---
Jake walked like a man halfway through a nap he never meant to take.
King trailed behind, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on nothing.
They didn't know where they were going.
Just that someone — what sounded like Harry — had called for them.
Maybe.
Maybe they imagined it.
The estate plays those sort of tricks from time to time.
"You sure he said left?"
"No," King said, without missing a beat.
They turned left anyway.
The hallway narrowed.
A set of tall windows lined one wall — draped with sheer fabric that moved without wind.
Jake frowned.
"…why is it soo damn quiet?"
King looked around. Shrugged.
"It's a palace.
Rich people don't like echo."
Jake squinted at a nearby vase.
"…I feel like that vase's judging me."
King didn't look.
"It's judging you. I'm just here."
The voice came again.
Distant.
Muffled.
"Jake—King?"
Both of them stopped.
Jake turned toward the sound.
Still no idea where it came from.
Maybe through the wall?
"…Yup," he said. "Definitely Harry."
King sighed. "We going?"
Jake started walking again.
"Yup!"
---
Jake sighed. "Y'know, I liked not knowing where I was for a minute."
"Yeah," King muttered, serene. "Those were some good seconds."
Jake rubbed his face with a groan.
"This whole place gives me migraines," he muttered.
King didn't answer. Just groaned.
As they walked,
Jake's thoughts drifted — unwillingly — back to that moment in daros restaurant.
Jake's eyes narrowed as he walked.
His voice came quieter now, almost like talking to himself.
"…You remember how the guards acted back in the restaurant?"
The guards had looked right past Vey.
Right past him.
He had been sitting right there, legs crossed like a smug little cat.
And they didn't even blink.
King's steps slowed.
Jake scoffed under his breath. "Like, seriously. The guy was sitting right next to me."
"And Kaela and Bren just walked out clean," he muttered under his breath.
"Sitting separate like pros. There I am, one wrist in a shackle, pretending not to exist."
King glanced at him.
Jake shrugged, feigning casual.
"Not that I'm complaining or anything. Just seems like a really convenient thing."
"You think it means something?"
Jake paused.
He answered himself,
"I don't know what it means. But it feels like something."
Jake looked back,
King shook his head. "Doesn't matter."
They walked on — steps quiet.
The fabric over the windows whispered as if brushing against unseen hands.
Jake exhaled, low and long. "I don't like this."
"Yeah," King murmured.
"Me neither."
Jake paused again.
He tilted his head,
listening.
That voice — there it was again.
Faint. Distant.
A name. Maybe two syllables.
"…Jake—?"
He turned to King.
"You heard that, right?"
King nodded, slower this time.
But his brow was pinched.
"Yeah. I just… can't tell who it is."
They kept walking.
Suddenly, the hallway seemed longer now.
Or maybe looping.
The same lamp appeared three times — Jake was sure of it.
Another voice called out.
Closer now.
"King? Jake?"
"...Harry," Jake muttered.
But no.
It didn't sound like Harry.
A little too deep.
Maybe it was John?
Then again—no.
Too quick. Lighter.
Finn?
Jake stopped walking.
He glanced over his shoulder.
"…That almost sounded like me."
King said nothing.
He stared at the nearest wall like it might peel open.
Jake's voice dropped to a whisper.
"You heard it too."
King nodded once.
"…Yeah."
They didn't move.
The voice came again.
This time from ahead of them.
Then above.
Familiar.
But not friendly.
It carried something wrong in it. Something just slightly… off.
Jake's shoulders tightened.
"I don't like this."
King's reply came quiet.
"Don't think we're supposed to be here."
---
They turned another corner.
And stopped.
Dead end.
But, it was.. different.
The wall in front of them wasn't polished stone.
It... didn't even seem like the estate.
It was… rough.
Blackened.
Scarred brick,
as if scorched years ago.
"This wasn't here before."
Jake stepped back, blinking hard.
King said nothing.
He turned in place.
The corridor behind them — gone.
Replaced with cold stone and rusted iron.
