CHAPTER 220: WHISPERS IN THE ARCHIVES

Chapter 216: Whispers in the Archives

A chime sounded, and the elevator doors slid open. But there was no attendant inside.

"PLEASE ENTER," a voice spoke from everywhere and nowhere. It was female, synthetic, and utterly devoid of inflection.

We stepped inside. There were no buttons. The elevator simply rose, accelerating with a smoothness that betrayed advanced gravity magic.

"That voice," I said, looking at the ceiling. "That’s Vena, isn’t it?"

"CORRECT, STUDENT WILSON," the voice replied instantly.

"I AM VENA. VIRTUAL ENFORCEMENT AND NAVIGATION ASSISTANT. I MANAGE THE ISLAND’S ENVIRONMENTAL AND DEFENSIVE SYSTEMS."

Leon jumped. "It talks back?"

"It’s a sentient construct," Eric explained, sounding knowledgeable.

"The William family archives mention it. A logic-core created by the Gnomes before their fall. It runs the grid."

The elevator opened onto the top floor.

We weren’t led into an office. We were led into a Control Room.

The walls were made of transparent glass, offering a 360-degree view of the sky. In the center of the room was a massive, holographic map of the island, rotating slowly.

Streams of data—mana consumption, wind velocity, traffic patterns—flowed like rivers of light.

Standing before the map, his back to us, was a tall figure.

He turned. Lord Cessias.

He was old, even for an elf. His face was lined with the weight of centuries, his hair a long, flowing mane of silver.

He wore robes of starlight-thread that shimmered with every movement. But his eyes were sharp, burning with an intelligence that felt younger than his body.

"Welcome," Cessias said. His voice was dry, like parchment rubbing together. "The Lion, the Eagle, and... the Anomaly."

He looked at me when he said the last word.

We bowed.

"Lord Cessias," Leon said. "Thank you for the invitation."

"Formalities are tedious," Cessias waved a hand. "Come. Look."

He gestured to the hologram.

"This is my city. A jewel held aloft by mana and will. Beautiful, is it not?"

"It is magnificent," Leon agreed.

"It is fragile," Cessias corrected.

He tapped the console. The hologram shifted, zooming in on the streets below. We saw the silver-armored guards patrolling—the Mana Knights.

"You admire the Knights?" Cessias asked, noting Eric’s gaze.

"They are efficient," Eric admitted. "Automated constructs. A-Rank combat capabilities. Tireless. Fearless. My father tried to buy the blueprints, but the Council refused."

"For good reason," Cessias said. "Look closer."

The hologram zoomed in on a single knight. It showed the inner workings—the complex runic circuitry beneath the armor. But there was something missing.

"Where is the core?" I asked. "Golems usually have a mana core in the chest."

Cessias smiled, a thin, sad expression. "Sharp eyes, Mr. Wilson. That is the secret. The Mana Knights have no internal cores."

He pointed to the spire we were standing in.

"They are wireless. They draw their power directly from the Central Grid, broadcasted from this tower. Vena controls them. Vena powers them. It allows for an army that requires no food, no rest, and no individual charging. Infinite stamina, as long as the city stands."

"That’s... incredible," Leon breathed.

"It’s a liability," I said quietly.

The room went silent. Eric looked at me like I was crazy. Leon looked worried.

Cessias turned his full attention to me. "Explain."

"Centralization," I said, looking at the hologram.

"If the Knights draw power from the Grid, and Vena controls the Grid... then they have a single point of failure. If the Spire is compromised, or if Vena is corrupted... the entire army shuts down. Or worse."

"Or worse," Cessias echoed. "They turn."

Eric frowned. "But the Spire is impenetrable. The wards are S-Class."

"Nothing is impenetrable," Cessias sighed. He walked over to the window, looking out at his city.

"I built this place to be a sanctuary. A heaven where the horrors of the surface could not reach. But peace breeds complacency. The Council believes we are untouchable. They believe Vena is infallible."

He turned back to us, his eyes hard.

"I invited you three here not to give you a tour, but to give you a warning. You are the strongest of your generation. You have faced demons in the Labyrinth. You know that safety is an illusion."

He walked up to me, placing a hand on my shoulder. His grip was surprisingly strong.

"Darkness does not need to break down the gate, Michael Wilson. Sometimes, it simply walks in through the front door, wearing a smile."

He released me.

"Enjoy the festival. Visit the library. Honor the heroes. But do not let your guard down. Not here. Not ever."

"WARNING," Vena’s synthetic voice interrupted, flashing red lights on the console. "MINOR MANA FLUCTUATION DETECTED IN SECTOR 4. HONOUR HALL PERIMETER."

Cessias glanced at the screen. "Vena?"

"ANALYSIS COMPLETE. PROBABLE CAUSE: RELIC RESONANCE. RECALIBRATING SENSORS. FLUCTUATION NORMALIZED."

Cessias frowned, staring at the screen for a second too long. "Just a relic acting up," he muttered, waving it off. "It happens when the mana density is this high."

But I felt a chill run down my spine.

Sector 4. The Honour Hall.

I caught Cessias’s eye. He seemed to dismiss it, trusting his system. But I knew better. Systems lied. Especially when someone was tampering with them.

"We should go," I said, bowing. "Thank you for the lesson, Lord Cessias."

As we rode the elevator down, Leon was buzzing with excitement about the tech.

Eric was silent, contemplating the strategic value of the knights.

But I was watching the floor numbers tick down, my mind racing.

