Behind The Dust

I lay my body slowly on the bed, letting the weight of today disappear swallowed by the silence of the night. Only the dim light from a candle on the corner of the table dared to penetrate the darkness of the room, my loyal friend in silence.

That gaze.

A gaze that continued to haunt my mind. Not a gaze into the eyes… no. I felt him staring at my necklace. Something about the way he looked made me feel strange, like there was a hidden intention.

"Does this necklace hold something bigger than I thought?"

I muttered softly, then shook my head.

"I don't think so."

I tried to find a more reasonable explanation. Maybe it was just a coincidence. But… that parade, and the people in religious clothes surrounding it… they felt strange.

In the past three years I had helped my uncle trade in the market, I had never seen a parade like that.

And now, at the age of fifteen, this was the first time I had heard or even realized the existence of such a religious group.

I lacked information. Even basic things like what a church actually was felt foreign to me.

My uncle always avoided such topics. Silence. Changing the subject. Even my aunt seemed hesitant when I asked.

"Then… I have to find it myself."

I got up from the bed, slowly. My feet touched the cold wooden floor, making me shiver a little. I grabbed the candle from the small table beside the bed, its flame still burning dimly, the only light in the thick night.

Carefully, I opened the bedroom door silently. The candlelight writhed slowly, creating moving shadows along the quiet hallway of the house.

My steps were directed to the old door at the end of the hall the door to the storage room in the house, where my aunt had said they kept old things. The handle creaked slightly when I opened it, but not loud enough to wake anyone.

My aunt had said that this storage room kept old things, including some books from my father and grandfather.

But… she also said that the books were not for reading, only for storage.

"Maybe… one of them contains something about the church."

I opened the storage room door slowly. The hinges creaked, the sharp sound piercing the silence of the night. The smell of dust and old wood wafted out, making me cough a little. I stepped inside, lighting the room with a candle in hand.

Behind the door, a small, damp room greeted me. The walls were made of rough planks that smelled of dust and old wood. Several crates, shabby sacks, and piles of stuff were arranged untidily. I stepped inside, ducking so that the candle flame would not be extinguished by the thin wind that slipped through the gaps in the boards.

There… in the corner of the room, was an old oak chest, covered in thick dust. Its color was dull, almost blending in with the darkness of the room, but it was clear enough under the dim light of the candle I brought.

I walked slowly, then crouched in front of the chest. Carefully, I placed the candle on the floor beside me, making sure the flame was steady and did not touch anything flammable.

The light shone on the rough, scratched surface of the chest. My hand reached out, touching the lid. Cold, dusty, and heavy with an eerie old feel.

My eyes fell on an old iron padlock hanging on the front. It was blackish in color, full of rust, looked fragile but still sturdy enough to deter anyone who wanted to open it by force.

"Lock?"

I mumbled, approaching and touching it. It was cold and rough. I tried to shake it, but it didn't budge.

I stopped in my tracks.

"I need… a key."

I took a deep breath. The problem was, the key… must be with my uncle. And if he found out I was messing around in this storeroom, I could get a good scolding.

But…

My uncle was forgetful sometimes. He often tucked things in unexpected places behind the wall clock, in the kitchen drawer, even under the chair cushions.

"Maybe… the key is hidden somewhere I can find it."

I stood up slowly, looking around the dim storeroom. Dust billowed softly in the air. Maybe I should go back inside the house, look for it.

Or… maybe there was another way to open this lock, without making a lot of noise?

I touched the old lock again. The metal was cold, rusty, but still sturdy. I knew this was no ordinary lock. My uncle might not realize it, but it still worked.

"If only I knew the key—"

I suddenly remembered something. Among all the little lessons I had heard from the people in the market, one of them had mentioned a simple unlocking spell. Not high magic, just a cheap trick that small-time thieves or traveling magicians would use.

But sometimes, cheap tricks can save the day.

I raised my hand slowly, then placed my index finger on the bottom of the lock, whispering softly:

"Lūmen Clavis." I whispered softly, hesitantly.

With two fingers, I touched the rusty bottom of the lock. I took a breath, trying to calm my mind. I closed my eyes and imagined the shape of the key: its curve, the thin metal slightly bent at the end, the small teeth that fit into the gap in the lock.

Slowly, my fingertips began to feel warm… then tingling. A subtle sensation spread from the base of my fingers to my wrist. A soft, pale blue light flowed faintly along my skin, barely visible.

A barely audible click came from the lock.

I opened my eyes. The lock moved slowly, then fell to the ground with a soft clink.

I looked down at my hand. There was still a faint glow there, and the tingling had not gone away.

"… did it work?"

I smiled slightly, though my heart beat a little faster. A small miracle… but it felt like a great accomplishment.

Now with the chest no longer locked, I slowly opened it carefully, as quietly as possible, trying not to let any creaking sounds come from the old wooden hinges.

Sure enough. Inside the old chest, there were several old books covered in thick dust. I picked up one of them, a leather-bound book that looked weathered by time. With a soft exhale, the dust flew, revealing the surface of the blank cover, without a title, without a name.

"Maybe this is a journal… or a personal diary," I murmured softly.

I opened the first page. Handwriting filled the first page, slanted letters that were a little hard to read because of the fading ink. But I could still make out most of it.

"…They came in white lines, their faces covered by holy masks. They were no ordinary guards, but 'The Glue of Faith' emissaries of the church from the Fourth Tower. There was something older than this church itself, something they guarded with whispers, not words. The necklace… I had seen it in an illustration in my mentor's forbidden folio. Its symbol was no mere decoration."

My brow furrowed. Necklace?

Reflexively, my hand went to the object hanging around my neck. The metal was still as cold as ever. But for some reason, it felt a little heavier tonight. Or maybe it was just my mind.

"Ah, maybe it's a coincidence," I whispered, not sure.

There were many necklaces in this world. The writing could have referred to another necklace. Anyone's necklace.

But… the gazes of the guards this afternoon, which felt piercing as if they were not looking at me, but piercing straight through this thing. There was something that had been bothering me since then, and reading this only added to it.

I continued reading, page after page, the deeper I delved into the writings in the journal, the more I found notes about symbols, rituals, even a rough map to a place called the "Sanctum Primaris."

There was something hidden, something that history had tried to bury deep within.

The deeper I delved into the writings in the book, the more my thoughts became lost in each sentence. Line after line seemed to lead me into a world I had never heard of before about silent guardians, ancient symbols, and something only called the "Guardian of Light."

The fading ink seemed to hide a secret that did not want to be revealed. But I kept reading. I opened page after page with fingers that began to tremble, whether because of the cold or because of feelings I could not explain. My heart beat fast, and I did not realize how much time had passed.

Until—

Tap. Tap.

A footstep sounded behind me. Soft, but clear enough amidst the silence of the night and the creaking of the old wood of this warehouse.

I immediately froze.

The back of my neck stiffened, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. That voice... those footsteps... weren't mine. I slowly turned my head, my body shaking slightly in surprise.

Then a familiar voice sounded.

"Alfonso?"

I knew that voice. But in this situation, with an open book in my hand and an old chest being opened in the middle of the night, even a familiar voice could feel like a ghost.

I froze for a moment, my breath catching. But the tone of that voice... I knew it.

It was my uncle's voice.