A single torch flickered against the damp stone walls,
its shallow light stretched around them,
but never quite reaching the back.
Jake's stomach sank.
"…Where the hell are we?"
All around them now—
cells.
Rows of them.
Heavy iron bars. Chains.
Scratched stone floors.
Everything damp. Foul. Still.
Jake turned in a full circle. "We didn't—this... this wasn't here."
King's voice was quiet. Low.
"How did we—"
Jake pressed his hand to one of the bars. Cold. Solid.
No illusion.
He turned back toward King—
And then they both heard it.
A voice.
A different voice.
Unfamiliar.
From somewhere inside the dark.
"...Finally."
"...Someone came.."
A breath.
"Did he send you?"
---
"…No. No, he wouldn't."
Silence.
Then—
A shift of movement.
King stepped forward, boots scuffing across the uneven ground.
The scent of old metal and damp air thickened around them — stale, heavy.
Jake followed close. Eyes sharp. Shoulders tight.
The corridor stretched out before them.
And, as they walked..
They felt a dark shadow loom around them.
There wasn't a single prisoner in any of the cells they passed, not a single one.
Not alive.
What they saw,
were only the remains.
They passed cell after cell—
Saw countless,
Tattered robes.
Skeletal hands curled beneath rusted shackles.
Scratches carved into stone walls that had no names left in them.
"wake up wake up wake up"
Some cells were cramped with bodies,
and all of them met the same fate.
It felt more like a grave then a prison.
Where bodies had been left rot, not buried.
They kept walking.
The further they went,
the more they felt the stench.
Then—
they finally reached him.
King and Jake came to a halt in front of the cell.
There he was.
A man.
Sitting against the back wall of the final cell.
Thin, but not sickly.
Still. Not slumped.
His hair draped in tangled strands, shadowing most of his face.
His fingers moved slowly,
tracing a crack in the stone beneath him. Over and over.
Like a ritual he didn't know he was doing.
He hadn't looked up in a long long time,
didn't need to.
But to them,
he did.
Tried to form a smile with his broken face, his toothless mouth visible.. only a little.
"…You came too late.
"Kiddo."
---
Jake hadn't moved.
King,
took one step closer, quiet but deliberate.
The torchlight barely reached the back of the cell,
but the man's outline was sharp enough—bony fingers, still tracing that same worn crack.
His face mostly shadowed, save for the occasional flicker of ruined teeth when his mouth twitched upward.
Jake swallowed.
The silence felt loaded, like stepping into a room where something terrible had already happened.
And somehow, it wasn't over.
Jake stared at the man through the bars.
That cracked smirk. The eyes that didn't blink often enough.
"…Was— was that you calling us?" he asked.
The man's head tilted slightly.
Not confusion. Not denial.
Amusement.
"Back in the hall. The voice—was it you?"
The man gave a slow blink. Then, a small, ragged laugh.
"Hah."
He leaned back against the stone wall, bones shifting under skin like a puppet that had been left too long in a closet.
Jake's eyes narrowed.
"...What's so funny?"
The prisoner grinned wider — or tried to.
His mouth didn't have enough teeth left for it to look right.
"Voices, huh?"
His voice came, barely audible.
He looked at Jake, then at King.
"And you.. followed them?"
Jake pressed.
"Answer the question, old man."
But the prisoner only gave a slow shrug.
"They're not my voices, kiddo. That's not how this place works."
King frowned. "Then who?"
The man smiled again — or twitched toward the shape of one.
"You're asking the wrong question."
Jake's voice sharpened.
"Alright. Then..
What is the right question?"
Silence.
The man didn't move. Didn't blink.
Then, softly:
"…Why did the voices lead you.. here?"
---
King crossed his arms, voice firm.
"Alright. Enough games."
He took a step closer to the bars.
"Who are you?"
The prisoner tilted his head, slow and creaking, like it hadn't moved in days.
"Me?"
He looked amused by the question.
"I'm no one important."
Jake rolled his eyes. "Of course."
