The stairs creaked under my boots as I padded down from the room, with Glint perched on my shoulder like some noble scout surveying his new domain. He sniffed the air halfway down and gave a pleased little chirp that vibrated through my collarbone.
Breakfast.
The scent hit me properly a second later—rich and smoky, with the kind of sizzling, greasy promise that made my stomach give a hopeful little please-feed-me lurch.
The common room was already half full. Locals, travelers, a couple of off-duty guards nursing mugs of something stronger than tea. But my eyes went straight to the far table, where my group had already claimed a corner and most of the available food.
Thorne was the first to spot me. She lifted her mug in greeting, one eyebrow raised. “Look who decided to wake up.”
I smirked as I slid into the empty seat beside her. “Tried to sleep in, but someone kept nibbling my ear.” I reached up and gave Glint an absent scratch behind the ears. He let out a delighted huff, then promptly leaped down to the table and started stalking the bacon tray like a tiny furry bandit.
Calla didn’t even look up from her plate. “If he takes my sausage, I’m polymorphing him into a pigeon.”
Garrick chuckled, already halfway through his second helping. “Then we’ll have to deal with flying food theft. That might be worse.”
“I’d like to see him try it,” Thorne said dryly, watching Glint with mock seriousness.
Glint, for his part, batted a piece of toast off the edge of the platter and looked far too pleased with himself.
I grabbed a plate, loaded up with eggs, crispy strips of bacon, and something I was pretty sure was supposed to be sausage. As soon as I sat back down, the conversation picked up again.
“So,” Calla said between bites, brushing a crumb from her robe, “we should talk plans. If we’re going to be here for a while, we need a clear idea of where we’re headed today.”
“Supplies first,” Garrick said around a mouthful. “I need to restock oil, polish, and pick up a set of bracers that don’t look like they were forged by drunk goblins.”
Thorne nodded. “I want to check the bounty board. See if there’s anything local we can knock out quickly—gold’s not gonna last forever.”
Calla gave her a look. “You want to do something fast and easy?”
“Fast, easy, and paid,” Thorne corrected, pointing at her with a fork. “That last one’s the important bit.”
“And what about you, Felix?” Calla asked, turning to me. “Any pressing mysteries you want to chase today?”
I stabbed a piece of egg and pushed it around my plate for a second, suddenly less hungry.
“I think I’m gonna head to the Archives today,” I said casually, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
That got their attention.
Thorne looked up first, her brow creasing just slightly. Calla paused mid-chew. Garrick set his mug down with a quiet thunk.
“I want to see if I can find anything on… portals no one else can see,” I continued, meeting their eyes one at a time. “Or artifacts that level up. I’ve been flying blind with this thing, and it’d be nice to know I’m not completely losing it.”
There was a pause. Not a dramatic one, but noticeable. Like I’d reminded them all of something they’d half-forgotten.
Right. Felix’s weird system stuff.
Garrick gave a slow nod, thoughtful. “Might be smart. If you’re gonna find your answers, it’d be in the Grand Archives.”
Thorne leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “Just don’t draw too much attention, yeah? If you’re the only one who can see those portals, odds are someone else would really like to know why.”
“I know,” I said. “I won’t poke anything I can’t unpoke.”
Calla dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, then stood, slinging her satchel over one shoulder. “I’ll come with you.”
I blinked. “Wait—really?”
She gave a small shrug. “I’ve got something I want to look into too. And the Archives are huge. Two heads are better than one.”
I tried to play it cool. “Sure. Yeah. That’d be great.”
The idea of wandering a giant, mana-soaked labyrinth of ancient knowledge alone had felt like an impossible task. At least with Calla there, I wouldn’t have to get lost alone.
“Oh—and while you’re both digging around,” Thorne added, stabbing her sausage with a bit more force than necessary, “maybe figure out who that weird book belongs to. You know, the sealed one we found in that waterlogged death trap?”
Calla nodded, already reaching for her satchel. “Good idea. It was clearly important. And cursed objects probably shouldn’t stay in our inventory forever.”
“It’s not cursed,” I said quickly.
Glint, currently attempting to steal toast off Garrick’s plate, let out a sneeze that somehow sounded skeptical.
Calla raised a brow. “We don’t know what it is, Felix.”
“I mean, it hasn’t killed us. Yet.”
“That’s a low bar,” Thorne muttered.
Garrick grunted. “Still worth looking into. Could be worth something. Could be dangerous.”
I sighed and shoved my plate aside. “Alright. Portals, artifacts, and mysterious sealed tomes. Sounds like a relaxing research trip.”
Calla grinned. “Best kind.”
