"One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious."
***
Arms first. I fed them through the gap and stretched into the darkness below. My fingertips brushed stone floor on the other side.
The opening was tighter than it looked. Way tighter.
Head and shoulders came next. That's when things got bad.
The iron bars scraped my back and chest at the same time. They caught my tunic, snagged the fabric, and suddenly I wasn't moving anymore. The metal pressed into my skin hard enough to make breathing hurt.
Oh no.
For about three seconds, I thought I'd actually gotten myself stuck. Wedged halfway through like the world's most pathetic burglar. I could picture it perfectly: dawn breaking, servants finding me with my legs still outside and my torso jammed in the window, unable to move forward or back.
The story would spread through the estate by lunch. "Did you hear about Young Master Kaelen? Found stuck in a window at dawn. Trying to break into his own family's archive. Couldn't even do that right."
Peak Kaelen. Really outdoing myself here.
Then I remembered something. Some random survival tip from a YouTube video I'd watched at 2 AM instead of studying for finals.
Relax everything. Exhale completely. Make yourself as small as possible.
I forced my muscles to go slack. Twisted my shoulders at an angle that sent pain shooting down my spine. Ignored the bars scraping my ribs. Wiggled like a fish.
Gravity grabbed me.
I fell through the window in a tangle of arms and legs, hit the archive floor with a thud that echoed way too loud, and lay there in a heap of shame and bruises.
Beautiful. Ten out of ten. Truly the work of a master infiltrator.
Next time, try landing on your feet. Wild concept, I know.
I stayed perfectly still. Every muscle locked. Listening.
The guards' conversation kept going on the other side of the wall. Someone laughed. Coins clinked. Money changing hands. Still completely absorbed in their game.
Thank god.
I picked myself up and looked around.
The room was exactly what you'd expect from decades of neglect. Shelves stuffed with boxes. Furniture draped in dusty sheets. An old desk against one wall with drawers that probably hadn't been opened since before I was born. In either life.
Okay. The forum post said the rune was in here somewhere. Hidden compartment. False bottom in one of the drawers. Let's do this.
The first drawer took effort to open. The wood had swollen from years of humidity, expanded and warped until it barely fit in its slot. I worked it loose with slow pressure, trying not to make noise.
Inside: moldy ledgers. Pages spotted with mildew. Useless.
Second drawer. Same struggle to open.
Inside: rusted pens. Inkwells full of dried black sludge.
Come on. Come on.
Third drawer wouldn't budge at all. I pushed. Pulled. Applied pressure from different angles. The wood was completely warped, the whole thing locked in place by decades of neglect.
Something cracked. The drawer finally slid open.
More ledgers.
Are you kidding me?
Wait. The forum post mentioned a false bottom. I ran my fingers along the inside of the drawer. Feeling for anything wrong. Any irregularity in the wood.
The moonlight coming through the grimy window wasn't enough to see details. I was working blind, relying on touch alone.
On the other side of the wall, the guards laughed again. A reminder of how stupid this whole situation was. One suspicious noise and everything fell apart.
My fingers found something. A tiny depression near the back corner. Barely noticeable. Could have been natural wear in the wood.
Could have been something else.
I pressed down.
Nothing happened.
No. No no no. It has to be here. PlotDeviceHunter69 wouldn't lie to me. Random strangers on the internet are always trustworthy. That's basically a law of nature.
I pressed harder.
Something clicked.
A section of the drawer bottom shifted. Hidden hinges that had somehow stayed functional after all these years. A compartment opened up beneath the false bottom.
And there it was.
The [Rune of Diminishment] sat on a bed of faded velvet. The fabric had probably been crimson once. Now it was dusty pink, the color drained out by time.
The rune itself was smaller than I expected. A disc of dark stone about the size of a large coin. Maybe a bit thicker. Symbols covered its surface, geometric patterns carved into the rock. In the dim moonlight, they almost seemed to move.
That's probably just exhaustion making me see things. Probably. Hopefully.
I reached into the compartment and picked it up.
Warm. The stone was warm to the touch, almost body temperature, despite being sealed in a cold drawer for years. And there was something else. A pulse. A subtle vibration running through it, like holding something with a weak electrical current.
The tingle spread through my fingers and up my arm.
It's real. It's actually real.
PlotDeviceHunter69, wherever you are, I owe you my life. And a beer. And probably my firstborn child.
I turned the rune over in my hands. The symbols on the back were different from the front. More complex. They spiraled inward toward the center, creating a pattern that made my eyes hurt if I looked at it too long.
Okay. According to the theory, this thing masks your true abilities. Makes you look weaker than you actually are. Perfect for someone who needs to fly under the radar.
But it's also cursed. And "cursed" in fantasy novels usually means "will screw you over in unexpected ways."
I weighed my options.
Put it back. Leave the archive. Go back to my room and pretend none of this happened. Keep playing the pathetic villain until the plot caught up with me and I died according to schedule.
Or.
Take the risk. Accept whatever price the curse demanded. Gain the ability to hide my true strength while I trained in secret. Build power nobody knew about until it was too late for them to stop me.
Not much of a choice when you put it that way.
I slipped the rune into my pocket.
It settled against my leg, still warm, still pulsing with that strange energy. Nothing exploded. No ancient guardian appeared to punish me for grave robbing. The curse didn't immediately melt my face off.
So far so good.
The guards were still at their dice game. I could hear them arguing about whose turn it was. Completely oblivious.
Time to leave.
Getting out was easier than getting in. I knew the route now. Knew which boards to avoid. Where the handholds were on the exterior wall. The loose bar swung aside without the horrible screech this time.
I dropped into the shadows outside and pressed my back against the cold stone. Breathing hard. Covered in dust and bruises. But alive.
And in my pocket, a cursed artifact that might just change everything.