King didn't flinch. "Then where are we?"
The prisoner gave a faint smile.
His fingers curled against the cracked stone at his side.
For a moment, he didn't speak.
Then—
"You really don't know?"
King's tone was flat. "Would we ask if we did?"
The man smiled. It wasn't kind.
"This place… this hole... it's where they put the things they want to forget."
Jake blinked.
"The prisoners?"
The man gave a low chuckle. Dry. Airless.
"No."
He looked up, eyes glinting with something close to pity.
"The regrets."
Silence.
He continued.
"This is the estate's underground prison.
But, not for criminals."
He looked at Jake.
"Not for people 'like you'."
Jake frowned. "Then what—?"
The prisoner leaned forward, his voice like gravel dragged through silence.
"For the ones who remember too much."
---
Jake rubbed the back of his neck, fingertips damp with sweat.
It wasn't just the heat down here—
it was the air.
Thick. Breathing.
The stench — metal and mildew and something worse — seeped into the back of his throat, no matter how shallow he tried to breathe.
He shifted again. Restless. Agitated.
"You sure this guy has anything useful?" he muttered, half to himself.
King didn't answer.
His eyes were still locked on the man behind the bars.
But his mind... wasn't here anymore.
Jake caught it—the way his friend's posture had changed.
Slight tilt forward.
One hand relaxed, hanging a little too loose at his side.
Like he was listening to something else.
Jake's gaze darted back to the prisoner.
That twisted thing in the corner, still tracing lines into the stone like they mattered.
Then—
without lifting his head—
He spoke.
"You still don't know it yet, do you?"
The words slithered into the silence like they'd been waiting.
Jake's spine straightened.
"…What?"
King's weight shifted again, just slightly.
Closer.
Jake stepped forward fast, forcing a smirk that didn't reach his eyes.
"Yeah? Know what? Enlighten me, oh wise old man."
The prisoner lifted his face.
His mouth was stretched too far into something that wanted to be a smile.
His eyes—clearer than they had any right to be—locked on Jake.
Too sharp.
Too present.
It made Jake's skin crawl.
"What happens to those who—"
Jake turned, cutting him off.
"King. Let's go."
King didn't move.
Jake grabbed his wrist. Not hard—but enough.
"This isn't it, man. This guy's just—he's trying to mess with us."
King's eyes stayed on the prisoner.
"Jake—"
"No. Come on. We're done here."
He started pulling him back.
But the voice came again.
Quieter.
Right behind them.
"Those who make a wish…"
Jake froze.
The sound didn't echo. Didn't even feel like it came from a mouth.
It was just there.
King slowly turned.
Jake's grip tightened.
"Don't," he hissed. "Don't listen to him."
The prisoner didn't move.
Didn't blink.
His voice — low, certain, steady — bled into the stone.
"And they never leave the same."
---
A slow, creeping weight curled up the back of Jake's spine.
He shook it off with a scoff, voice rising to cover the chill in his gut.
"That supposed to scare us?"
The prisoner didn't blink.
"No," he said simply.
"I'm just telling you how it works."
Jake's jaw clenched.
He took a breath, then spat it out with a mocking grin.
"And you?"
He stepped closer, throwing his voice louder, sharper.
"Did you make a wish?" he said, mocking.
The prisoner leaned back against the stone, exhaling slow through his nose.
His fingers tapped the floor beside him in a broken rhythm—soft, offbeat.
Like a memory he was trying not to hum.
"It doesn't matter."
Jake narrowed his eyes.
"Yeah? Why's that?"
He tilted his head. "Or, is this the new thing the kids are up to these day?"
He expected another smirk. Another shrug.
The prisoner looked at him.
His smile was gone.
No pity.
No playfulness.
Just a calm that shouldn't have belonged in a place like this.
A knowing stillness.
Like something that had seen the worst, and stopped being surprised.
"The thing about wishes, boy…"
He leaned forward, just enough for the chains at his ankles to creak.
"They don't just take what you expect."