 
The streets outside the inn were already pulsing with morning life—vendors shouting over one another, children weaving through legs with enchanted pinwheels, and the distant ring of steel-on-steel as duels kicked off in one of the sparring courts. Sunlight caught on the high banners strung between rooftops, throwing patches of color across the cobbles like spilled paint.
We stepped out together, the whole group in that half-awake, slow-start to the day kind of way. Thorne adjusted her shoulder guard, glanced down one alley, and muttered, “I’m checking out that gear shop we passed yesterday. If that pawn shop still has the Emberstrike card in the window, it’s mine.”
Garrick grunted. “I’m headed to the forge district. Gonna see if I can trade for something with fewer dents and scratches.”
He nodded to me and Calla, gave Glint a little salute, and lumbered off into the crowd, already scanning for hammer signs. Thorne vanished the other way, boots clicking with purpose.
And then it was just the two of us.
Me and Calla. Oh, and Glint too—who was currently perched on my shoulder like a smug little backpack.
“So,” I said, adjusting my bag. “Archives?”
“Archives,” she echoed, with a small smile. “We’ll need to go two tiers up. The outer ring’s all commerce and low-tier lodging. Once we move up a couple of districts, we’ll be in government and guild territory.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Only if you insist on doing something you shouldn’t,” she deadpanned, giving Glint a pointed look. He yawned in response.
We started walking together, slipping into the stream of foot traffic that moved like a living river. Calla handled it like she’d been born in it—light on her feet, shoulders squared, gaze ahead.
She paused at a split in the road and steered us left, up a wide staircase carved into the bones of the city wall. Decorative runes shimmered faintly across the stone—passive enchantments to ease the climb, though I still felt the burn in my calves.
“The Archives sit right at the spine of the city,” Calla said, her tone shifting into that scholarly cadence she slipped into when she was in her element. “Built on old-world ruins. Most of it’s open to the public, but the deeper levels require clearance—or sponsorship.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You think we’ll need that?”
“Depends what you’re looking for.” She gave me a side glance. “And how dangerous it is.”
I didn’t answer that.
Because even as the noise of the market faded behind us and the air grew heavier with old magic and stone, the pulse of the orb in my pocket began to return. Faint. Familiar.
And ahead of us?This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
A tower like no other loomed above the skyline, windows glowing faintly with shifting runes.
The Maldon Archives.
Knowledge built like a fortress.
And—if I was lucky—answers.
 
The main hall was enormous. Vaulted ceilings painted with constellations I didn’t recognize, pillars carved with runes and phrases in at least six languages, and rows upon rows of shelves so tall they needed ladders just to reach the second tier. Light spilled from floating orbs overhead, shifting hues every hour to match the natural sun, and the entire place thrummed with the kind of silence that wasn’t empty so much as… listening.
Calla took a deep breath, like she was breathing for the first time. “Still smells like spell-ink and old parchment.”
“Smells like stress,” I muttered.
She smirked, but didn’t argue.
We signed in at the central desk—well, Calla did. I mostly nodded and tried not to look too suspicious—and a robed attendant handed us a pair of rune-engraved pendants on thin cords. “Temporary access tokens,” they explained. “Don’t lose them, don’t enchant them, and don’t throw them at anyone unless you’re being murdered.”
I stared. “That’s… oddly specific.”
The attendant blinked. “It wouldn’t be the first time it was useful advice.”
Once we were cleared, we stepped into the main archive proper, and even Glint sat still on my shoulder, eyes wide. It was a maze of corridors and reading alcoves, magical indexing systems, and whole sections that shimmered faintly with privacy enchantments.
Calla turned to me and adjusted the strap on her satchel. “I’m heading to the ancient spellcraft wing.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Looking into…?”
She hesitated. Just for a second. Then shook her head gently. “Later.”
I nodded. “Alright. Good luck.”
“You too.”
And then she was gone—vanishing between stacks like a ghost with a to-do list. Glint gave a soft chirp and curled tighter against my neck.
I turned toward the nearest assistant. “Where would I find records on anomalous portals, artifact behavior, or system glitches?”
The man blinked. “That’s quite a specific request.”
“I have specific needs.”
The hours dragged.
At first, I had hope.
The shelves were endless. The archivists helpful—at least in the way cats are helpful, which is to say they directed me vaguely and then judged my choices. I set up camp at one of the study alcoves near the back, spreading out books like I was building a barricade against everyone else.
And then I started reading.
One volume was entirely about portal aesthetics—“The Color Theory of Thresholds.” Useless.
Another explained, in exhausting detail, why artifacts couldn’t gain levels independently. I beg to differ.
A third just screamed at me when I opened it. Literally. Glint nearly fell off my shoulder. We didn’t open that one again.
I read. I skimmed. I groaned. At one point I slumped forward, head buried in a book titled System Irregularities and Known Anomalies, and whispered into the pages, “Come on. Just one thing. One breadcrumb.”
