The night fog slowly receded as a pale dawn crawled across Astelra's sky. But even though the light began to appear, the air still carried a cold, damp scent left by last night's chaos. Makoto and Lyona hadn't slept; both spent the night in a small lodging house in the western district, yet neither managed to rest peacefully.
There was something that always felt like it was following— as if that presence clung between the shadows of the walls.
A presence only Makoto could sense.
A presence that was beginning to take its own role.
A presence named Marchaos.
---
That morning, they stood on a city street slowly filling with market vendors. People hurried past, trying to forget the collapse of Verlyn's tower, as if that disaster was a seasonal storm that would pass if they simply didn't look at it.
But Makoto knew: it wasn't a storm. It was a warning.
"The Northern Archive must be filled with guards now." Lyona brushed aside her white hair while examining the note they managed to save last night. Her eyes were still red from lack of sleep, but her focus remained sharp. "We need to be careful explaining how we found that symbol."
Makoto nodded, though his mind wasn't there.
He still felt the faint pressure at the back of his neck— the sensation that always came when Marchaos drew near. Like a shadow peering from the edge of his vision. Like someone walking half a step behind him, but always unseen.
"Makoto." Lyona tapped his shoulder. "You're pale."
"I… just didn't sleep."
That was half a lie.
The other half was something he couldn't even put into words.
They headed toward the northern district. The air grew colder, each step echoing the events of last night: the tower's collapse, the guards' screams, and… that black silhouette.
A silhouette that touched the world without ever truly being in it.
---
The Northern Archive gate was heavily guarded now. Two guards eyed them suspiciously, but Lyona presented a green-rank adventurer badge— enough for limited investigation access.
"You're permitted to enter," one guard said. "But don't touch anything that's still in disarray. The official investigation team will arrive by noon."
Lyona bowed politely. Makoto followed behind, but as soon as they passed through the gate, his body felt heavy. As if a cold weight brushed his spine.
He turned his head.
No one was there.
But Makoto sensed its presence. Marchaos was here. Walking beside him, silent.
Observing.
Judging.
---
The archive's main hall was a mess. Shelves toppled, scrolls scattered, dust still hanging in the air. Sunlight came through cracked walls, forming thin blades of light.
Lyona crouched, inspecting the floor where they had found the mysterious symbol.
"Gone," she muttered. "It's like someone cleaned the marks overnight."
Makoto leaned closer. The floor that had been etched with the long strange symbol was completely bare, with no trace whatsoever. Even the dust looked swept clean.
No human could have done this. Too clean. Too… perfect.
Makoto swallowed. "He… came inside."
"Who?" Lyona looked at him.
Makoto opened his mouth— but the voice cut him off first.
A soft whisper, very close, yet vibrating like an echo through an endless corridor:
"Silence."
Makoto froze.
Lyona simply saw him pause for a moment.
"Makoto? Did you hear something?"
Makoto shook his head quickly. "No. Just… this room makes me dizzy."
But his heartbeat was chaos.
Marchaos wasn't just following. He was directing.
Every step they took felt as if that presence had already anticipated it.
---
They checked shelf after shelf, but what they found was something unexpected: new scrolls, ones that shouldn't be there. Their material was too coarse, ink too dark.
As if someone had planted misleading records.
Lyona unrolled one.
It was blank.
Only a single stroke of ink on the last page:
"He sees."
Lyona frowned. "What does this mean? Who is 'he'?"
Makoto felt his throat dry up.
He knew who it was referring to.
He had felt it since last night.
Marchaos was toying with their investigation.
Shifting clues. Erasing evidence. Leaving ambiguous messages only Makoto could understand.
Makoto closed his eyes briefly. "Lyona… we need to leave before the official investigators arrive. This room isn't safe."
Lyona stared at him, confused. "Not safe how? The tower already collapsed, but—"
"Not that."
Makoto looked at the dark corner of the room.
The shadow stood there.
Its form blurry, tall, as if its body was covered in black haze. Motionless. Silent. Only watching.
Marchaos.
Makoto felt his breath catch. The edge of his vision pulsed, and the voice returned, cold and flat:
"Take the third scroll from the left shelf. Do not touch the others."
Makoto trembled slightly.
The command wasn't a threat— more like instruction from someone who believed himself above.
Makoto tried to appear normal before Lyona.
"I… see something. On the left shelf. We should check it."
Lyona nodded, still unaware. "Alright."
They walked toward the shelf indicated by the voice. Among the dusty scrolls, one was wrapped in a thin white cloth.
Makoto reached for it.
The moment he touched it, Marchaos's shadow vanished— like smoke scattered by wind.
As if he had only been waiting for Makoto to act.
Lyona approached. "What's inside?"
Makoto unwrapped it.
Inside was an old scroll bearing the same symbol that had disappeared from the floor last night. But its carving was deeper, cleaner— as if newly written.
As if someone copied it deliberately, so Makoto would be the one to find it.
Lyona didn't know that. She only stared in disbelief. "Makoto… this is important evidence."
Makoto stared at the scroll, but his thoughts spun:
Was this evidence… or a trap?
The voice came again, so soft only Makoto could hear:
"Take it. You will need it. More than you realize."
Makoto shut his eyes for a moment.
Marchaos was holding control— and Makoto didn't know how long he could resist.
---
"Makoto," Lyona called. "Are you alright?"
Makoto opened his eyes and gave a faint smile.
"Yes. Let's leave."
They walked out of the Northern Archive, the scroll held in Makoto's hand.
And just as the door closed behind them…
The shadow inside the chamber shifted half an inch.
As if it smiled.