Chapter 10 - An Explorer..

Ignis Point of View:

As carriage rattled over the cobbled streets, Ignis sat in the shadows, his sharp gaze focused on the distant silhouette of the Cathedral. It loomed like a silent sentinel against the waning light, its spires cutting into the lowering sky like jagged fingers of a long-forgotten god.

The pale glow of the street lamps flickered, casting long shadows across the path, and the low hum of the city seemed to fade as the carriage journeyed deeper into the fog.

There was something in the air, a tension, a whisper of a deeper truth that refused to reveal itself. Ignis had always been accustomed to secrets, to the weight of unspoken things.

The stillness inside the carriage was suffocating, the only sound being the rhythmic clatter of the horse's hooves on the stone road. Ignis adjusted his coat, the fabric swishing softly as he leaned back, staring into the gloom outside. His thoughts drifted to the symbols Fort had uncovered in Azzel's office.

But the more he thought about it, the more the symbols seemed to mock him, as though they had been placed there deliberately for him to find, yet withheld their meaning.

His fingers curled around the handle of his Revolver, a comforting, tangible reminder of his control. A control that, in moments like these, seemed more fragile than ever.

The carriage slowed as it approached the Cathedral gates. Ignis looked up at the towering structure, its weathered stone walls bathed in the faint glow of the lanterns that lined the perimeter. The doors, massive and ornate, stood open, an invitation into the heart of the place. He could already see the silhouettes of figures moving within—priests, scholars, and those who sought knowledge of things better left unknown.

The driver pulled the carriage to a stop, the sound of the wheels grinding to a halt echoed in the still night air. Ignis stepped out, his boots clicking softly against the stone ground. The weight of the evening pressed down on him like a heavy cloak, and as he moved toward the entrance, a chill ran down his spine.

The Cathedral, with its labyrinthine halls and echoing chambers, had always been a place of both solace and unease. The priests, well-versed in the old rites, kept their secrets close. But Ignis knew they could not remain silent forever. Not when the symbols from Azzel's office had already begun to ripple through the undercurrent of the city.

Inside, the grand hall stretched before him, the high arches of the ceiling lost in the shadowed distance. The flickering candles cast long, wavering shadows, and the air was thick with the scent of incense and old parchment. Ignis moved through the corridors with purpose, his footsteps a whisper against the marble floors, his mind racing ahead.

He was met by Father Maros, an elder priest whose sharp eyes had seen much, and whose silence often spoke louder than words. His thin lips curled into a knowing smile as Ignis approached.

"Ignis.. You've returned," Maros said, his voice low but carrying a weight of something unspoken. "The burden is heavier now, isn't it?"

Ignis didn't answer immediately. He only nodded, his gaze sweeping over the dimly lit sanctuary. The Father had always been cryptic, his words more often riddles than answers.

"The symbols Fort found," Ignis began, his voice low and steady, "I need to know if anyone here can interpret them."

Maros smile before answering. " show Rhea, she can handle it. Or at least she knows someone who can decipher or trace the origin of this symbol."

Maros' words were detached, almost indifferent, as if the matter at hand was too trivial for his mind to linger on. His eyes were closed, his lips moving without emotion.

But Ignis did not indulge in words. He did not wait, did not hesitate. His steps were sharp, decisive. There was no room for doubt in him, no lingering questions. Without a glance back, he moved deeper into the cathedral, passing Maros with a fluidity that suggested the world itself had bent around him.

Maros watched him go, a faint, knowing amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. "Still in such a hurry," he murmured softly, his voice low enough that even the stone walls of the Cathedral could not carry the words. His eyes followed Ignis with an understanding that bordered on pity, a smile that never quite touched his eyes.

Ignis quickened his pace, his footsteps echoing through the grand hall like the ticking of a clock—steady, relentless.

The Cathedral's imposing presence seemed to press down on him, its stone walls whispering the weight of centuries. Distant voices of nuns murmured in the background, faint and indistinct, like the remnants of a forgotten song.

"Evening services have dwindled recently…" a voice whispered, uncertain.

"Must be because of that recent murder… Azzel," came the reply, heavier, touched with a hint of fear.

"true…" a third voice agreed, their words blending into a hum that seemed to thicken the air.

The conversation barely registered in Ignis' mind. His steps carried him further, deeper into the Cathedral's winding corridors, until he finally arrived at the statue of Revalus.

The key was already in his hand.

Cold, familiar metal—a reassuring weight. He inserted it into the hidden lock, turning it three times to the right, then two to the left. The motions were practiced, almost ceremonial, as if the turning itself was a prayer.

The statue shifted, and a faint, almost imperceptible sound echoed as the stone door slid open, revealing the dark passage beyond.

Ignis took a deep breath, steadying himself before stepping into the shadowed passage. The air grew colder, the darkness deeper. The flickering light from the grand hall barely reached this hidden corner of the Cathedral. He moved cautiously, his revolver still resting comfortably in his hand, senses heightened, alert to every creak of stone beneath his boots, every whisper of his own breath.

The passage stretched ahead, narrow and winding, the scent of ancient dust filling his nostrils.

Ignis' pulse quickened, but his expression remained neutral. He had dealt with far worse than this.

At the end of the passage, a faint light flickered beneath a heavy wooden door. His hand hovered over the door handle, a brief flash of hesitation crossing his mind.

He had been here before. Always under the watchful eyes of the priests.

He pushed the door open.

Inside, the air in the room was thick with a kind of weight, the kind that only time and history could bestow. The scent of paper and ink clung to everything, and the walls, lined with shelves upon shelves of ancient texts, seemed to hum with the knowledge they contained, waiting—patiently—for someone willing to unlock their secrets.

In the center of it all stood Rhea, her presence as much a part of this world of dust and ink as the books themselves. She was still, her focus drawn entirely to the heavy tome in her hands, the pages turning with deliberate care.