Jake flinched before he could stop it.
A flicker in the chest.
For a second, his thoughts felt like someone else's.
Like there was a room in his memory that had just locked itself shut.
His mouth opened,
but no words came.
He shook his head, hard.
"Come on," he said, turning sharply.
"We're done here."
King didn't move at first.
Jake grabbed his wrist again—tighter this time—and pulled.
Their boots echoed down the stone path, the torchlight barely keeping up.
Behind them, the prisoner spoke, one last time.
Quiet.
Measured.
But the sound landed like it was whispered directly behind Jake's ear.
"You'll figure out soon enough."
Jake didn't look back.
His steps got faster.
And in the silence that followed, something deep behind the walls let out a low groan.
Like the stone itself was shifting.
Remembering.
---
They walked.
Didn't look back.
Walked forward into the darkness— one foot in front of the other.
Jake's breath echoed softly in the silence.
Like the dark around them was listening.
His hand clutched King's arm.
Not because King was slowing.
But because Jake needed to feel something real.
King hadn't spoken since they'd turned away from the cell.
Hadn't said a word.
His face was blank—not scared, not confused.
Just... hollow.
Like part of him had stayed behind. Like something had been missing.
Jake kept his eyes half open, squinting through the dark.
There was nothing to see.
Not even the wall anymore.
No light.
No shapes.
No sound,
besides the gentle echo of their steps.
The torch had burned out long ago.
They didn't remember when it happened.
They didn't talk about it.
They just kept walking.
The air had changed too.
Less damp.
Still cold.
But now it pressed down on them in a way that didn't feel like stone walls.
It felt like memory.
Jake blinked slow.
His thoughts were starting to slip.
He kept thinking of the prisoner. The voice. The words.
"You'll figure out—
soon enough."
He clenched his jaw.
Not now.
Don't think about that now.
Not while—
King stumbled slightly.
Jake tightened his grip without thinking.
"Hey—" he whispered.
But King didn't answer.
Didn't even look.
His feet moved, but his mind wasn't here.
Jake looked ahead again.
Still black.
But…
Maybe something was there now?
A shape?
A wall?
He couldn't tell if they were walking toward something—
—or if the dark was just folding tighter around them.
---
Jake's steps slowed.
He couldn't tell how long they'd been walking.
Minutes? Hours?
Time didn't move right in this place.
His grip on King hadn't loosened.
Not even once.
He wasn't even sure if King knew he was still being held.
He wasn't gonna leave him behind,
even if it costed his life.
The silence stretched again.
Long.
Until—
Thud.
Jake crashed into something soft and solid.
His breath jolted out of him as he stumbled forward,
completely thrown.
A gasp.
Someone else's.
And suddenly—arms. Catching him. Steadying him.
He blinked, disoriented—eyes wide, breath short.
Perfume.
Clean linen.
Warm hands on his shoulders.
Jake looked up.
A face.
Familiar clothing.
A soft gold sash. Pale sleeves.
An attendant.
Young. Alarmed.
She held him upright like she was afraid he'd fall apart.
Behind her, two more.
Equally confused.
All three now staring at Jake and King like they'd just stepped out of a grave.
Jake took a single step back.
Then another.
Turned—fast.
And froze.
Behind him:
Not stone.
Not darkness.
Just…
A hallway.
The estate.
Soft golden walls.
Paintings.
Candles.
The familiar curve of the corridor he had been accustomed to by now.
He blinked again.
Hard.
King,
now beside him, blinked too.
As if only just realizing the shift.
The veil lifting from his eyes.
Jake sucked in a breath.
Then—finally—
let his hand go.
Long. Slow. Shaky.
"…We're back," he muttered.
---
Jake still hadn't moved.
He kept staring at the hallway like it might change again—
like blinking too fast would drop them back into the dark.
Beside him, King ran a hand down his face, shaking off whatever spell he'd been under.
He still looked a little pale, but his eyes were clearer now. More present.
The attendants quietly stepped back, uncertain what to say.
