Elion stared at the note for a long time.
They're not watching the relics. They're watching you.
The handwriting was precise, curved, deliberate. It didn't match any of his colleagues — not that he had many to compare. No signature. No hint.
He checked the drawer again.
Nothing. No fibers. No signs of disturbance.
Whoever left it had come and gone without leaving a trace.
And yet… they knew.
He folded the paper and tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat. Then he stood and made his way through the quiet corridors of the Department, passing rows of locked relic cabinets and sealed vault doors. With each step, the spiral behind his ear pulsed softly, like it approved of his decision.
He wasn't going to ignore it anymore.
Not the whisper.
Not the mark.
Not the mask.
Someone knew what he was becoming.
And someone else didn't want him to know it.
He made his way toward Archive Hall E, a section technically closed for renovation — though in truth, no one ever went there. The floor tiles were cracked, the ceiling dripped condensation, and the lamps flickered no matter how often they were replaced.
He walked past the rusted storage bins and broken lanterns, then stopped before an old filing cabinet bolted to the wall.
A sound drifted from behind it.
Not a voice. Not a machine.
A breath.
Elion stepped closer.
The air grew colder.
He gripped the edges of the cabinet and, with a quiet grunt, shifted it just enough to reveal what lay behind.
A thin crack in the wall.
Barely noticeable.
Unless you were looking for it.
He ran his fingers along the edge. The stone was soft — not damp, but aged. As if the wall itself had been untouched for decades.
He pressed.
The panel gave way with a soft click.
A hidden door.
The space beyond was narrow, barely wide enough to walk through, and entirely unlit. He took out a match, struck it, and stepped inside.
The passage descended.
Dust coated the steps. The air smelled of parchment and old iron. Far below, a dim glow pulsed — faint and amber, like candlelight behind thick glass.
He reached the bottom and emerged into a small stone room.
A circle had been etched into the floor, made from chalk, rope, and dried ink. Old papers littered the shelves. Symbols covered the walls — spirals, ears, broken eyes, and crude sketches of masks.
But it wasn't abandoned.
Someone had been here.
Recently.
On a nearby desk, a notebook lay open. In it, pages filled with notes in the same elegant handwriting as the message in his drawer.
He flipped to the last page.
"If you found this, then the Eye chose you.
You are not the first Listener. But you may be the last.
Follow the sound below."
Then, under the final line, a symbol had been drawn:
A spiral inside an ear, enclosed by nine dots.
He didn't recognize the language beneath it.
But the mark behind his ear burned.
And somewhere above, back in the Department halls…
A bell began to ring.
Three slow chimes.
Then silence.