The tremor faded, and the silence that followed felt louder than a scream. Julius lay on the cold stone, the memory of that other world, of that other version of himself, still burning behind his eyes. The air in the Scriptorium tasted different now – charged, like the moments before a lightning strike. The warmth from the wall stone was gone, replaced by a deep, resonating chill that echoed the tremor he'd felt.
Detected.
The word slammed into his mind, cold and sharp. That brief, forced connection hadn't just been strange; it had been loud. He'd rung a bell he didn't know existed.
Panic surged, hot and thick. He forced himself up, ignoring the ache in his bones and the throbbing pain behind his eyes. The blood from his nose felt sticky on his upper lip. Get the map. Get the scrolls. Get out.
He moved quickly back towards the cabinets, his worn boots scraped softly against the dust, barely a sound in the hush.
The small bundle of scrolls he'd tucked into his tunic felt reassuringly solid against his ribs. He reached the drawer where he'd felt the book, the one that had pulsed with that faint resonance before he found the wall stone. He didn't need the book now, not with the alarm raised. But the maps…
He found the cubbyhole where he'd placed the larger, heavier map scroll. His numb fingers fumbled with the stiff parchment. He pulled it free, the weight of it surprisingly heavy. This was his path. His way to the Sundered Peaks, his way to maybe finding answers, or at least, more fragments.
Now, escape.
He turned back towards the hole he'd entered through, high up near the ceiling. It seemed impossibly far, a small patch of less-dark against the oppressive black. Could he climb back up? With the settlement likely alerted?
Suddenly, a distant sound pierced the quiet. A bell. Not a normal settlement bell for time or meals. This was sharp, urgent, clanging with a panicked rhythm. Then another joined it, slightly off-key. Shouts followed, muffled by the thick stone walls but unmistakable. Alarm.
His heart hammered against his ribs. They knew. Or they knew something was wrong. They'd be searching. Guards would be checking the Scriptorium. Looking up?
He forced himself to move towards the wall beneath the hole. He needed to climb, fast. Faster than he ever had before.
He reached for the first handhold, his fingers scraping against the cold stone. As he started to pull himself up, he heard it – heavy footsteps pounding on the stone roof above the trapdoor. Getting closer.
Terror seized him. Trapped. They were right there. He'd be found.
It happened without thought, without conscious effort. As the footsteps neared the edge of the roof above his entry hole, a desperate need to escape surged through Julius. It wasn't the warmth of the stone connection. It was a cold, electric rush, starting from the empty space inside him and snapping outwards like an overstretched band.
For a dizzying second, the world shifted. The rough stone wall in front of him seemed to ripple. Lines of faint, silvery light, almost invisible, traced paths between the stones – paths he hadn't seen before, paths that seemed to offer perfect holds. The air felt thin, stretched.
He didn't climb. He flowed.
His hands and feet moved with impossible speed and certainty, finding the unseen holds highlighted by the strange silver light. The wall blurred past him. It wasn't strength; it felt more like… falling upwards, guided by an invisible current. The cold rush intensified, making his teeth ache, but fear drove him faster.
He burst through the hole, hitting the rooftop in a crouch just as a guard leaned over the edge, spear lowered, scanning the space Julius had just vacated. The guard scanned the dark interior below, then shook his head, muttering something Julius couldn't hear over the wind and the frantic bells.
Julius didn't breathe. He pressed himself flat against the cold roof stones, hidden by the slightly raised edge. The silvery light faded from his vision, leaving spots dancing in front of his eyes. The cold rush receded, leaving him trembling, not just from fear, but from a profound, bone-deep exhaustion. His head spun. What was that?
He couldn't dwell on it. The settlement below was stirring like a kicked anthill. Torches flared to life in the darkness, casting long, dancing shadows. More shouts echoed. Guards were running along the walls, their metal-plated armor glinting in the torchlight.
He had to get down. Now.
He crawled silently to the outer edge of the tower roof, the side facing away from the main settlement paths. It was still a long drop to the ground below. He scanned the wall, searching for holds. Could he use that… ability again? He tried to summon the feeling, the cold rush, but nothing happened. It wasn't something he could just call upon. It had been instinct, panic.
He'd have to climb down normally. Slowly. Carefully.
He swung his legs over the edge. His fingers searched hard for holds on the cold, worn stone. Every move felt slow and difficult. Each gust of wind felt like it could pull him off. Below, he saw guards walking through narrow alleys. Their torches sent moving beams of light.
He was halfway down when a torch beam swept upwards, catching the wall just feet below him. He froze, flattening himself against the stone, praying the darkness and his drab tunic would hide him. The light lingered, then moved on. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and continued his descent, heart pounding.
His feet finally touched the packed earth at the base of the tower. He was down. But he wasn't safe.
He slipped into the deepest shadows, pressing himself against the cold stone wall. He needed to reach the outer settlement wall, find a way over. The main gate would be impossible now.
He moved like a ghost, using the lessons Elara had taught him. Be the shadow. Be the silence. He moved from one patch of darkness to the next, timing his movements with the passing of guards and the howl of the wind. The map scroll felt heavy and awkward under his tunic.
He reached the outer wall, near the corner where the Scriptorium tower stood. It was high, thicker than the tower wall. Guards patrolled the top, their silhouettes stark against the faint grey light beginning to touch the eastern sky. Dawn was coming.
He needed a distraction, or another miracle. He scanned the base of the wall. Was there a weak spot? A place less watched?
As he searched, a faint echo of the cold rush tingled in his nerves. Not the full power, just a whisper. He looked at the wall again. For just a moment, he thought he saw it – a faint, silvery shimmer around a section where the stones looked slightly looser, less maintained. A path?
He didn't hesitate. Trusting the fleeting sensation, he ran towards that spot. He leaped, fingers scrabbling for holds. It wasn't the effortless flow from before, but something guided him. An intuition. His foot found a narrow crack. His hand grasped a protruding stone. He pulled himself up, muscles screaming, heart pounding.
He reached the top, rolling over the edge just as a guard patrol turned the corner further down the wall. He didn't pause. He dropped down the other side, landing hard on the rocky ground outside the settlement.
Pain shot through his ankles, but he ignored it. He scrambled away from the wall, putting distance between himself and House Vorlag. He ran until his lungs burned and his legs felt like lead, finally collapsing behind a cluster of jagged rocks miles away.
He lay there, gasping for air, the cold wind biting at his exposed skin. He looked back. In the distance, the House Vorlag settlement was a hive of frantic torchlight against the encroaching dawn. The alarm bells still faintly reached him on the wind.
He had escaped. He had the map. But the Scriptorium wasn't just a dusty archive anymore. It held a fragment. An awake fragment. And touching it hadn't just alerted House Vorlag. Julius shivered, feeling a deeper, colder dread. That power surge, that forced connection… it had felt far louder than any bell. He had announced himself, not just to his hunters, but perhaps to the Void itself. And something inside him felt different now, stirred and strange, forever changed by the awakening echo.