Fog continued to cloak the city like a second skin. It dulled every sound, swallowed the clamor of carts and carriages, and softened even the sharp cries of newsboys hawking their evening prints. Backlund felt distant, muted, and Lucien moved through it like a man in a dream layered over another dream.
Beneath his composed gait was a calculating storm.
It was no longer enough to observe. He needed to act.
He passed the East Borough watchtower without glancing up, and soon ducked into a low alley that curved behind a bakery. There, inside an iron-wrought side door disguised as part of the utility wall, was an entrance to a private archive—one not officially registered with the university.
He had helped arrange it under the name Thornewell, supposedly a philanthropic historian with interests in esoteric maritime relics. The documents here were curated not by accident, but by the quiet guidance of his many identities. Not everything that was hidden was forgotten.
Inside the archive, he lit a lamp and pulled out a set of aged folios. Names, timelines, overlapping cult activity—all slowly aligning. Farnath the Red was no longer just a name. He was an omen. A node in the web of converging tides.
Lucien traced the curves of ritual diagrams—his breath steady, his mind clearer than it had been in days. He'd reached Sequence 8 quietly just the day before. It came not with fanfare but with clarity. The kind that silenced a room. The kind that showed him how many pieces were still missing.
He folded the folio back and turned toward his satchel. Pulling out a thin file, he reviewed the list of names he'd gathered from recent disappearances. No pattern in the bloodlines. No connection in occupation. But all had one thing in common: they had been seen near fog-thick zones. Places that, to most, seemed unremarkable.
He marked three of them with a red slash. He would visit them soon.
Back in the dormitory, Elise stared at her reflection for a moment too long.
Her Sequence 8 advancement had altered her senses. Not dramatically, but subtly. Sounds layered behind words. Emotions left trails. Books she'd once skimmed now hummed with resonance. As a Mystery Pryer, she felt things before she understood them.
She had not yet told Lucien about the fragmented dreams.
Dreams that showed places she knew she'd never seen. A hallway of white light. A boy's back as he walked always ahead, never looking behind. Her heart told her the name, but her mind resisted it.
Yuki.
She ran her fingers through her hair, closing her eyes. The ache was old. The longing, older still. But she had chosen this path. And whether Lucien remembered or not, she would walk it beside him.
Even if only in shadow.
Two days later, they met near the public fountain in the Scholar's Square.
Elise greeted him with a small nod. "You found something."
Lucien handed her a folded paper. "Three disappearances. They're connected by proximity to fog-thickened zones. But that's not all."
She opened the sheet. "What's this symbol?"
"It appeared in two separate locations. Hidden under loose bricks. Subtle. Obscure. But not meaningless. It's a variation of a Watcher's Eye."
Elise narrowed her eyes. "Not common. Not even among Spectators."
"Exactly." Lucien's tone lowered. "And it only appears when boundaries thin. Something is stirring beneath the city. Preparing."
She handed the paper back. "And Klein?"
Lucien hesitated. "The book mentioned mirrors. Someone walking ahead of time. A metaphor, yes. But also... a warning."
"Amon?"
He nodded once. "Possibly. But it's too soon to draw that conclusion."
Their eyes met.
Both knew the cost of rushing insight.
Lucien inhaled slowly. "I've begun preparing a secondary identity embedded deeper in the Church's civilian records. If this becomes hostile territory, I want an escape."
"What's the name?"
He smiled faintly. "Doesn't matter. You'll know me by my silence."
She smirked. "Then I'll have to listen very carefully."
As they parted ways, the fog stirred slightly—as though something enormous had shifted beneath its folds.
To be continued...