Archive of Whispers

Darkness surrounded him, thick and still, like a blanket made of dust and silence. Julius dropped lightly to the cold stone floor, knees bending as he landed. The air inside the Scriptorium was quiet, so different from the howling wind above. It smelled old, like dry paper, cracked bindings, and faint traces of dried ink, with a cool scent of stone beneath it all.

He stayed crouched for a long moment, listening. His own breathing sounded loud in the quiet. Outside, the wind moaned, a distant, lonely sound filtering through unseen cracks. No footsteps. No voices. For now, he was alone.

Getting to his feet felt like moving through deep water. Every tiny scrape of his worn tunic against the stone seemed to echo. He couldn't see anything beyond vague shapes in the deeper darkness. Shelves, he guessed, rows and rows of them, stretching away from him. This place felt bigger on the inside than it looked from the outside.

He needed light, but making a spark was too dangerous. The guards patrolled the walls, and even a tiny flicker might be seen through the narrow window slits or the hole he'd used to enter. He'd have to rely on touch, and whatever faint light might eventually filter down from the trapdoor or the entry hole as his eyes adjusted.

His mission pulsed beneath the fear: find maps. Find a way through Vorlag lands to the Sundered Peaks. And maybe… maybe find something about the 'echoes' the guards had mentioned. Something about fragments.

He reached out slowly, his fingers brushing against the rough edge of a wooden shelf. Dust coated everything, thick and soft like velvet. He moved along the shelf, his other hand trailing against the wall to keep his bearings. His fingertips met the smooth, cool cylinders of rolled scrolls, stacked tightly together. Then the hard, flat spines of bound books. There were so many. How could he possibly find what he needed in this blackness?

He remembered Elara's lessons. Be the stone. Quiet as dust. Feel nothing. He slowed his breathing, trying to push down the panic that threatened to bubble up. He needed to think like his father, Roric – practical, focused. Maps would be important, maybe kept separately? Larger scrolls, perhaps?

He moved deeper into the archive, following the rows of shelves. The layout felt like a maze. He turned a corner, bumping softly against another towering shelf. He froze, listening again. Only the wind. He continued his search, his hands becoming his eyes, feeling the different textures. Some scrolls were wrapped in leather, others tied with brittle string. Some books were massive, heavy things; others were thin pamphlets.

After what felt like an age, his searching fingers found something different. A section where the scrolls were noticeably larger, stored horizontally in cubbyholes rather than stacked vertically. Maps? He eased one out. It felt solid – thick, stiff, and weighty in his grip.

He couldn't see it, but it felt like a map. He carefully slid it back, making a mental note of the location. He needed to find the records first, the ones mentioning echoes or lineage, the things Lord Vorlag kept 'safe'.

Where would a paranoid lord keep his most sensitive records? Not just tossed on a shelf. He continued his exploration, moving towards what felt like the center of the tower room. Here, the shelves gave way to sturdy wooden cabinets with flat drawers. Locked? He ran his fingers along the edge of one drawer. A simple latch, not locked. He slid it open a tiny fraction. The sound was quiet, but to Julius, it seemed like a shout. He waited. Silence.

He pulled the drawer open further. Inside, more scrolls, but these felt different – thinner paper, bound in bundles. Ledgers? Reports? He lifted one bundle out carefully. It felt impossibly fragile. He couldn't risk trying to read it here in the dark. He tucked it securely inside his tunic, his heart pounding. It was a gamble, taking something, but it might hold the answers he desperately needed.

He tried another drawer. This one held flat, bound books. He ran his fingers over the cover of one. Leather, worn smooth with time. He pulled it out just enough to feel the pages. Thick paper, filled with dense writing, he could tell by the indentations under his fingertips. Could this be it? He hesitated. Taking one book was risky; taking two was pushing his luck.

But as his fingers rested on the worn leather cover, a new sensation started. Faint at first, almost undetectable beneath the cold fear and the thrum of his own heartbeat. It was a resonance. A subtle vibration, not in the air or the stone, but inside him. In the quiet emptiness Charon had called Animus Vacuus.

It was like the faint pull he'd felt towards the Sundered Peaks, but sharper, closer. Much closer. It wasn't coming from the book he was touching, but from somewhere nearby. Somewhere in this room.

He pushed the book back carefully and closed the drawer, his movements now driven by this strange new sensation. He turned slowly, trying to pinpoint the source. The feeling grew stronger as he faced a section of the stone wall between two tall cabinets. It seemed like plain wall, cold and solid under his touch. But the resonance was definitely coming from here. He felt it in the quiet space within him – a silent tune meant for him alone.

He ran his hands over the stones, feeling for cracks, for seams, for anything unusual. His fingers traced the lines of mortar, the rough texture of the ancient blocks. Then, near the floor, hidden in shadow even if there had been light, his knuckles brushed against a stone that felt… different. Smoother than the others, and subtly warmer, despite the chill of the room.

The feeling grew stronger. It pulsed gently, like a hidden heartbeat in the stone.

This was it. This was something connected. Connected to the fragments? To the Starborn?

He knelt, his breath catching in his throat. He traced the outline of the smooth stone. It wasn't loose, wasn't a hidden switch, as far as he could tell. It was just… a stone in the wall. But it felt alive in a way nothing else in this dusty archive did. It called to the emptiness inside him, a promise and a danger intertwined.

He remembered Charon's last words, the sacrifice made for him. Find the mirrored fragments! He remembered the Echo Witch's terror, her talk of shattered light and the Glass Knight following the void. This stone… it felt like a piece of that shattered light. A dormant echo.

He slowly reached out, his hand shaking. His fingers stopped just above the smooth, warm surface.

The air around it seemed to ripple, though he couldn't truly see it. The resonance within him grew stronger, a dizzying pull. Touching it felt like stepping off a cliff into the unknown. But he had to know. He had to understand. He was a fragment, and maybe, just maybe, this was another.

Taking a shaky breath, steeling himself against the unknown power humming just inches away, Julius reached forward to touch the stone.