Chapter 65 The scrolls of veritas
~ Lyra's POV ~
Taren reached into his pocket and produced a small torchlight before stepping into the passage. He lifted his hand in a silent gesture, urging me to follow him. I did so without hesitation, and the moment we were both fully inside, he reached out and flipped another hidden switch. Behind us, the shelf slid back into place with a muted sound, sealing the entrance and locking us in.
He turned on the torch, and the sudden brightness made me blink in disbelief. It was hard to reconcile how something so small could emit such a powerful beam of light. The narrow passage stretched ahead of us, revealing a long set of stairs that descended steeply before stopping directly in front of another door. From where I stood, the door appeared almost insignificant, dwarfed by the shadows that swallowed the passage around it.
“Please be careful,” Taren said, his voice edged with concern. “These stairs are not as sturdy as they used to be.”
“Understood,” I replied, and together we began our slow descent. Each step demanded my full attention, and I moved cautiously, aware of every sound and shift beneath my feet.
The door at the bottom opened into a junction of four tunnels. Without hesitation, Taren led us into the second one. We made several more turns, the air growing heavier and more ancient with each step, until we finally arrived at yet another door. This one, as it turned out, was the entrance to the archives.
“Welcome to the archives,” Taren announced as we stepped inside.
Almost immediately, flame torches along the walls burst to life one after the other, bathing the entire space in a warm, flickering glow.
My jaw dropped, and my eyes widened in awe. Shelves towered over me, at least three times my height, packed with countless books and strange artifacts I could not even begin to identify. Rows upon rows stretched endlessly in every direction, creating a maze of knowledge and mystery. The entire structure was shaped like a massive dome, and the ceiling soared so high above that it nearly disappeared into shadow.
“This is… I am at a loss for words,” I murmured, my gaze drifting endlessly from one astonishing detail to the next.
“I know,” Taren said softly. “I felt the same way the first time I came here.” A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched my reaction.
“There is something I have been meaning to ask,” I said after a moment. “How did a witch’s belongings end up hidden in Ironfang’s archives? I mean, something as sacred as what we came here for.”
“I heard that this place once belonged to witches before the war,” he explained. “It served as a sanctuary for them. As for how the items we seek ended up here, I truly do not know. High Seer Elda only told me that they would be here for you when you were ready.”
“Oh,” I said slowly. “Then where are they?” Excitement surged through me as I spoke, my energy renewed by the sheer wonder of the place.
“I don't know,” he admitted. “I have tried finding them myself every time I visited, but all my efforts failed. You are the only one who can find them.”
“Me?” I echoed, stunned. My eyes widened as I looked around the vast archive once more, my movements dramatic and overwhelmed. “Have you seen this place? How am I supposed to find anything here? Where would I even begin?”
“You can start with this,” he said, reaching into his pocket again and pulling out a few items.
“What are those?” I asked, even though I could already see that one was a folded piece of paper and the other a medium sized pearl.
“Instructions and a pearl,” he replied. “I don't know what the pearl is meant for, but I assume you will discover its purpose, or what it represents, once you read the instructions.”
I accepted the items from him and unfolded the paper carefully, my attention immediately drawn to the familiar symbols etched across its surface.
“Please tell me you understand what is written there,” Taren said, his voice reaching me from beside my shoulder. I could not fault his concern, because the words were clearly not written in English or in any common language.
“I do,” I replied calmly. “It is written in ancient witch code, and I have been learning it since I was very little.”
I lowered my gaze and read the instructions slowly and carefully, making sure not to miss a single detail. When I reached the final part, I transferred the pearl into my right hand as directed. I began to roll it gently between my fingers while chanting the spell written at the end of the instructions, my voice steady and deliberate.
The moment the chant left my lips, something strange happened, something so unsettling that it forced me to stop instantly. My body felt impossibly light, as though my feet had lifted off the ground, and for a brief, dizzying second, I felt suspended between balance and weightlessness. At the same time, my ears picked up the sound of mechanical movements echoing all around the archives, low and grinding, as though ancient machinery had suddenly awakened.
“Did you hear that?” I asked, turning sharply toward Taren. From the expression on his face, I already knew the answer.
“I did,” he confirmed. “Is that all?” he asked cautiously.
“No. I had to stop,” I admitted.
“Why?” he asked at once.
“I don't know,” I said with a frown. “I felt strange.”
“Strange in what sense?” he pressed, clearly confused.
“I can't explain it,” I replied honestly. “Let me try again.”
I resumed the chant, rolling the pearl continuously between my fingers just as before. The strange sensation returned almost immediately, that same lightness washing over me, but this time I pushed through it and did not stop until the chant was complete. The mechanical sounds grew louder, filling the archive with an unsettling rhythm, before stopping abruptly. Silence fell so suddenly that it felt heavy.
I turned to Taren, questions written plainly on my face, but his expression mirrored my own confusion. Before either of us could speak, the shelf directly behind me split open vertically, forcing me to spin around in shock.
Just when I thought the spectacle was over, the shelf behind that one split open in the same manner, and then a third followed suit. As the final shelf parted, it revealed a hidden wall marked with unfamiliar symbols, and at its center was a crescent shaped depression.
Without any conscious effort on my part, my body began to move forward. It was as though an unseen force was guiding me, and before I could resist, I found myself standing directly in front of the wall. I stared at the markings, searching desperately for some clue as to what I was supposed to do next, but they offered me nothing.
Then I felt it. The mark on my palm began to pulse, growing warmer and more insistent with each heartbeat. I lifted my hand instinctively, and the pearl resting at the center of my palm shattered into countless tiny fragments. The suddenness of it startled me, and I tried to step back, turning my face away in fear that the shards would fly into my eyes, but my body refused to move.
My palm continued to glow and throb with energy, and realization dawned slowly. I raised my hand and pressed it into the crescent depression on the wall.
The moment my skin made contact, the wall split open smoothly, revealing an almost completely degraded handwoven basket tucked within the hollow. Inside it were several scrolls, aged and fragile. I carefully removed the basket and its contents, and as soon as I stepped back, the wall closed itself once more as though nothing had ever been hidden there.
When I turned around and walked back toward Taren, who stood wide eyed and speechless, the shelves that had split open earlier slid back into place. The archive restored itself seamlessly, returning to its original grandeur as if the events of moments ago had never occurred.
“I guess I found them,” I said quietly as I spotted a desk and moved toward it.
“I suppose you did,” Taren replied, still sounding stunned as he followed me. “That was entirely unexpected.”
I set the basket down on the desk and reached for the first scroll that caught my attention. It was the only one sealed with a strange marking. The seal broke open the instant my fingers touched it, and the writing beneath appeared as dark, raised bumps on the parchment. When I brushed my fingertip over one of them, I felt my spirit tear away from my body in an instant.