It didn't take long for Narvel to emerge from the forest's grasp. After nearly seven hours spent ducking beneath brambles, circling trees to throw off his pursuers, and doubling back in his tracks, he was more tired than he let on. His body ached, sweat had dried into salt patches on his skin, and his throat burned with thirst, but the urgency of his task wouldn't allow him to rest.
With a few subtle changes to his appearance—his mask hidden inside his shirt, a top layer of clothing removed, he exited the woods and found himself behind a cluster of tall, moss-darkened buildings. The city loomed around him once more.
Soon, Narvel eased onto a mid-busy street, blending in with the flow of foot traffic.
Merchants barked prices, carts rattled past, and the mixed scent of bread, metal, and sweat filled the air. After flagging down a stranger and asking for quick directions, he followed the path described and made his way toward the Eperium Library.
By the time he arrived, the sun was already approaching the edges of the sky, giving way to the night that chased after it.
Narvel stopped at the base of a towering structure. The Library stood like a crown among a cluster of other immense buildings, each radiating age, dignity, and mystery. It was clear now—these weren't mere buildings. They were repositories of ancient knowledge, each one dedicated to specific and often dangerous paths of wisdom.
Runes and glyphs were inscribed across stone façades, with thick, metallic banners waving without wind from rooftops high above.
The Eperium Library stood at the heart of this district, marked unmistakably by its seven colossal pillars. Each pillar had scenes etched into it, like a mural wrapped in stone—depictions of battles, celestial phenomena, and shadowy figures ascending toward stars. Despite their beauty, Narvel's eyes barely lingered.
He focused instead on the entrance and the figures who stood guarding it.
Two hooded sentinels flanked the massive door, staffs planted firmly before them. They were motionless, so still that they looked carved out of obsidian. Their robes were so deeply dyed in blue that in the wrong light, they passed for black.
Narvel felt his breath catch as he neared them. A slow, creeping sensation crawled across his skin like ice down his spine.
Then one of them stirred.
"Commoners are not permitted into the libraries of Camelot, talk less of a stranger," the figure on the right said, his voice low, rough-edged, and unnatural. "State your purpose or leave with no thoughts of return."
The words hit like a gust of cold air. Narvel swallowed hard. The presence these men held was suffocating, like they weren't just powerful, but others.
"I… I was sent here to deliver a cube," he managed, fingers fumbling beneath his shirt.
He retrieved the Stone of Realization, holding it up for them to see. The moment the cube caught the faint light of the overcast sky, the sentinel on the left moved. He struck the ground with his staff, and a sharp crack sounded as a brief spark of light leaped from the point of contact.
With that spark, an unseen force rippled outward. Narvel felt it pass through him like an electric current through water. Something in the air shifted and reality around him warped just slightly. Though he couldn't see it, an illusory field spread around the library grounds, creating a scene of Narvel walking away from the Eperium Library.
"Your brazenness reeks of stupidity," the silent figure finally spoke his voice just as bizarre and guttural as his partner's. "Is this how your master commanded you to act?"
The question confused Narvel—' master?'
He hadn't come under anyone's command, had he? If anything, he was forced to be here fearful of the consequences of bailing.
"Do you think we do not dare take your life simply because of the deal that was made?" The robbed figure on the right snapped, anger tightening his voice like a pulled cord. "Foolish."
Narvel froze. His mouth went dry as their presence expanded further.
The sheer weight of their aura pressed down on him like a falling mountain. This wasn't the pressure he'd felt from the city gate guards. No, this was leagues higher—this was a real danger.
It reminded him, faintly, of the overwhelming force of the mother Stratus Songbird, though not as devastating. Still, it was enough to trigger a primal reaction—his body began to tremble ever so slightly, his instincts screaming death, death, death.
And yet, he couldn't run. Not now.
"Let him in," A soft masculine voice echoed from behind the doors, reaching the ears of the robbed figures.
