“Hang on,” Noah said, shaking his head. “We’ve got no idea what’s in there. We should wait for backup. More specifically—your parents.”
“If there is something of value inside, they may have left someone behind to destroy it. The longer we wait, the more chances we give them to complete their task,” Ciri countered.
Of course. Noah growled inwardly. “Alright, fine. Let’s do it.”
They moved through the camp with deliberate caution, heads constantly swiveling. As they neared the grey stone building, they pushed through a thick patch of dried leaves, bushes, and branches that ringed it, their footsteps far louder than Noah liked. Even if he was fairly sure the camp was empty, he mentally cursed whoever had left this much debris lying around—right up until he stepped on something round and nearly lost his footing.
“What the fuck!” he hissed, hopping to recover.
“What? What is it?” Ciri asked.
Noah didn’t answer. He looked down, searching for the offending stone so he could throw it as far away as possible. When he found it, he paused, brow furrowing. After a quick glance around to confirm they were alone, he knelt and picked it up, weighing it in his palm.
The strange, ten‑centimeter sphere was perfectly smooth and entirely black, with an iridescent sheen that glittered in the torchlight. It was clearly not a natural formation. He ran his thumb across its flawless surface, then shrugged and stood.
“I tripped over this.”
“What is it?” she asked, eyes flicking down before resuming her watch.
“I was kind of hoping you could tell me.”
“I do not know,” she said, not bothering to look closer.
Knowing he had more pressing concerns, Noah cocked his arm to toss the stone away—then stopped. The faint, almost‑glowing sheen caught his eye again. After a moment’s hesitation, he lowered his arm and slipped the sphere into his pocket.
A mystery for another time.
He shook his head to clear it, brought his free hand back to his crossbow, and continued forward. Taking extra care to avoid more hidden obstacles, they picked their way through the debris until they reached the door of the stone building. Noah gave Ciri a final glance to confirm she was ready, then tried the handle.
It was unlocked. More than that though, in the dim light he could see blood smeared across the front. His eyes followed the trail of blood in the darkness across the grass and around the corner out of sight.
Someone tried to get away from the Corrupted. And they didn’t quite make it.
Doing his best impression of his marine brother clearing a room, he eased the door open and slipped inside. The hinges stayed mercifully silent. The magically lit room was empty—just a brown wooden desk covered in papers, an equally-mundane chair, and a staircase descending into a basement.
“Check those papers,” Noah said, moving toward the dark stairwell and aiming his crossbow down it. “That could be what we’re looking for.”
Ciri entered behind him, setting her grimoire on the desk before rifling through the papers. Her movements grew increasingly frantic, making Noah flinch. Still, nothing—Corrupted or otherwise—was charging up the stairs, so he kept his complaints to himself.
“This may be it,” she said softly after several minutes.
“And by it, you mean…?”
“Incriminating evidence.”
He tamped down on his excitement. “You said may be. Just how incriminating is this?”
“While the letters bear no official seal and never use names, based on the contents I believe these are exchanges between Lord Malrec and the guard captain here. Malrec never explicitly commands the captain to perform experiments on prisoners, but it is strongly implied. The captain also kept notes detailing hundreds of experiments and their results. There are references to ‘our friends in the north,’ which is obviously Ferrum Vale. Each piece alone is circumstantial, but taken together it may be enough to motivate an investigation.”
“It’s better than nothing,” Noah said. “Gather everything and—”
“Wait, there’s more.” She held up another sheet. “A reference chart for spell runes I do not recognize. I believe the spells in the grimoire we recovered outside are connected to these.” She shook her head. “Incredible. Humans discovered new spells.”
“Okay, we got what we needed, can we—”
“Wait!” she hissed, eyes widening. “They did not discover new spells. Apparently they found a small grimoire in the basement of this building. It was heavily damaged, and they were attempting to reconstruct missing pages through brute force.”
Noah paused. “You’re about to tell me the grimoire isn’t on that desk, aren’t you.”
“Yes,” she said quietly.
“It’s still in the basement, isn’t it?”
“They were afraid to move it, for fear it might crumble.”
Well, we’re here anyway, Noah thought with a slow exhale. “Alright. If you’ve got a spell for some light, now would be a good time. I can’t shoot what I can’t see.”
“Yes, of course.”
She gathered the papers, tucking them into her satchel beside the dead conduit’s grimoire. Then she checked each drawer, the underside of the desk, and the surrounding floor for anything else. Finding nothing, she flipped through her own grimoire and carefully tore out a page.
The familiar glow and soft chime of magic filled the room before an orb of light appeared above her head. “There. That should help.”
Doing his best not to be distracted by the casual display of magic, Noah nodded and began his descent down the stairs. The white light above Ciri cast more than enough illumination, letting him scan the room below as they reached it. To his relief, no one greeted them at the bottom.
Unfortunately, what they did find was far more distressing for Ciri.
The room was empty except for a pile of still‑smoldering ash in the corner. As Ciri ran toward it, Noah realized it was the remains of another wooden desk—whatever had sat on top of it now destroyed. He pieced it together quickly as Ciri began to cry.
