We left Amelia in the library, her fingers already tracing the spines of books with a reverence I usually reserve for a comfortable pillow. She promised to look for any mention of glyphs or Tainted Blood manipulating the Gloom, but her focus was already drifting into a millennium of forgotten lore. Flynn and I continued our search for more practical, edible pursuits.
The crypt's layout was a maddening, illogical maze. A corridor would lead to a dead-end storage room filled with rusted armor. Another would spiral back to the main chamber. The architects of this place had clearly valued secrecy over convenience.
"So," Flynn said, breaking the long silence. We were walking down a long, straight corridor lined with what looked like weapon racks, though they were all empty. "You're really not going to tell me what the nightmare was about?"
"No."
"Was it about the attack?"
"No."
"Was it about that purple-haired guy?" he pressed, his tone casual, but I could feel the weight of the question.
I stopped walking and turned to face him. "Why do you care so much?"
He stopped too, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against the stone wall. "Because you're my friend, you idiot. And because you look like you've seen a ghost. A really mean ghost who stole your lunch money." He sighed, the frustration giving way to something more serious. "And because whatever is happening to you... it's happening to us, too. To all of us. You're a part of this, whether you want to be or not. And it's better if we all know what we're dealing with."
His words hit me with an unexpected force. He wasn't just being nosy or pushy. He was scared. And he was looking for answers, and for some reason, he thought I might have them. For some insane reason, he trusted me. Even after everything.
I didn't want to tell him. I couldn't bear to see the fear in his eyes if I told him I'd dreamt of one of our enemies offering me a job. But the alternative, letting him think I was hiding something malevolent, was worse.
"He... spoke to me," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "In the dream. The one from the island."
Flynn's jaw tightened. "What did he say?"
"...It was a dream, Flynn. Not some kind of vision. It was just my mind processing all this nonsense."
He just stared at me, waiting. He was stubborn as a mule, and twice as hard to move once he'd dug in his heels.
I sighed, the fight draining out of me. "He said I wasn't the first. That there have been others like me."
The words hung in the dusty air between us. A new, more terrifying possibility. My curse wasn't unique. It was a pattern. A precedent.
Flynn's expression was grim. "...Guess it makes sense for a nightmare. You're worried about it and so your head tries to twist the knife on itself." He looked back down the empty, dusty corridor. "But we don't really know anything about what Gloom Dwellers are capable of now."
"You really think they can just reach through wards and send dreams...?"
Flynn makes a face. "...Guess not." He admits. Then he brightens up. "But if he ever does come for you, he'll have to come through me first, you know. I'm no weakling."
I'm not...convinced that would be much help. Flynn's strong for his age and skill level, but I don't know if he could handle even Noble Class Gloom Dwellers, let alone a...
Humanoid.
One I'm not even sure the Exorcist Candle could properly affect.
If they somehow manage to get past these extra strong hiding wards, then I'm not sure Flynn's strength would help all that much. He'd be strong enough to maybe get one or two hits in. But then what?
"...Sure." I say, but it's not very convincing.
We turn down another new corridor, one that's slightly sloped downwards. The architecture in this section seems different - more purposeful than the simple living quarters. The stone is smoother, the archways more ornate.
We walk for about a minute before Flynn slows to a stop, sniffing the air.
"You smell that?" he asks.
I take a breath. The cool, musty air of the crypt is still there, but there's something else mixed in. A faint, but distinct, earthy aroma. Dried herbs, aged meat, and something sweet... like dried fruit.
My stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl.
Flynn grins. "Bingo."
He follows the scent, leading us to a large, reinforced wooden door. There's no handle, just a series of strange, interlocking metal rings on the front. Flynn frowns at it, poking one of the rings. "Huh. Looks like one of those puzzle boxes my aunt used to have."
I look closer. The rings are set into the door at different depths, and they seem to be connected to the locking mechanism. It's clearly designed to be opened by someone who knows the sequence, not by brute force.