"Thank your lucky stars, foreigner, the Liberian would like to see you." The robbed figure on the right said.
The massive wooden doors groaned open, revealing a labyrinth of towering shelves that stretched endlessly into shadow. The air inside was thick with the scent of aged parchment and incense, undercut by a metallic tang—like blood diluted in ink.
Books lined every surface, their spines embossed with Glyphs that pulsed faintly, as if breathing. Some floated midair, chained to nothingness by silver links that chimed like distant bells.
At the far end of the hall, a desk loomed like an altar, buried under teetering stacks of grimoires and scrolls. Behind it sat the Librarian, his fair skin almost translucent under the library's ghostly lamplight. His blonde hair fell in precise waves, framing a face so sharp it seemed carved from ice. Though slender, his presence filled the room, a quiet storm contained in bone and cloth.
"Come closer and drop the stone on my desk," he said, not glancing up from the parchment in his hand. His voice was soft, yet it carried the weight of a blade pressed to the throat.
Narvel approached, boots echoing on marble floors veined with gold. The Stone of Realization in his hand hummed faintly, its surface etched with swirling Glyphs that mirrored those on the shelves. He set it down gingerly.
Only then did the Librarian look up.
His eyes—a pale, unnerving blue—locked onto Narvel, and the room shifted. The air thickened, pressing down like a vise. Narvel's breath hitched; his limbs froze mid-step, as though the very space around him had solidified.
"To send a foreigner to deliver such a treasure… that man has more balls than limbs," the Librarian mused, lifting the stone. It glowed faintly in his grip, casting jagged shadows across his face. "The Stone of Realization. An ocean of power, condensed into a little cube. How quaint."
Narvel's pulse roared in his ears. He could still move his eyes—barely—and they darted to the exits. The doors had vanished, replaced by endless shelves.
"Hmm. What to do with you?" The Librarian tilted his head, feigning contemplation. "Killing you would be… inelegant."
"It certainly would be," Narvel managed, his voice strained.
The Librarian's lips twitched, amused. "But letting you live risks loose ends. You understand, of course."
'And you expect me to sympathize with that?' Narvel wished he could roll his eyes, but he was too scared to do so.
Narvel's mind raced. "I've rigged contingencies. If I die, every faction in Camelot learns of this stone's location." A lie, but one sold with desperate conviction.
"Oh" raising a brow, as though intrigued, the Librarian relaxed onto the back of his chair and said; "I have considered that, but it seems highly unlikely. After all, it hasn't been long since we reappeared in the Crucible. But if there is an off-shot that you somehow have contingencies in the advent of your death,"
The Librarian leaned back, steepling his fingers on the desk. A Glyph flared on his desk—a serpent devouring its tail. "Do enlighten me. Which factions, precisely, would you entrust with such delicate information?"
Silence.
Caught in his act, he remained silent. Narvel had no idea who the other factions were, all he knew of was that the Royal factions were involved.
"Ah. You don't know." The Glyph dimmed.
He said nothing as sweat trickled down his temple.
The Librarian sighed. "Two choices, foreigner. Die now… or work for me."
'Do I even have a choice?' Narvel began regretting his decision to come into Camelot. He could have been on his way. His jaw clenched.
"Work how?"
"Retrieve a book. The Codex of Shattered Vows. Buried in the Catacombs beneath this very district." The Librarian's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Fail, and I'll peel your deepest secrets from your corpse. Succeed, and you'll live… for now."
The pressure lifted and Narvel staggered, gasping for air.
"Oh, and foreigner?" The Librarian tapped the stone, its Glyphs flaring crimson. "The Catacombs are… unforgiving by the night time. I'd hurry if I were you."
"But I don't know the way," Just as he uttered these words, a map floated to his hands.
"I want you back here by this time tomorrow, any later and I'll kill you… if the catacombs don't." That being said, the space around Narvel shrunk until he found himself standing in front of the gigantic wooden doors of the Library, as though it never opened and he had never stepped in.