Beyond the mural, a hidden passage opened, spiraling downward into blackness. Garfield descended, every instinct warning him that he should not. But instinct was something he had long since shackled and contained it.
The air grew dense, tasting of iron and ash. And then he saw it—a vast cavern, shelves of stone rising like jagged teeth, each one filled with slabs, tablets, and broken fragments of ancient lore. The **Stone Library of Maizel**.
Whispers filled the chamber the moment he entered. Not words, but currents of thought, as though the walls themselves remembered.
Garfield brushed dust from a tablet. The glyphs blazed briefly, and again the Being translated, though reluctantly.
"Sacrifice to ascend… blood to bind… body to forge vessel."
He realized quickly: this was knowledge of hybrids, perfected long before him. The failures he had once produced in slavery were nothing compared to what lay here.
For hours—no, days—he read. Hunger clawed at him, thirst gnawed his throat, but still he continued. Knowledge mattered more.
And yet, every time he neared certain inscriptions, the Being would stutter, glitching in its speech, skipping lines. Garfield clenched his jaw but filed it away. He would learn, with or without its help.
The deeper he went, the more he realized: the Library was not just a record. It was alive. Certain slabs shifted when touched, showing different glyphs depending on his intent. It was a labyrinth of meaning, testing his will.
By the end of a week, his notes—scribbled in blood and mana across torn cloth—were overflowing. He was ready to test.