names be remembered,
Let what is lost be read again.
Inanimate treasures of Sovereigns…
Open.”

And everything stopped.

[Memory Access – “CALVAIN: WARD 7 – UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY”]

Aldric stood in a room that wasn’t a room.

Stone walls. Cathedral windows. No roof. A sky that glitched like corrupted fabric hung overhead.

This was a memory space. Aldric had done this once, maybe twice.

A woman stood barefoot before him.

Not old. Not young. Her features were sharp. Ethereal. Skin dark-bronze. Lips split by a scar that never healed right. One eye was blind-white. The other gleamed like molten silver. Hair in a triple braid. Robes white, but scorched at the sleeves.

She turned.

Saw him.

Her expression flickered.

“...Didn’t expect you, of all people.”

Aldric blinked. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re Aldric Valen. Yes?”

He nodded.

“Then you’ll know.”

She stepped aside.

Behind her was an altar.
Resting on top: a black tome.

Gold filigree, old yet in good condition.

But what caught his eye was the golden emblem on its cover.

Aldric had seen that before.
Every scholar in the Dominion knew that emblem.

The High Archives of Soviras.

A book that should never have left the central rings.

She held it out to him.

Aldric reached.

The moment he touched it, he flinched.

His expression changed.

Recognition.

Handwriting on the inside cover. Notes in the margins. All too familiar. Too precise.

It was written by Kraus. The legendary researcher. The person who invented the Kraus scale. The cold genius that changed the world.

He closed it.

Gritted his teeth.

Looked at her.

Then at the tome.

“What is all this about?!”

He grabbed her wrist, hard.

“Who are you?! Why are you showing me this?!”

The woman didn’t flinch.

“I was the last Archivist. My name no longer matters.”

Aldric tightened his grip.

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“You’re the one who came,” she said simply. “I only kept what was left.”

“You knew him?” Aldric stared at the Archivist.

“I admired him. We all did. ‘Emotion is a flaw. Memory is the most unreliable tool we ever evolved.’”

Aldric said nothing, slowly releasing her wrist.

A pause.

She turned around, walked to the altar and pulled aside the curtain behind it, revealing a mural carved directly into the stone.

At first, it was blank.

Then color bled through.

A drawing.

A sun.
A cage.
A man inside the sun.
A sword through the cage.
A thousand chains descending.

Three figures stood before a burning cathedral.

One bore a broken wheel.
One held a sword made of glass.
The last simply stared at the sky, where nine halos were falling like executioner’s blades.

None of their faces had features.

But Aldric stared.

Like he was trying to recognize one anyway.

“They’re coming,” She muttered.

“The Vermals?”

“No.
The ones who knew what they were before the world was rebuilt.”

Then she reached forward and touched his forehead.

Light.

Pain.

Exit.

[Reality Restored]

Aldric collapsed backward.

Veylor caught him.

“You were out,” he said. “Ten seconds.”

“It felt longer.”

Aldric sat up, gasping.

Veylor stood guard, sword halfway raised.

“Something’s coming,” he muttered.

Then the walls cracked.

A Vermal breached.

It was huge.

“Voxchain. Kraus Rating 3.3.”

Bulked like a centipede made of bone. Eight limbs, two of which dragged behind. Its mouth wide, splitting its head horizontally. Vestigial eyes. Its skin was black-chitin, laced with hardened scar tissues.

But it didn’t attack.

It twitched, then spoke.

A voice forced from its throat like someone trying to sing through a mouth full of sand.

“Ald...ric... Va...len...”

Aldric stepped back, bile in his mouth.

“That’s not its voice,” he whispered.

“No,” Veylor said. “It’s being used.”

Aldric triggered Resonance.

“Hint.”

The world changed.

Every Vermal around them could be seen for a brief moment, even through obstacles.

And each one wore a halo.

Pink. Thin. Flat. Perfect circles. Lined with spikes turned inward.

Collars.

Bound, controlled, driven.

It twitched again. Raised one claw.

“…we... are... instructed... to... ob-ser...”

Its jaw shook. The voice inside flinched.

“No... don’t—”

Then its skull exploded.

The halo flared once, then vanished.

The corpse collapsed like a dropped puppet.

And then the rest came bursting in from every corner of the dark.