Wireless power. Centralized control.

If the Cult seized Vena... they wouldn’t just take the city. They would turn the city’s greatest defenders into its executioners.

"I need to go to the Library," I said as the doors opened.

"The Library?" Leon asked. "Now? We’re supposed to meet the girls for dinner."

"You go ahead," I said, stepping out. "There’s something I need to check. History."

"Suit yourself," Eric scoffed. "More wisdom for the commoner."

I watched them walk away towards the luxury district. Then, I turned and sprinted towards the Grand Athenaeum.

The timeline was accelerating. I could feel it.

....

The Grand Athenaeum of Sky Island was less a library and more a fortress of knowledge.

It was a cavernous, multi-tiered hall filled with the smell of dry paper, old leather, and the ozone tang of preservation magic.

Books didn’t just sit on shelves here; they floated. Entire sections of the library drifted through the air on lazy mana currents, accessible only by stepping onto levitating platforms.

Silence was enforced not by librarians, but by Silencer Wisps—small, blue orbs that would zip over to anyone speaking above a whisper and suck the sound right out of their throat.

I navigated the floating aisles, my destination clear: The Restricted History Section.

Thanks to the "All-Access" pass Cessias had digitally transferred to our smartwatches, the golden barriers guarding the rear of the library dissolved as I approached.

I needed to know about the Horn of Behemoth.

In the game, the Horn was the catalyst. But why here? Why now?

I pulled a heavy tome titled Relics of the Second War from a shelf. I flipped through the pages, my [Quantum Analysis Mind] scanning the text faster than I could read.

...The Behemoth, a Demon Prince of the 4th Circle, fell at the Battle of Ash. Its horn was severed by Sword Saint Alaric. The horn retains a residual link to the Abyss, acting as a potential beacon for void energy...

"A beacon," I whispered. A Silencer Wisp buzzed near my ear warningly. I waved it away.

If they corrupt the Horn, they don’t need to open a gate manually. The Horn is the gate. It just needs a power source.

"Looking for light reading?"

I nearly dropped the book.

I spun around. Standing behind me, browsing a shelf on Theoretical Divinity, was Leon Lionheart.

"Leon," I breathed. "You scared me. I thought you went to dinner."

"I did," Leon said, pulling a book down. "But I couldn’t stop thinking about what Cessias said. About the darkness walking in through the front door."

He looked at me, his blue eyes serious. "You feel it too, don’t you? The tension."

"I do."

Leon sighed, leaning against the shelf. "My ancestor... Silars William. Eric’s great-uncle. He died in this city, you know. Or, that’s what the records say."

"I know."

"I found a journal entry here," Leon tapped the book he was holding. "From the Captain of the Guard at the time. He said Silars wasn’t killed by a demon. He said Silars went into the Honour Hall to pray... and the Flame turned black."

My grip on the book tightened. "Black?"

"Inverted," Leon corrected. "Corrupted Light. The Captain said Silars tried to stop something inside the Hall, something that was infecting the relics. They found his sword, but never his body."

Leon looked troubled. "Eric worships Silars. He thinks he died a hero’s death on the battlefield. If he knew his ancestor disappeared trying to stop a corruption inside the sanctuary..."

"It would break him," I finished.

"Or it would make him reckless," Leon said. He put the book back. "Whatever is happening, Michael... if you find something, tell me. We’re rivals, but we’re not enemies."

"I will," I promised.

Leon nodded and walked away, heading toward the theology section.

I watched him go. He was sharper than he let on. He sensed the plot, even if he couldn’t see the strings yet.

I turned back to my book, but a movement in the aisle across from me caught my eye.

It wasn’t a student. It was a figure in the white and gold robes of the High Temple. A priest.

He was standing in the section labeled Forbidden Rites.

He wasn’t reading. He was sliding a thin, black card into one of the books.

I narrowed my eyes, activating my scan.

[Target: High Priest (Unknown)]

[Mana Signature: Obscured.]

[Status: Suspicious.]

The priest turned, his movements fluid, almost serpentine. He glanced in my direction. I immediately pretended to be engrossed in my book, turning a page.

When I looked up again, he was gone.

I walked over to the shelf where he had been. I pulled the book he had tampered with.

The Architecture of Sky Island: Ventilation and Power Grids.

I opened it. Inside, tucked between pages detailing the mana-conduits beneath the Honour Hall, was a small slip of paper.

It wasn’t a bookmark. It was a schematic. A diagram of the Hero Flame’s pedestal, with several runic sequences circled in red ink.

And scribbled in the margin, in a script that hurt my eyes to look at:

The Vessel is ready. Midnight.

I slammed the book shut.

Midnight. Tonight.

They weren’t waiting for the festival. They were moving now.

I shoved the book back onto the shelf and turned to run. I had to get to the Honour Hall. I had to see if the Horn was already compromised.

As I sprinted out of the library, ignoring the indignant buzzing of the Silencer Wisps, I checked the time.

11:40 PM.

I had twenty minutes before the ’Vessel’ was ready.

I burst out of the Athenaeum into the cool night air of Sky Island. The streets were empty, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlamps.

Far ahead, the golden dome of the Hero Honour Hall glowed against the stars.

"Vacation’s over," I muttered, breaking into a run.

I activated [Swift Step], blurring through the streets.

I didn’t know who the High Priest was. I didn’t know how many of them there were.

But I knew one thing.

If that Horn woke up, Sky Island was going to fall.

And I was the only one who knew the countdown had started.

(To be Continued)