The winter snows had turned the academy into a sculpture of ice and white stone. It was beautiful, pristine, and blindingly bright. But beneath the surface, in the places the sun didn't reach, things were festering.
I was in the Verdant Archive when the summons came. Not a note this time, but a person.
Marcus Thorne found me at my usual table. He looked out of place among the ancient books, fidgeting with the hilt of his sword.
"He wants you," Marcus said, his voice hushed. "Now. And... he's not alone."
I closed the book I was reading—a treatise on ancient ward-breaking—and stood up. I checked my mental state. The Frozen Keep was secure. The emotions were locked away. I was ready.
"Who is with him?" I asked calmly.
"I don't know," Marcus admitted, looking uneasy. "Someone from the faculty. But not one of the usual toadies. This one feels... off."
I walked to Damien's quarters. The hallways were empty, students huddled in their dorms against the cold. When I entered Damien's room, the fire was roaring, but the air felt damp and heavy.
Damien was seated at his desk. Standing near the window, shrouded in a heavy, gray robe that looked like it had seen better days, was a man I recognized but had never spoken to.
Professor Vane. He taught "Introductory Artifact History," a boring, elective class for first-years. He was a small, balding man with watery eyes and a nervous twitch in his hands. He looked like a mouse.
But my Soul Resonance told a different story.
The aura coming off Professor Vane wasn't nervous fear. It was a greasy, suffocating cloud of greed and malice. It felt like swamp water.
"Lucian," Damien said, gesturing for me to enter. "Close the door."
I obeyed.
"We have news from the North," Damien began, his eyes bright. "The Syndicate dig-teams found the location you identified. The ruins of the Stonehammer Clan."
"That is... excellent news," I said, keeping my voice even. I had expected them to find nothing. That they found actual ruins meant my fabricated research was dangerously close to the truth.
"It is," Damien agreed. "But the ruins are massive. Miles of collapsed tunnels. Finding a single key—this 'Silver Eye'—could take years." He leaned forward. "We do not have years."
He gestured to the small man by the window. "That is why I have brought in Professor Vane. He has been... assisting the Syndicate for some time now."
The mouse-like man stepped forward, a thin, unpleasant smile on his lips. "A pleasure, Mr. Greyfall. I have heard much of your... intellect."
"Professor," I acknowledged coldly.
"Professor Vane suggests that if the object is truly as powerful as you say," Damien explained, "it will have a magical signature. A resonance. He believes we can construct a tracking compass here at the academy, keyed to the specific mana-frequency of ancient dwarven silver, and send it to the dig team."
My mind raced. A tracking compass? If they built a real tracker, it would point to nothing, because the Sigil didn't exist. They would scour the ruins, find nothing, and realize the object wasn't there. My lie would unravel.
"A sound theory," I lied. "But dwarven silver acts as a mana dampener. It absorbs magic. It doesn't broadcast it. That's why they used it for keys."
Vane's watery eyes narrowed. "True. But even dampeners leave a void. A negative space in the mana field. If we tune the compass to look for the absence of mana, rather than the presence..."
He was competent. That was a problem.
"It requires a sample," Vane continued, his gaze fixing on me greedily. "A reference point. You said you found the architect's journal, Mr. Greyfall. Did the journal contain any sketches? Any runic diagrams of the key itself? If I can replicate the rune, I can tune the compass."
He was asking for proof I didn't have. I had claimed the journal was illegible regarding the key.
I sat on the Throne in my mind. I looked at the problem through the window of pure logic.
Option A: Claim there are no diagrams. Result: Vane tries anyway, fails, blames the ruins. Risk: Low.Option B: Fabricate a diagram. Result: Vane builds a compass that points to nothing. Risk: High.Option C: Discredit Vane.
"There are no diagrams," I said firmly. "Alastair was paranoid. He wouldn't draw the key to his own masterpiece."
I turned to Damien. "However, Professor Vane's idea has merit. But searching for a 'negative space' in a ruin full of anti-magic ore is like looking for a shadow in a dark room. It will yield false positives everywhere."
"Then what do you suggest?" Damien asked, impatient.
"We don't look for the key," I said. "We look for the lock."
Both men looked at me.
"The Stonehammer Clan didn't just keep the key in a box," I improvised, spinning a new web of lies. "They would have built a vault for it. A vault protected by Alastair's own wards. We don't track the silver. We track the warding signature."
I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket—a page of notes I had actually copied from the Verboten Archive, depicting a standard, complex warding scheme Alastair used.
"This," I said, sliding it across the desk, "is the base frequency of Alastair's personal containment spells. Tune your compass to this, Professor Vane. Find the vault, and you find the key."
Vane picked up the paper, his hands trembling slightly. He stared at the complex, high-level runic equations. He licked his lips. "This... this is genuine Fourth-Era warding theory. Where did you get this?"
"I am thorough," I said simply.
Vane looked at Damien, nodding enthusiastically. "This will work, My Lord. This is a distinct signal. If there is a vault in those mountains matching this frequency, we will find it."
"Good," Damien said, leaning back. "Get to work, Vane. I want that compass ready within the week."
Vane scurried out of the room, clutching the paper like a prize.
When the door clicked shut, Damien looked at me. "You see, Lucian? This is why you are vital. Vane is a useful rat, but he lacks vision. You provided the map. Now you provide the scent."
"I serve the goal," I said tonelessly.
"Indeed." Damien stood up. "But Vane serves another purpose. He is our eyes and ears in the faculty. He tells me the administration is growing suspicious of the 'quiet' in the commoner dorms. They feel the vacuum left by Aris."
"Let them suspect," I said. "They have no proof."
"True," Damien mused. "But suspicion leads to investigation. And investigation is tiresome."
He walked to the window, looking out at the snowy grounds. "Vane has told me something else. He says you spend a lot of time in the Verdant Archive. And that you are not the only one."
My heart didn't skip a beat. My mental fortress held firm.
"Seraphina Vael," Damien said, turning to face me. "Vane says she is there almost as often as you. He says she watches you."
"She is a diligent student," I said. "The archive is open to all with a pass."
"She was close to Aris," Damien noted, his voice dropping. "She is intelligent. And she is the daughter of a Marquis. If she starts asking the wrong questions... she could be a problem."
He walked closer to me. "Keep an eye on her, Lucian. You are in the same space. Watch her. If she gets too close to our work... or to you..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.
"I understand," I said.
"Good. Dismissed."
I walked out of the room and into the cold hallway.
I had survived Vane. I had reinforced the lie. But now, a new threat had emerged. Damien had noticed Seraphina.
And worse, he had noticed that she noticed me.
I walked toward the library, the cold air biting at my face. I needed to warn her. No, that was the "coward" speaking. The Architect knew better. Warning her would implicate me.
I had to do something harder. I had to make her stop watching me. I had to make her give up.
I entered the Verdant Archive. She was there, as always.
I walked past her table. I didn't stop. I didn't look at her. I sat at my own desk and opened my book.
But for the first time in months, the silence between us didn't feel like a truce. It felt like a countdown. Damien's eye was upon us. And if I couldn't make her look away, he would close her eyes permanently.