I backtracked carefully, retracing my steps to a side passage I'd noted earlier. This route was longer and more dangerous—it led through a section where the ceiling had partially collapsed, leaving a maze of fallen beams and debris. But it would bring me to the archive chamber's exterior wall, away from the gambling guards.
The side passage was a nightmare of obstacles. Broken stone jutted from the floor like teeth, and fallen timbers created a jungle gym of sharp edges and unstable footing. I picked my way through the debris with the care of a surgeon, testing each handhold before trusting it with my weight.
Moonlight filtered through gaps in the damaged ceiling, creating pools of silver that alternated with patches of absolute darkness. I moved from shadow to shadow, a creature of the night born from necessity rather than nature. The original Kaelen had been many things, but athletic wasn't one of them. Every muscle in my body screamed protest as I squeezed through gaps barely wide enough for my shoulders.
A timber shifted under my hand, sending a shower of dust and small stones cascading to the floor below. I froze, listening for any sign that the guards had heard. Their dice game continued uninterrupted, punctuated by laughter and the clink of coins changing hands.
Apparently, gambling is more absorbing than I thought. Good to know the universal constants hold true even in fantasy worlds.
The exterior wall finally came into view through a gap in the rubble. Ancient stone blocks, each one larger than my torso, rose into the darkness above. The windows were set high, their iron bars black against the night sky. But there—third window from the corner—I could see what I was looking for.
One of the bars hung at an odd angle, corroded by decades of rain and neglect. The gap looked barely wide enough for a person, but the original Kaelen had been built like a scarecrow with abandonment issues. If anyone could squeeze through that opening, it was me.
Climbing the wall proved easier than expected. The ancient mortar between the stones had crumbled in places, creating handholds and footholds that would have made a rock climber weep with joy. I ascended slowly, testing each grip before trusting it with my weight. The stones were slick with moisture and age, but they held.
The loose bar moved under pressure, swinging aside with a grinding protest that sounded like a rusty gate in a horror novel. The gap beyond was smaller than it had appeared from below—a narrow rectangle that would require some creative contortion to navigate.
Right. Time to become one with my inner pretzel.
I fed my arms through first, then my head and shoulders. The iron bars scraped against my back and chest, catching on my tunic and threatening to trap me halfway through like a cork in a bottle. For a terrifying moment, I thought I'd misjudged the opening, that I'd be stuck there until dawn brought discovery and execution.
But desperation lent me flexibility I didn't know I possessed. I twisted and writhed, ignoring the bite of metal against my ribs, until gravity finally claimed me. I tumbled through the window in a graceless heap, landing on the archive chamber floor with a thud that seemed to echo through the entire wing.
Smooth, Kaelen. Real smooth. Next time, remember to stick the landing.
I lay still for a moment, listening for any sign that my dramatic entrance had attracted attention. The guards' conversation continued from the chamber next door, uninterrupted by my acrobatic display. Either they hadn't heard, or they were remarkably dedicated to their gambling.
The archive chamber stretched around me in the moonlight, a cathedral of forgotten knowledge. Tall shelves lined the walls, packed with books, scrolls, and documents that chronicled centuries of Leone family history. Dust covered everything like a shroud, and the air tasted of old paper and neglect.
But I wasn't here for the family history. According to the forum post I remembered, the [Rune of Diminishment] was hidden in a false bottom drawer of the archivist's desk—a massive oak monstrosity that dominated one corner of the chamber. The desk looked like it had been carved from a single tree, its surface scarred by decades of use and abuse.
Please be here. Please be real. Please don't let me have risked everything for a figment of some internet stranger's imagination.
I approached the desk like a supplicant approaching an altar, each step weighted with hope and terror in equal measure. The drawers were old and swollen with moisture, requiring careful pressure to open without noise. The first drawer yielded nothing but moldy ledgers. The second contained rusted pens and dried ink.
The third drawer stuck fast, warped wood refusing to budge despite my efforts. I worked at it carefully, applying pressure at different angles until something gave way with a soft crack. The drawer slid open, revealing...
More ledgers. Disappointment crashed over me like a cold wave.
False bottom. The forum post mentioned a false bottom.
I ran my fingers along the drawer's interior, feeling for any irregularity in the wood. There—a slight depression near the back corner, barely visible in the moonlight. I pressed down, and a section of the drawer bottom shifted aside with a whisper of hidden hinges.
Beneath lay a small compartment, and within that compartment sat a single object that made my breath catch in my throat.
The [Rune of Diminishment] was smaller than I'd expected—a disc of dark stone about the size of a coin, carved with symbols that seemed to writhe in the moonlight. It felt warm to the touch, pulsing with a subtle energy that made my fingers tingle.
It's real. It's actually real. PlotHoleFinder69, wherever you are, I owe you a beer. Or a lifetime of gratitude. Whichever is easier to arrange.
I slipped the rune into my pocket, feeling its weight like a promise of salvation. But as I turned to leave, my blood froze in my veins.
The massive oak door of the archive chamber stood before me, iron-banded and ancient, radiating an aura of authority that had guarded Leone secrets for generations. And beyond that door lay my only route back to safety—a route that would take me directly past the gambling guards.
I placed a trembling hand on the cold wood, feeling the weight of centuries pressing down upon me. The door was locked from the inside, a fact I'd somehow overlooked in my planning. Getting out would be as challenging as getting in had been.
Point of no return, indeed. Time to see if I'm half as clever as I think I am.
The lock mechanism on this side was more complex than the service door—multiple tumblers, reinforced housing, designed to keep valuable documents safe from thieves exactly like me. But it was also old, predating more sophisticated security measures. With careful work and a lot of luck...
The first tumbler clicked into place. Then the second. The third proved stubborn, requiring several minutes of patient manipulation before finally yielding. The lock disengaged with a soft thud that sounded like thunder in the silence.
I cracked the door open just wide enough to peer through. The gambling guards were still at their game, dice clattering across a makeshift table in the chamber next door. Their voices carried clearly in the still air, discussing debts and wages and whose wife made the best ale.
Now or never. Time to see if I can sneak past three drunk guards with nothing but raw nerve and questionable life choices.
The corridor stretched before me like a gauntlet, every shadow a potential hiding spot, every sound a potential betrayal. I stepped through the doorway and closed it softly behind me, the lock engaging with a whisper that might as well have been a scream.
The journey home had begun.
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