They destroyed the grimoire so no one else could get it. But why not destroy the evidence too? He glanced back toward the stairs, remembering the blood‑stained door. Maybe they were interrupted by the Corrupted and bolted.
Realizing he was analyzing the mystery while his Fae pseudo‑girlfriend was crying, Noah slung his crossbow behind his back and stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her. She turned into him, clutching her own grimoire in one hand and burying her face in his chest.
“I’m sorry about the Fae grimoire,” he murmured. “I know you’re disappointed.”
“It’s—hic—not that!” she sobbed.
“Then what is it?” he asked gently, stroking her pink hair.
“It’s not just—hic—a grimoire! They destroyed my history! A piece—hic—we will never get back!”
“I’m…sorry,” he repeated, wishing he had something better to offer.
“You do not understand.” She looked up at him with wet, trembling eyes. “Scholars are not just supposed to record information. We are supposed to work toward restoring the Fae utopia.” Her voice cracked painfully on the last word. “How am I supposed to do that when people keep destroying our history?”
“You’ll find a way,” Noah said immediately, meeting her gaze. “You’re the probably smartest, most dedicated person I’ve ever met. You’ll figure it out. And if I can help, I will.” He managed a small smile. “I want to see this magical utopia just as much as you do.”
She stared at him for a long moment before burying her face in his chest again. He held her for several minutes as her sobs faded, turning them so he could watch the staircase while listening for any hint of danger. When she finally pulled herself together, she squeezed him once more before stepping back.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“No need to thank me,” he replied. “Now, is there anything else you want to check here? Or should we go upstairs and see if your parents are back yet?”
She frowned thoughtfully. “Wait. It was not mentioned in the letters, but there is one thing…” She moved to the wall and pressed her hands against the brick.
“What is it?”
“I believe this structure is what was known as a…” She hesitated. “Hedonism den.”
“A what now?” Noah’s eyebrows shot up.
“It was a popular concept among ancient Fae nobles under several administrations, including Queen Aethrava’s.” She shifted to her right, pressing her palms against the wall again.
“Okay, now I definitely want more information,” Noah said, grinning.
Ciri continued along the wall as she explained. “With all worldly needs satisfied through magic, the pursuit of pleasure became the highest priority. Nobles built structures like this with hidden rooms so they could go somewhere without being disturbed.”
“Come on, Ciri. You know the information I’m actually looking for,” he pressed. “What were they doing that required that much privacy?”
“There are no official records, of course, but some second‑hand and third‑hand accounts describe a process involving the noble and her closest advisors imbibing glamour, removing their clothes, and retreating to the hidden rooms—sometimes for days.”
“Sex, drugs, and rock and roll?” Noah asked.
“I do not know what ‘rock and roll’ is, but the former two parts of your statement are essentially correct. They would have drug‑fueled, multi‑day orgies that would—” She stopped abruptly as one brick depressed slightly under her hand. “Oh!”
Noah’s crossbow snapped up. “What is it?”
“I found it,” she said, pressing the brick again, harder this time.
A click echoed through the room, followed by a deep groan as a section of wall slid backward, revealing a dark passageway. The fine layer of pulverized stone, dried mortar, and dust on the floor told Noah immediately that the guards had never found this place. He opened his mouth to warn Ciri about potential dangers, but she was already moving, her magical light spilling into the long‑hidden corridor.
Well, I guess we’re exploring then, he thought, stepping through after her.
The intense smell of raw earth, cold minerals, and stale air washed over him as he slung his crossbow over his back and broke into a light jog. Dust swirled around his boots. He caught up to Ciri moments later, grinning when he saw the excitement written plainly across her face.
They pressed on for a full three minutes before reaching a staircase spiraling upward. Without waiting, Ciri charged up two steps at a time. Noah followed close behind, keeping his senses sharp for anything waiting at the top.
Thankfully, what greeted them was a mundane bedroom. A long‑rotted bed sat in the center, and a stone desk rested beneath a darkened window. The room was built of the same grey stone as every ancient Fae structure he’d seen, giving him a strong sense of déjà vu.
“How is this possible?” Noah asked. “We climbed…what, four flights of stairs? I feel like we’d have noticed a tower this close to the camp.” He frowned. “So would the guards, come to think of it.”
“The ancient Fae were masters of magic,” Ciri reminded him, turning slowly beside the bed to take everything in. “They often used natural features like trees to hide structures they did not want found.”
“Wouldn’t an illusion spell have worn off by now? Or is that just more Fae efficiency?”
“You misunderstand. The ancient Fae would not use an illusion for something like this, though they could have. They would simply grow the tree around the tower, then carve hollows to ensure the windows still had light.”
Noah’s eyes widened. “Okay, I’m impressed. What better way to hide something than to put it in a tree, and put that tree in a forest?”
She stopped turning abruptly, her eyes going as wide as his before a broad smile spread across her face. Without a word, she walked to the desk, reached into the darkness, and picked something up. Then she turned toward him, smile widening as she crossed the room with purpose, her gaze locked on his.
“I knew this was the room the second I saw it,” she said, stopping in front of him.
Before he could ask what she meant, she turned her hand palm‑up and opened her fingers, revealing a circular silver locket—one he instantly recognized as holding a mirror.