She had an intensity about her—an almost reverent devotion to the written word—as if each page she touched was both a treasure and a puzzle. Her eyes, sharp and perceptive, glinted with the light of someone who had spent years not just studying history, but living within it, breathing life into the past with every turn of a page.

Ignis stood at the threshold of the room, his gaze sharp, as he watched her. There was no rush in his movements, no urgency to disturb the quiet ritual that had consumed Rhea for what seemed like a lifetime. To interrupt her would be to risk shattering the delicate balance of concentration she maintained. Instead, he remained there, silent and patient, as if the air itself demanded that he respect the moment.

Rhea, however, was not unaware of his presence. She sensed him the way one might sense a change in the atmosphere, a shift in the very fabric of the world around them. Without looking up from her book, she spoke, her voice calm, yet carrying an undertone of knowing—of familiarity with the shadow that lingered just beyond the surface.

"You've arrived," she said, her tone as smooth and steady as the turning of the pages in her hands. "I can't help you...."

Ignis did not respond immediately. His eyes wandered over the bookshelves, the countless volumes that seemed to stretch on forever.

The air was thick with history, with forgotten knowledge, and he could feel it pressing in on him. He had heard whispers of the vastness of this place, but standing in its presence—feeling the weight of all that had come before—was a different thing entirely.

He had come here for answers, but what he would find, he was unsure. The symbols he had been given were no ordinary markings. They were something far older, far deeper. And he needed to understand them. To trace their origin.

"I've been given something," Ignis finally spoke, his voice measured, yet edged with frustration. He kept his tone controlled, though beneath the surface, there was a flicker of urgency. "Symbols. I need them deciphered. Perhaps you... or someone you know can trace where they come from."

Rhea's eyes flickered toward him, sharp and discerning. Her fingers paused on the spine of the book before she closed it gently, the faintest of thuds breaking the silence. She regarded him with a look that suggested she was already piecing together the weight of his request, already sifting through the fragments of the unknown that surrounded him.

"Symbols," she repeated, her voice taking on a thoughtful cadence.

Ignis took a step back from the table, his fingers lingering for a moment on the edge of the obsidian shard.

The faint tremor in his hand betrayed his composure, but he suppressed it with a steady breath, exhaling as though to clear his mind of the turbulence that threatened to overtake him.

With deliberate slowness, he turned away, the weight of the room pressing down on him with an unfamiliar intensity. "I'll leave you to it," he said, his voice quieter than usual, a near whisper that hung in the air like a fragile thread. He was careful not to disturb the delicate balance, as if speaking louder might disrupt the very fabric of the silence that enveloped them.

Rhea, engrossed in the strange symbols that lay sprawled across the table, did not look up immediately. Her hand was already reaching for her tools—brushes, ink, magnifying lens—a practiced dance of motion that suggested she was attuned to the flow of some unseen current.

She moved with a precision that spoke of a mind accustomed to unraveling mysteries, yet her eyes, wide and burning with something like hunger, betrayed the undercurrent of something far deeper.

"Take your time, Ignis," she murmured, her voice thick with anticipation. Her fingers hovered over the shard, tracing the shifting patterns with reverence, almost as though she were afraid to break the fragile connection between herself and the knowledge it contained. "This… this is something rare. You don't even know what you've given me."

Her tone was rich with excitement, her usual calm demeanor replaced by an almost frantic energy. The symbols before her seemed to respond in kind, twisting and turning under her gaze as though alive, eager to reveal their secrets.

She leaned forward, her breath quickening as she pressed closer to the fragment, her eyes locked in an almost obsessive trance.

Each delicate stroke of the ink seemed to pull her further into a labyrinth of forgotten truths, pulling Ignis's attention into the swirling currents of her fascination.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a quiet acknowledgement of the fire that burned so brightly within her. But he made no move to stay. This was her realm now—the realm of ancient knowledge, symbols that held the weight of forgotten ages.

His footsteps echoed in the stone hall as he made his way toward the door, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness. Rhea was already lost in her work, murmuring to herself in excitement, her words indistinct as they blended with the rhythmic scratching of ink on parchment. She was on the cusp of something—something he could not quite touch, a world that was hers alone to navigate.

As Ignis reached for the door, his hand brushing against the cold brass, Rhea's voice called out to him, sharp and eager, still thick with the thrill of discovery.

"Ignis," she said, her eyes never leaving the symbols, her voice a blend of certainty and fervor, "I'll have a full report for you by tomorrow. I'm confident I can trace the origins of this... or at least uncover something that will lead us to it. You won't have to wait long."

Her words were quick, the undertone of excitement unmistakable, but the precision in her tone betrayed a mind already deep in the process of deduction. She lifted her gaze for a fleeting moment, her eyes glimmering with a spark that could only come from the thrill of a revelation just out of reach.

"I'll make sure it's thorough," she added, her smile widening slightly, before her attention was once again consumed by the intricate dance of symbols before her. "I know how important this is."

Ignis gave a single, slight nod, the faintest curve of approval crossing his lips. His voice was measured, calm, yet there was an undercurrent of quiet assurance in his words. "I'll be here." There was no need to say more. Trust, a quiet, implicit thing between them, hung in the space between his words and the finality of his departure.

With that, he stepped away from the threshold, the door clicking softly behind him, as if the weight of the world shifted with the subtle motion.

Rhea, left in the silence of the room, let her focus tighten. The symbols on the obsidian shard seemed to pulse, as if responding to her presence. A low hum filled the air—unheard, but felt in the marrow of her bones.

She could already feel the pull of understanding drawing her in, a faint sense of purpose weaving its way through the labyrinth of unknowns. The path, though veiled in shadow, was beginning to illuminate under her touch.