Night fell, and John, Caleb, and Dr. Whitmore stole through the outer edges of town toward the old sanctuary. Perhaps he was just imagining it, but the draft gave the silent, half-deserted streets a crawl of unspeaking eyes; every shadow seemed to shuffle and every noise to boom where there was little sound. They'd gotten away from the Order agents in the library; he knew they were far from safe.
The safehouse had been beyond a copse at the edge of a dense forest, previously a long-abandoned hunting lodge that most of the town had forgotten. The building was hidden behind overgrown trees and thick underbrush—a perfect place to hide from the Order.
They came up to the old wooden house, weathered and timeworn, with the dark, broken windows. The front door hung slightly ajar, creaking in the wind. As they pushed inside, John felt a chill trickle down his spine, the floorboards creaking under their feet.
"Let's get inside quickly," John urged, his voice low. "We don't have much time."
Inside, Caleb closed the door behind them, rattling an old iron bolt into place. The interior of the safehouse was as dilapidated as the outside. Inside, dust covered some pieces of furniture that were thrown around the room anyhow, and the scent of decay was very dense in the air. The only light that existed was the moon filtering through the cracked windows, casting eerie shadows across the floor.
"We need to begin translating the ritual," said Dr. Whitmore, his voice even but the tension tangible. He laid the ancient book he had recovered on the small table and carefully arranged the pages open at the appropriate place. "The sooner we understand what it is we need to do, the better."
John nodded and came over to the table with Dr. Whitmore. He had written the book in the olden dialect, one so even John could hardly understand. It was so cryptic; the words seemed to pulsate alive with symbols and arcane, full of their own life force. The text emanated a power that fascinated and, at the same time, filled him with dread.
In the meantime, Caleb watched at the window while he worked, staring into the darkness. "I don't like this," he muttered. "What if the Order finds us here?"
"They won't," said John, whose eyes never left the book. "This place is off the map. We just need to focus on the task at hand."
Hours passed as they poured over the ancient text, moving through the ritual now, step by step. Because the warnings seemed always to outnumber the instructions on what actually had to happen, the ritual read as very complex. What was needed was precise timing, a specific location and precise alignment of the Heart of Aether and the other artifacts. There could be no mistakes.
"This isn't going to be easy," Dr. Whitmore said, rubbing his tired eyes. "But it's our only chance. If we can perform the ritual correctly, we can bind the Sleeper and prevent the Order from using its power."
"But if we mess it up…" Caleb began, his voice trailing off.
He didn't need John to finish that sentence; John's imagination could work far too effectively when it chose to. The consequences of failure… If the Sleeper awoke and he wasn't able to control it, every living thing in the city would die. And the Order was surely lucid enough to consider the possibility of failure—how would they control the Sleeper if John died before he could help them?
"We have to succeed," John said staunchly, even as the weight of that responsibility heaved down upon him. "We must."
As the first light of dawn began to creep through the windows, they finally finished deciphering the ritual. Set to be performed at a place of ancient power; a location most likely to be the same wherein reposed the sarcophagus they had chanced upon, where the boundaries between worlds were thin and the Sleeper's influence the strongest.
"We will have to return just where it all began," John explained and looked over at others. "That's where the whole ritual has to happen; we do have things with us, so now we just have to be prepared. Obviously, the Order will be waiting for us."
Dr. Whitmore nodded grimly. "We have no choice in the matter, the Sleeper must be bound before it awakens fully again. We will have to quicken the pace."
They both rested and gained their strength over that time. John couldn't sleep, though; his mind was too restless. He went over in his thoughts the steps of the ritual, making sure he knew every detail. There was no room for error.
Just before they left, Caleb pulled John to the side. "You sure about this?" he asked, inflection filled with doubt. "We're walking right into the heart of the storm. But what if we're not ready?"
"We don't have a choice," John said, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at him. "This is bigger than us. We're the only hope."
Caleb nodded but a shadow of doubt crept into his eyes, "I trust you, John. I just hope we're not too late."
With that, they brought the artifacts and the book together, fastening them properly. The safehouse had given them a momentary reprieve, but now it was time to come out and face reality for what it is. They were going to walk right into the battle that would decide the fate of everything they knew.
So the first light of dawn revealed a tense atmosphere that had enveloped the two students; the forest around them was silent, eerily, as if the world itself had held its breath. However, the path back to the ancient site was long and dangerous, which they both knew.
They set off for the final point of no return, aware that the final confrontation had finally arrived. The ritual would certainly be their salvation or else would condemn them to a darkness from which there would be no end.