The underground chamber remained frozen as every pair of eyes stayed fixed on the blank page. The silver line had vanished so completely that it was impossible to tell whether it had truly appeared or whether exhaustion had finally begun playing tricks on them.

Mason was certain it had been real.

He glanced toward Draca. The commander wasn’t looking at the book anymore.

He was watching everyone else. It was the same habit Mason had noticed countless times before. While others focused on the mystery itself, Draca focused on the people surrounding it. He was searching for reactions like lies and danger but unfortunately, everyone looked equally unsettled.

"...Did anyone else see it?" Mason finally asked.

Several guards nodded almost immediately.

"So I’m not losing my mind."

Assura folded his arms. "Not because of this, at least."

Mason sighed. "Comforting."

"It wasn’t meant to be."

The High Priest slowly lowered himself into a nearby chair, his eyes never leaving the book.

"I’ve served the Temple for over fifty years," he murmured. "I’ve studied relics, sacred records, and divine artifacts."

He paused.

"I have never witnessed something like that."

Zereth’s gaze shifted toward him. "You’ve never heard of a record revealing itself?"

The old priest shook his head. "No."

"Then why was this archive forbidden?"

"I told you."

"I know of it."

"I never knew why."

Silence settled again.

Mason hated how often that happened lately. Every conversation seemed to end with another wall instead of another answer.

He rubbed his temple. "My headache is becoming a permanent resident."

Draca looked at him. "You should rest."

Mason stared at him as if he’d suggested something ridiculous.

"Rest?"

"Yes."

"We’ve just discovered a blank book that apparently isn’t supposed to contain writing, a hidden message telling us we’ve been looking at the wrong thing, and a page that decided to glow for absolutely no reason."

He spread his hands. "This feels like a terrible time for a nap."

To Mason’s surprise, the corner of Draca’s mouth lifted.

"It does."

"Thank you."

"But your headache is still real."

"So is my curiosity."

"I know."

The simple answer caught Mason off guard. Draca always seemed to understand him better than he expected.

It was...dangerous. He cleared his throat and quickly looked back at the table.

Athlian remained unnaturally quiet.

Normally she’d have argued with him by now, and warned him. Or told him to stay away from something.

Instead, she remained silent.

That silence unsettled him more than the silver mark had.

"Athlian," he called inwardly.

No response.

"You can’t keep doing this."

Still nothing.

He clenched his jaw.

"Fine. Ignore me."

A faint feeling brushed against his consciousness.

Then it disappeared again.

Mason frowned.

That wasn’t like her. Before he could dwell on it further, Zereth carefully closed the book.

The moment the cover settled shut, the strange heaviness inside the chamber eased.

One of the younger guards let out a breath he apparently hadn’t realized he was holding.

"...It’s gone."

"What is?" Draca asked.

"The pressure."

Several others nodded in agreement.

Mason blinked. "You felt that too?"

"I thought it was just me," another guard admitted.

The elderly archivist slowly crossed himself.

"I’ve worked beneath this cathedral for thirty-three years."

His voice trembled slightly. "It has never felt like that."

Zereth rested a hand on the closed cover.

"Seal it again."

The archivist hesitated. "My lord..."

"No one examines it until we understand

What happened?"

"The Tribunal will object."

"They’ve become rather good at objecting."

Mason nodded.

"They’re remarkably dedicated."

Even Zereth’s expression softened for a brief moment. "Indeed."

The high priest rose from his chair.

"I agree with Lord Zereth."

Everyone looked at him. "The fewer people who know about this..." His eyes drifted toward the sealed book. "...the better."

Assura chuckled quietly. "I never thought I’d hear the High Priest advocate hiding knowledge."

The old man met his gaze without flinching. "I spent most of my life believing every truth deserved to be uncovered."

"And now?"

"Now I’m beginning to suspect that some truths wait until they’re ready."

Assura’s smile faded. "That’s a dangerous sentence."

"I know."

Mason looked between them.

"You two are having a conversation that somehow sounds meaningful and completely unhelpful at the same time."

"It takes practice," Assura replied.

"I believe it."

Draca stepped beside Mason. "We’re leaving."

"Already?"

"The archive is secure."

"It doesn’t feel secure."

"It never will."

"...Fair."

As they prepared to leave, Zereth stopped beside the stone platform where the chest had originally rested.

His eyes narrowed.

"What is it?" Draca asked.

"The floor."

Mason groaned. "Please don’t tell me the dust has become mysterious again."

"It isn’t the dust."

Zereth crouched, brushing his fingers lightly across one of the carved stones.

"There are grooves."

Everyone gathered closer.

At first Mason couldn’t see them. Then the angle of the lamplight shifted. Thin scratches crossed the stone beneath the chest.

Perfectly straight like rails.

Draca frowned. "The chest was moved more than once."

"It appears so."

"But why?"

Nobody answered.

The archivist adjusted his spectacles.

"Commander..."

"Yes?"

"I’ve worked here for decades."

"And?"

"I don’t remember this chest always being in this room."

The words landed like a stone in still water.

Draca turned sharply. "What did you say?"

The old man looked genuinely confused.

"I...I can’t explain it."

"You’ve forgotten?"

"I remember cataloging records."

"I remember cleaning these shelves."

"I remember replacing lamps."

He looked helplessly toward the empty platform. "But...the chest..."

His face paled. "...I can’t remember when it arrived."

Mason exchanged a glance with Zereth.

For the first time that day... The investigator looked genuinely disturbed.

The blank book wasn’t the only thing refusing to reveal its history. Someone’s memories were doing the same.

The underground chamber remained unnaturally quiet. Nobody seemed eager to leave anymore.

The elderly archivist stood motionless beside the stone platform, his face drained of color as he struggled to remember something that refused to return.

Draca studied him carefully.

"You truly don’t remember?"

The old man shook his head, frustration replacing the panic in his eyes.

"I’ve tried."

He pressed a hand against his forehead.

"I know this archive better than my own home. I remember which shelves were repaired after the flood thirty years ago. I remember every apprentice assigned here. I even remember which lantern cracked during the winter storm."

His breathing grew uneven. "But the chest..." He looked toward the empty platform again. "It’s like someone tore that memory away."

Mason didn’t like the sound of that. He had seen too many impossible things since arriving in this world, but memories simply disappearing felt different. More personal.

Zereth slowly circled the platform, examining the grooves carved into the stone floor.

"Commander."

Draca looked over.

"Do these marks suggest the chest was moved frequently?"

Draca crouched beside him, running his fingers across the shallow lines.

"They’re too smooth."

"What does that mean?"

"They weren’t made in a single day."

Mason folded his arms. "So someone kept dragging it back and forth?"

"Perhaps."

"That’s a very inconvenient hobby."

Assura smiled faintly. "Ancient people often had inconvenient hobbies."

"They also seemed allergic to explaining

themselves."

"I won’t argue with that."

The brief exchange earned a tired chuckle from one of the guards.