By day, it bustled with scribes, scholars, and Weavers seeking information. By night, it was a silent, echoing tomb, guarded by a few vigilant, but often complacent, Aether Weavers whose primary task was to maintain the building's ambient light and security wards.I knew the night shifts. The Aether Weavers on duty often kept to the main halls, their glowing orbs of light illuminating the most frequently accessed sections. The deeper archives, particularly the oldest, rarely disturbed ones, were often left in semi-darkness, relying on the ambient glow that filtered through the vast building. This was my advantage.
I slipped out of my dwelling, moving through the shadowed alleys, my footsteps light and careful. The city at night was different; quieter, more mysterious, the elemental hum softer, but still present. I avoided the main thoroughfares, keeping to the narrow passages between buildings, using the deep shadows cast by the moon and the distant Aetherial street lamps as my cloak.Reaching the Hall of Records, I found the side entrance I typically used for late-night deliveries. The heavy oak door was secured by a simple, Aether-infused lock, designed to alert a Weaver if tampered with. I didn't need to pick it. As a scribe with regular late-night duties, I had been given a minor Aetherial key, a small, polished stone that resonated with the lock's frequency, allowing silent passage. It was a low-level security measure, easily granted to trusted personnel.
I pressed the stone to the lock, feeling the familiar, faint thrum as it disengaged, and slipped inside.The air within the archives was cool and heavy, thick with the scent of aged parchment, dust, and a faint, metallic tang of ancient Aether. The main hall was dimly lit by floating Aetherial orbs, casting long, dancing shadows. I moved silently, my soft-soled boots making no sound on the polished stone floors. I could feel the faint, rhythmic pulse of the Aether Weavers on duty, their consciousnesses spread thin across the vast building, a comforting presence to most, but a terrifying threat to me.
I had to be careful not to create any sudden elemental disturbances that might alert them.My destination was the "Discarded Theories and Anomalies" section, a subsection of the historical archives located deep in the oldest wing of the Hall. It was a place where records deemed irrelevant, contradictory, or simply too bizarre to fit the Matriarchy's established narrative were relegated. Most scribes avoided it, finding it dull and unproductive. For me, it was a beacon of desperate hope.The journey through the archives was a labyrinthine descent into forgotten knowledge. I navigated rows upon rows of towering shelves, each laden with countless scrolls, codices, and bound volumes.
The deeper I went, the dustier the air became, the dimmer the ambient light. The shelves here were less organized, the scrolls tied with brittle, ancient ribbons, some spilling their contents onto the floor. It was clear these sections were rarely touched.Finally, I reached the designated section. It was a small, cramped alcove, almost entirely dark. I carefully unshielded my lantern, its soft glow pushing back the oppressive shadows, revealing shelves crammed with forgotten lore. The scrolls here were yellowed, brittle, some crumbling at the edges. The air was thick with the scent of decay and forgotten wisdom.