"So much for breakfast," I say, leaning against the wall. "Let's go get Amelia. Maybe she's found a book on 'How to Break Into Two-Hundred-Year-Old Pantries'."
"Nah," Flynn says, cracking his knuckles. He examines the puzzle for a moment, then, with a grunt, grabs two of the rings and just... pulls.
With a screech of protesting metal, the rings wrench out of the door, tearing through the ancient wood. The lock mechanism inside shatters with a series of loud pops. Flynn gives the door a solid kick, and it swings open, revealing a dark room.
He grins over his shoulder at me. "See? Brute force works too."
"...I'm gonna pretend it was like that when we got here." I say as I step past him into the pantry.
The room is a paradise of preserved goods. Racks line the walls, laden with cured meats wrapped in wax cloth. Sacks of dried legumes and grains stand in neat rows on the floor. Clay jars sealed with wax hold what smells like honey, dried fruits, and pickled vegetables. The place is a treasure trove of non-perishables, a fortress of calories against a starving world.
Flynn lets out a whoop of pure joy and immediately grabs a string of what looks like dried sausage, tearing off a chunk with his teeth. "Finally! Real food!" he says, his mouth full.
I'm more cautious. I walk over to one of the jars and pry open the wax seal. The sweet, syrupy scent of dried peaches fills the air. They're shriveled and dark, but they look fine. I take one. It's tough and leathery, but the burst of sweet, tangy flavor on my tongue is the most wonderful thing I've tasted in my entire life.
We don't bother with plates or utensils. We just lean against the shelves, eating with our hands, a quiet, desperate feast. There's no conversation, just the sounds of chewing and the occasional sigh of satisfaction. For a few minutes, we can forget about the dead, the destroyed, and the horrifying new power stirring inside me. For a few minutes, we can just be two hungry boys eating stolen sausage.
I've just finished my third peach when Flynn speaks again. "So," he says, between bites. "You think they got anything fresh hidden in a preservation ward?" He looks hopefully around the room, as if a magical refrigerator might just appear. "I could kill for a glass of milk right now."
"Your stomach is a black hole of want," I comment, but I'm scanning the room too. A diet of dried meat and fruit will keep us alive, but it won't keep us strong. We need something more.
My gaze falls on a large, stone-lined cistern built into the back wall. It's covered by a heavy, wooden lid. I walk over and touch it, but the magic running through it gives me a reproachful zap.
"Ow-!" I frown at it, rubbing my hand. "...Can't brute force the preservation wards or we'll break them."
Flynn makes another face at me. "I know that, come on." He joins me, and pats the top of the cistern. "But maybe we can find the switch or whatever." He begins to search around the lid, pressing and prodding at the stonework.
I'm about to tell him it's a waste of time when I notice a small, almost invisible carving on the lip of the cistern. It's a single, stylized flame. The symbol of the Order of Light.
"Hold on." I lean in for a closer look. The carving isn't just decorative. It's a depression. A shallow dish. I place my thumb in it, but it's just a dead spot in the cold stone.
"I tried that," Flynn says. "Nothing."
Well, a Tainted Blood's not about to be able to activate it better than Flynn but....
I huff. "Amelia could probably figure it out."
"Amelia's gonna starve before she realizes she's hungry in that library." Flynn grumps. He taps the symbol with a thoughtful frown. "Maybe you have to put something in it. Like... a drop of oil?"
"Maybe, but if we're wrong it'll be annoying to clean up and try anything else." I run my fingers over the rim, my mind trying to work through the problem. This was a pantry for exorcists. It couldn't be that complicated, but it would use their Light, probably.
"You happen to bring one of your candles with you?" I ask Flynn.
Flynn shakes his head, and looks away. "Left it in the room. We were just looking for food, you know?"
I huff, and cross my arms. "Probably uses something like that to open."
"I could smash it..."
I stare at him. "No."
"...Just an idea."
I stare at it for a long moment, and then sigh. "Well. Either we settle for the preserved stuff, or we double back and drag Amelia out of the library."
Flynn groans. "I hate. Both of those options."