The morning after the bells tolled across the city, Sylas stood on the balcony of the Drevin estate, watching the haze of smoke rise from the lower district.
The silence between the tolls had been filled with unease. Not panic, not yet—just a shift in the air, like a note played off-key.
Behind him, footsteps echoed on the polished stone. The butler's voice followed.
"Lady Alira is here, sir."
Sylas didn't turn. "Let her in."
Alira didn't wait for ceremony. She stepped into the room, her cloak still damp from the morning fog. Her hair was tied back with precision, but there was tension in her shoulders.
"No one knows what triggered the bells," she said. "Not officially. But the Council suspects an incursion. Some of the barrier wards reacted."
Sylas finally turned to face her. "Where?"
"North-East perimeter. Near the Hollow Quarter."
That was close. Too close.
"And the public story?" he asked.
"Faulty enchantments. Maintenance error." She made a face. "Ridiculous."
"They'll believe it. Until something worse happens."
Alira didn't argue. Instead, she placed a rolled parchment on the desk.
"I brought you access."
He raised an eyebrow.
"To the Black Archive?" he asked.
"No. Not directly. But this is a copy of the perimeter event records from the past three weeks. Unedited. If there's a pattern, you'll see it."
Sylas unrolled the parchment slowly. His eyes scanned the symbols and numbers. To most, it looked like a mess of magical fluctuations.
To him, it was something else.
"It's not just pressure from outside," he said. "Something's bleeding from within."
Alira frowned. "What do you mean?"
He pointed to a line.
"These tremors—they aren't piercing through. They're pulsing outward. From the inside."
"You're saying something's already here?"
"I'm saying something was awakened here."
They looked at each other. Neither spoke. The air between them felt heavier than it should.
Alira finally sighed and sat down.
"There's something I didn't mention to the Council," she said. "Something I saw last night."
Sylas waited.
"I followed the trail of the resonance to the edge of the Hollow Quarter. I expected broken wards or arcane burn. But what I found was older."
She pulled something from her satchel and placed it on the table.
It was a shard of stone, rough and gray, but etched with a single curved symbol that pulsed faintly. Sylas leaned closer.
He recognized it.
"Void script," he murmured. "This isn't from the outer rings. This was buried deep."
"I found it under a collapsed wall," Alira said. "It wasn't broken. It was pushed up."
Sylas didn't respond immediately.
He stared at the shard like it might open a door he wasn't ready to step through.
"Then it's not the Veil we should be watching," he finally said. "It's the soil under our feet."
Later that day, Sylas walked the streets in the Hollow Quarter. He wore no crest, no colors—just a plain coat and gloves. People passed without giving him a second glance.
This part of the city had always felt forgotten. Even before the decay, the buildings stood too close, and the alleys swallowed sound. But now, there was something else. A pressure in the chest. An itch behind the eyes.
He stopped at a ruined wall. Cracks ran like veins up its surface. At its base, loose dirt and shattered cobble revealed a faint groove.
He knelt, brushing it with a finger.
Another symbol.
Half-faded. But the curve was identical to the shard Alira found.
A whisper rose in his mind.
You've stepped closer.
He stood quickly, eyes scanning the street. But no one was there.
This city is a shell, the voice continued. And something stirs within the yolk.
Sylas breathed through his nose. Slow. Controlled.
"I didn't ask for riddles."
And yet you live among them.
The presence faded, leaving a pressure behind his eyes like the beginning of a headache.
He turned and walked away, not toward home—but deeper into the Hollow Quarter.
Meanwhile, at House Thorne's private wing, Alira stood before Myra.
"The symbols are older than recorded history," she said. "Sylas recognized them instantly. That alone should worry us."
Myra tapped her fingers together.
"We've buried many things beneath this city. Not all of them stayed buried."
"I think something's cracking through," Alira said.
Myra tilted her head. "And you still trust him?"
"I don't," Alira said plainly. "But I believe he knows more than we do. And right now, that makes him useful."
"Useful isn't the same as safe."
Alira didn't argue. She just turned to leave.
Before she reached the door, Myra spoke again.
"Be careful, Alira. The deeper you go, the more the past reshapes you."
Alira didn't respond. But the words followed her out.
As evening settled over the Hollow Quarter, Sylas stood before an old well.
It had been sealed decades ago. No records explained why. But now, the seal was broken—not shattered, just… unhooked. Like someone had gently invited whatever lay beneath to step out.
He looked down.
Darkness.
And then, the faintest breeze rose from within. Cold. Damp. Like breath.
Sylas didn't hesitate. He stepped over the edge—and dropped into the unknown below.