Nothing.
No mention of glitched portals. No references to leveling artifacts. Nothing that made me feel less like I was going insane.
Glint hopped down and curled at my feet with a huff, tail twitching like even he was annoyed at the lack of progress.
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing at my eyes, surrounded by scrolls and half-open tomes and at least three notebooks filled with question marks and expletives.
This was what chasing the truth felt like, apparently.
Paper cuts and headaches and a slowly fraying sense of reality.
And the worst part?
The silence around me wasn’t quiet anymore.
It was watching.
Waiting.
Like something here already knew the answers.
And was making sure I couldn’t find them.
 
I was just about to give up when an attendant drifted past my alcove—a tall guy with ink-stained sleeves, a clipboard, and the weary gait of someone who had catalogued one too many scrolls on magical mildew.
I hesitated for half a second, then waved him down.
“Hey, uh—sorry. Quick question?”
He stopped mid-step and turned, eyebrows raised, like I’d just asked him to recite the history of the city. “Yes?”
I held up one of the more questionable tomes. Half its title faded to smudges. “Have you ever come across anything—anything at all—about magical items that level up on their own? Not enchanted to grow stronger, not tied to the user’s stats—just… level up. Like a Chosen.”
His expression shifted almost instantly.
Not disbelief. Not confusion.
Amusement.
He let out a sharp little laugh. “Oh stars, not this again.”
I blinked. “Again?”
“Let me guess,” he said, leaning on a nearby shelf. “You found a dusty ring that whispered secrets? A sword that gains XP if you polish it right? A hat that evolves into a crown when you hit level fifty?”
“…no?” I said, which was technically true. Mostly.
He rolled his eyes with a theatrical groan. “You wouldn’t be talking about Merden, would you?”
That name meant nothing. I shook my head slowly. “Should I be?”
The attendant snorted. “Old Merden. Was a regular here a few years back. Used to sit in that same alcove, actually. Buried in papers, muttering to himself, talking about his ‘special artifact’ that grew stronger the more he used it.” He made air quotes so violently I thought he might sprain a finger.
My breath caught. “And?”
“And nothing,” he said, brushing a stray bit of lint from his robe. “He went off the deep end. Started ranting about broken code, invisible dungeons, whispers in the system. We stopped letting him into the lower stacks when he tried to ‘attune’ to the cataloging crystal.” He did the finger quotes again, but somehow sadder this time.
I stared at him, trying not to let my excitement show. “Where is he now?”
The attendant sighed like he already regretted answering. “He’s got a place near the eastern ridge. On the outskirts of the city. An old tower, halfway sunk into the hill. Keeps to himself. If you see any floating sigils on the way up, don’t poke them. Trust me.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“You can try.” He leaned in slightly, tone softening. “Just… don’t go teasing the man. He’s not all there anymore. Maybe he never was. But he wasn’t always like that. He used to be brilliant.”
He gave me a long, appraising look. “If you’re chasing the same story, just know it didn’t end well for him.”
 
I should’ve stopped there. Should’ve thanked him for the lead, packed up my notes, and gone to track down the most paranoid wizard in the region. But instead, I hesitated. And like an idiot, I opened my mouth again.
“Actually—one more thing,” I said, already reaching into my satchel. “Have you ever seen a book like this?”
The moment I unwrapped the cloth and tilted the tome so he could see it, the change in him was immediate.
He took a step back. Not dramatically, but instinctively. Like the air around him had just shifted, or something sour had hit the back of his throat.
The temperature didn’t drop, but it felt like it should have. The air got tighter somehow. Thicker. The light from the enchanted sconces along the wall dimmed, just barely—like the book was pulling something out of the surrounding space.
“What is that?” he asked, voice low and tight.
I blinked. “It’s just a book—”
“That is not just a book.” His eyes didn’t leave it. “Put it down. Slowly.”
I set it gently on the desk between us. The locking glyph shimmered faintly in response, pulsing once like a heartbeat and then going still.
The attendant shook out his hands like he’d touched something sharp. “That thing’s cursed.”
I swore under my breath. “Calla’s never going to let me live this down.”
“You didn’t know?” he asked, brows furrowing.
“We found it in a dungeon,” I said. “It gave us a quest when we picked it up—shared across our party. But we haven’t figured out what to do with it yet. I was hoping you’d recognize the script or the seal.”
He leaned in, cautiously this time, and squinted at the glyph without touching it. His nose wrinkled.
“Old,” he muttered. “Maybe pre-System. Definitely not from any current scribing school I’ve seen. And that lock… that’s not an enchantment. That’s something else. Something older.”
“Older how?”
He glanced at me, then at the book. “Best case? It’s tied to some long-forgotten mage’s personal library, and opening it gives you a scavenger hunt for lost knowledge.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And worst case?”