Then—
from somewhere above them—
"Jake?"
A voice echoed faintly down the hall.
Familiar. Casual. Warm.
Jake's head snapped up.
"King?"
Another voice. Lighter this time. Teasing.
John.
And Sally.
Jake let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
King blinked up at the sound, then gave the smallest of smiles. Just a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Above, footsteps scuffed.
Then—
"What are you guys doing down there?"
John leaned over the second-floor railing, squinting.
Sally appeared beside him, arms folded, grinning.
"Did you get lost?" she called.
Jake cupped his hands around his mouth.
"Found the worst damn tour stop in this entire place, thanks for asking."
Sally laughed.
John raised an eyebrow. "You guys alright?"
King looked at Jake. Jake looked at King.
Then Jake gave a half-smile.
"…Getting there."
Jake turned slightly,
eyes landing on the young attendant — the one he'd practically crashed into.
She stood a little straighter as he looked at her, still unsure what had just happened.
He offered a weak smile. Tired. Sincere.
"…Can we finally…"
He exhaled.
"…get.
Some.
Snacks.."
A beat.
Then he added, hands half-raised in mock surrender—
"Pretty please?"
The attendant blinked.
Then — just faintly — smiled.
"Of course," she said softly.
"Right this way."
As she turned,
the others followed.
Jake looked over at King as they walked.
"I swear, dude." he mumbled,
"if this turns into another cursed kitchen scenario…"
King snorted.
"Still not convinced that stew wasn't poison."
"You bouta die, jakey." He smirked.
King had tried his best to crack a joke.
Silence.
Then,
Jake smirked.
The tension bleed out of his shoulders, at least a little.
They followed the attendants toward the warm-lit halls ahead.
No shadows.
No chains.
No voices, this time.
Just the soft sound of footsteps, and the promise of something simple:
Food.
And maybe, if they were lucky…
A little bit of peace.
---
.
.
.
The vault still pulsed with that low, silvery hum.
Harry, stood motionless near the pedestal.
Notebook in one hand, the other still clutching the folded note.
Aurora's torch cast long, slow-moving shadows, the flame finally steady again—
yet nothing about the moment felt calm.
"…So," Finn muttered,
breaking the silence with a voice a little too light to be real,
"are we gonna talk about the creepy weird black ball of-shadow-thing? Which also, kinda sorta looked a cat.
Or are we just moving on like that's normal now?"
"Hmm..." Aurora said.
While pretending to ponder.
Then glanced at Harry.
He hadn't moved much since reading the note.
His eyes flicked toward them, finally blinking.
Like he'd surfaced from something deep.
"Right," he said softly.
"Yeah. No. We should talk."
He lowered the note.
Aurora raised an eyebrow. "You've been real quiet. That usually means your brain's working overtime."
Harry nodded solemnly. He took a breath.
"…Have you guys seen my shadow?"
Finn blinked. "Your what?"
A pause.
Even Aurora looked at him.
"You know—"
Aurora frowned, "—that.. uhm..
weird little black puffball that follows you around all the time?"
"Oh... yeah..."
Harry continued,
"Anyway..."
"It vanished."
He pointed downwards.
They both dramatically plopped down.
Inspected around him like it was a crime scene.
"Yup." Finn & Aurora at the same time.
"You're officially shadow-less."
Aurora confirmed.
"Which is way worse than being fatherless."
Finn confirmed, fake weeping.
"Thanks, you guys.." harry said dryly.
"Truly. The support here is overwhelming."
They proudly saluted.
"I didn't realize until some ago.
Not only was it gone—it even took my own shadow with it.
He knelt beside the flickering pedestal, fingers drumming on the stone.
"And the thing is… I don't think it was just with me."
He paused. Thought.
"I think.. it was me."
Finn blinked. "Come again?"
Harry looked at him.
"I think it was born from my shadow."
A long pause.
Then Aurora said, "Okay.
That's... weird."
Harry nodded. "Yeah. I know."
