Stone Walls, Locked Gates

The streets of Oria's inner ring always seemed too clean. The stone pathways were polished by generations of foot traffic, and banners in soft church hues hung from brass hooks between buildings. The scent of fresh bread and copper ink drifted through the air, sharper and stranger when you came from smoke-stained alleys and the stink of boiled rags.

Koda stood just outside the Guild of Shields, the largest structure in this part of Oria, second only to the central church. Its facade was flanked by towering statues of armored warriors, each holding a halberd and a shield inscribed with the symbol of The Divine Shield—a sun split into four quarters, each one holding a different shape: a tree, a sword, a book, and a heart.

Inside, it was quieter than expected. The building swallowed sound with its thick carpets and high arched ceiling. Everything smelled like polish—wood oil and old steel. Even the air seemed to demand silence.

The reception desk stood near the entry hall, carved from black stone flecked with silver veins. Behind it sat a woman with sharp shoulders, hair pulled into a braided bun, and eyes like split granite. Her name-plate read: Elain, Gatekeeper.

She didn't look up when he approached.

"Name, patron alignment, and inquiry," she said flatly, fingers clacking against an arcane tablet.

"I'm Koda. Of Oria," he added after a pause. "I… I haven't received a patron alignment. Yet. But I was at the attack."

She looked up then, finally.

Her eyes narrowed.

"If you're unaligned, you shouldn't be in the ring. Guild information isn't open to civilians."

"I know," he said. "I'm just trying to understand. I fought—I helped stop the attack on the outer ring. There's a scar they said wasn't natural. I just want to know why."

"Then you can pray for clarity like the rest of the masses." Her fingers stopped moving. "Unless you're a sanctioned initiate, or marked under a recognized patron, you're not permitted to access guild resources or reports."

Koda felt the heat rising to his ears. He held it in.

"Thank you," he muttered, and turned to leave.

⸻

The Guild of Forgehands was next. Tucked between a row of functional buildings where smoke curled from every other chimney, it didn't look like much from the outside—just a wide iron door with no handle and a soft hum of machinery within.

The woman at the front desk was younger. Maybe early twenties. Round cheeks still marked by soot despite a well-fitted uniform, and curious gray eyes. Her nameplate: Telli, Apprentice-Scribe.

She offered a hesitant smile as he entered.

"Patron alignment and guild purpose?" she asked, not unkindly.

Koda explained again—who he was, that he had fought during the attack, that he suspected something unnatural about the portal.

Telli tilted her head, brows drawing in.

"I mean… you sound like you did good work," she said, clearly unsure. "But… if your patron's not on record, the Guildmaster won't authorize a report pull. Sorry."

Her eyes lingered for a moment longer.

Then, quieter: "You might try the Holy Library. They archive older data. Even pre-Sealing records."

⸻

The Librarium, sanctioned by the Church of the Divine Librarian, was nothing like the guild halls.

It was a temple of silence.

Built into a towering spire of dark blue stone, the entrance was marked by mirrored panels and etched silver lettering—thin script in the old celestial tongue that pulsed faintly in passing light.

Inside, light came from beneath the floors. It bathed the walls in a soft, unwavering glow that made everything seem carved from dream. Dozens of robed figures moved in silence, faces obscured by hoods that shadowed even their mouths.

The receptionist here was different.

An elderly man with near-translucent skin and eyes a clouded gold. His robes were so fine they seemed to float.

"Koda," the man read slowly from his crystal ledger. "Unaligned. Attempting access to classified awakening data, scar activity, and Guild records. Rejected from two prior inquiries."

The man didn't even look up. Just let the silence draw out.

Koda waited.

Finally, the man spoke.

"There is no patronless system. If you do not serve under the gifts of the Librarian, the Forger, the Shield, or the Mother—you are not awakened."

"But I am," Koda said, quieter this time. "I leveled. I killed. I awakened something."

The man closed the ledger.

"You carry error, not divinity. That is not the same."

⸻

Koda found himself standing on the steps outside the Library long after sunset, eyes dim, jaw tight. The stars had started to form. Oria's inner walls shimmered faintly with runework meant to keep out beasts and blessed dangers alike.

Every gate was sealed. Every answer, locked behind sanctioned names and official blessings.

He looked up at the tower.

It reflected no light.

Koda sat at the edge of a dry fountain just beyond the shadow of the Librarium's spire. The stone beneath him was cold, but not colder than the feeling pressing into his chest like a lead weight. The city around him had dimmed with the falling sun, leaving the sky stained in ash and violet, while lanterns began to flicker to life like watchful eyes above every storefront and archway.

For a long while, he said nothing. Thought nothing.

His hands sat between his knees, fingers digging slightly into his palms. He could still smell the burnt stone of the orphanage. Still see the streak of blood that had curved across the floor beneath Maia's feet. Her soft blue eyes, no longer trembling—but glowing.

She had ascended. Received a name. A path.

And yet, here he sat. Not a warrior. Not a guide. Not even rejected. Error. Not enough to understand. Not enough to be trusted.

Koda exhaled slowly and tilted his head toward the stars peeking through the haze. Even now, he wondered—was it really divinity in his veins? Could something divine be so… silent?

Then, a shift in the air.

Like a breath drawn from the stones.

He turned.

A figure stood at the mouth of the alley across from the square, hooded and utterly still. Not like someone caught in thought or waiting to cross a street—still in the way a statue is. Or a predator.

The cloak was deep black, old but heavy, trailing near the ground where its edges brushed against dust and faded cobblestone. As the figure stepped forward, the air around them didn't seem to move naturally. It pressed inward—compressed—like the space they occupied resisted being seen.

Koda rose to his feet instinctively, his hand brushing over his tunic. 

As the figure came into better light, Koda's eyes caught it—an emblem stitched onto the underside of the cloak's sleeve, near where a leather glove encased the left hand.

A single mark: a black handprint, inverted, fingers spread unnaturally wide.

The figure's face was cast in shadow beneath the hood, but what little skin was visible—wrists, the line of a cheek—was pale as porcelain and utterly without blemish. Not lifeless, not dead—immaculate in a way that made Koda's teeth itch.

They stopped a short distance away, saying nothing. No introduction.

Instead, they extended their gloved right hand and offered a folded piece of parchment, creased once down the center and sealed with wax that bore no symbol.

Koda hesitated.

The figure didn't move.

And so, heart skimming just below his ribs, Koda stepped forward and took it.

The moment he did, the figure turned.

No words. No sign of farewell. They walked back into the alley, shadow already claiming the space behind them. By the time Koda looked again—gone.

No footsteps. No trace.

He turned the parchment in his hand, the wax seal already cracking under his fingers. Slowly, he opened it.

Inside, written in tight, slanted script:

⸻

"To seek truth, the key is not belief, but clarity. The windows you knock upon were built to keep you out, not let you in.

Come to the edge of the Sleeping District, to the dead temple of the Hollow Grove. Midnight.

Only you."

⸻

There was no name.

Just beneath the last line, there was a sigil—faint, almost invisible at first. A circle carved through the parchment with such precision it hadn't pierced the other side. Not ink. Not pressed. Just missing.

A ring. Empty. Hollow.

Koda stared at it for a long time, the paper trembling slightly in his grip.

He did not understand the handprint. He did not know the Hollow Grove. And yet, the name—the feel of it—churned in the back of his mind like something long forgotten.

The Churches and the Guilds had closed their doors.

But something else had already opened one.