“You open it and it eats your soul.”
“Right.” I sighed. “Reassuring.”
He crossed his arms. “As a rule, we don’t mess with magically sealed books—especially ones from dungeons. If it’s locked, it’s locked for a reason.”
“I’m getting that impression.”
“Dungeons twist things,” he added. “And if this one came out of a place that didn’t follow the rules… you don’t know what kind of logic it’s bound by.”
I studied the glyph again. It didn’t look particularly evil. Just strange. Like a puzzle, waiting for the right kind of key.
“But someone locked it,” I said. “Which means someone knew what it was. And someone didn’t want it getting out.”
The attendant didn’t argue.
He just stepped back again. “Be careful with that thing. If you’re smart, you’ll find a way to bury it and forget you ever touched it.”
I stared down at the book.
But that wasn’t really an option.
Because something in my gut told me it was already too late for that.
Then he pushed off the shelf, straightened his robes, and vanished down the corridor like the conversation hadn’t just set my brain on fire.
But me?
I sat there for a moment, heart thudding.
Because finally—finally—I had a lead.
A name.
And maybe, just maybe, someone else who’d seen the cracks in the system before me.
Merden.
Eastern ridge.
Old tower.
 
Calla found me buried in a mountain of paper, with a stack of grimoires tilting precariously on one side of the table like it wanted to collapse and take me with it. Death by unearned knowledge. Fitting.
She looked about as thrilled as I felt—hair slightly frizzed, eyes tired, arms crossed around a leather-bound book. Glint perked up at the sound of her boots and gave a hopeful chirp, already halfway off my shoulder. Probably hoping she’d say we could leave.
“Find anything?” she asked, though her tone already guessed the answer.
I let my head fall forward onto the desk with a dull thump. “I found out I hate research. And also that magical librarians are about as friendly as goblins.”
She huffed—halfway between a laugh and a sigh—and dropped into the chair across from me. “Same. I chased three false leads, hit a memory-locked index I couldn’t crack, and got yelled at by a scroll.”
We sat there in mutual defeat for a moment, surrounded by parchment and silence.
I sighed slowly and sat up. “Okay. I didn’t get much… but I might have something.”
Calla perked up slightly. “Yeah?”
I nodded, reaching for the notebook I’d half-filled with scribbles, footnotes, and at least one crude drawing of a golem wearing a wizard hat. I flipped to the page and tapped it with a finger. “I asked one of the attendants about items that level up. Thought I’d get laughed off the floor. Instead? He asked if I meant someone named Merden.”
Her brow furrowed. “That a researcher?”
“Not sure. Apparently, he used to haunt this place a few years back. Claimed he had an artifact that grew stronger on its own. Everyone thought he was crazy. Said he tried to ‘attune’ to the catalog crystal.”
Calla blinked. “Oh gods.”
“Right?” I snorted. “But get this—he disappeared. Keeps to himself now. Lives out on the eastern ridge, in a half-sunken tower. People don’t see him much anymore, and the archivists think he lost it.”
Calla tilted her head. “And you think he didn’t?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’d rather talk to the only person who’s said the same thing I’ve been thinking than sit here guessing.”
She studied me for a second, quiet. Then nodded. “Yeah. That’s fair.”
I leaned back in my chair, eyes gritty from reading, brain fried from too many conflicting scrolls. “So. You find anything on your end?”
Her mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Nothing useful. Just enough to be frustrating. I’ll keep digging.”
I could tell she didn’t want to say more, so I didn’t press. We were both walking blind through different parts of the same storm, and neither of us was ready to name it yet.
Calla glanced at the sagging pile of tomes between us. “Want to call it?”
“Absolutely,” I groaned, rubbing at my neck. “Let’s get out of here.”
Glint chirped like he’d been waiting hours to hear those words.
And just like that, we gathered our things, slipped off our access pendants, and left the archives behind. Not with answers—but maybe, finally, with a direction.
As we stood, Calla tilted her head slightly toward the exit. “Let’s not go straight back to the inn, though. There’s a scenic route if you don’t mind a little wandering.”
I blinked. “You? Suggesting sightseeing?”
She gave me a look. “I’m not completely obsessed with books.”
I snorted and fell into step beside her. We moved past rows of tall shelves and softly glowing orbs, back toward the entrance, when she glanced at me sideways.
“You still carrying that sealed tome?”
I hesitated. “Yeah.”
“You find anything new about it?”
I grimaced. “Just that it’s probably cursed.”
She didn’t even flinch. She nodded, like she’d been waiting for me to catch up. “I figured.”
“I know,” I groaned.
She didn’t gloat. Didn’t smirk. Just kept walking, her voice calm. “Then we should be careful. And find its owner as soon as we can.”