Finn crossed his arms. "So, it just vanished? No goodbye? No 'hey I'm gonna go hang out in the void for a bit'?"
Aurora snorted. "I wouldn't let that slide if I were you."
Harry looked around the room — at the chamber, at the sphere still pulsing faintly,
"I think something in this place, within the estate.. pulled it out of me.
Or maybe… made it go quiet."
A heavy silence followed that.
"Do you think it's still… here? Somewhere?" Aurora finally said.
Harry didn't answer right away.
Then:
"I don't know. But I think it left for a reason."
---
Finn stood first, brushing dust off his pants with a dramatic sigh.
"Well. If your shadow's gone rogue and possibly plotting world domination, we should probably get moving."
Harry rolled his eyes. "That's not—"
"World domination or existential sulking," Aurora cut in, stretching her arms as she stood. "Fifty-fifty chance."
Harry stayed kneeling a second longer,
casting one last look at the pulsing metallic sphere.
It had quieted again.
No voices. No flickers. Just that slow, unreadable hum.
Like a heartbeat too far away to touch.
He rose.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Let's head back."
Finn made a sweeping gesture. "After you, professor."
They turned away from the pedestal, toward the faint outline of the stairs they'd come down earlier.
The passage wasn't exactly welcoming—narrow, cold, the kind of dark that felt more like pressure than absence.
Aurora pulled out her little lantern again, the flame sputtering to life.
"Still don't get why we're the ones always finding the cursed stuff," she muttered.
Harry side-eyed her.
"Oh i dunno, Aurora.
The one who always goes looking for trouble."
Then he looked a Finn next, ready to drop the hardest diss.
Finn raised a finger. "Correction: We go looking. And you, follow.
"You guys have literally dragged me here—"
"Because you're too weird to be left alone."
Finn and Aurora exchanged proud glances with each other after that roast.
Harry gave up. Stayed silent.
They started up the steps.
Behind them,
deep in the chamber,
the metallic sphere gave one last, almost imperceptible twitch.
---
They climbed in silence.
Step after step.
Brick walls on either side.
Shadows reaching overhead like stretched fingers.
Finn glanced up. Then again.
"Hey."
"…Shouldn't we be out by now?"
Harry frowned.
They had been walking a while.
Aurora slowed behind them, holding the lantern higher.
The steps hadn't leveled out—
but they also hadn't gotten steeper.
It took another thirty seconds before it clicked.
Harry stopped.
"…Wait."
Finn turned. "What?"
Harry looked ahead.
The steps weren't going up anymore.
They were going forward.
Perfectly horizontal.
Almost like…
"…This isn't a staircase," Aurora whispered.
They stood still.
No sound but the flicker of the lantern and their own breathing.
Finn touched the wall.
Still stone. Still cold.
But different now.
Too smooth. Almost… intentional.
Far ahead, barely lit — a door.
Wooden. Old. Unmarked.
Aurora lowered the lantern slightly.
"That wasn't there before, right?"
"Nope," Finn confirmed.
"Definitely would've noticed the ominous end-of-tunnel mystery door."
Harry exhaled.
"…Well."
No one moved.
Then Finn shrugged. "Guess we knock?"
Harry reached for the handle.
It gave without a sound.
The door swung open slowly.
---
The scent hit them first.
But,
Not of parchment, ink, or wood polish.
Just... air. Dusty, hollow air.
Aurora stepped in first.
Her lantern's flame jittered against walls of towering shelves.
They curled up and over like the ribs of something massive and long-dead.
It was… a library.
Empty.
Dust floating lazily in the still air.
She stared.
Eyes narrowing.
"I know this place," she whispered.
Finn leaned in, squinting at the vastness beyond. "You do?"
Aurora nodded, slowly. "This is the estate's library."
Harry stepped beside her, peering down the long corridor of shelves.
He frowned.
"There's no one here."
---
They wandered deeper into the silence.
Their steps were quiet against the wooden floor — too quiet.
No echo.
As if the room had swallowed sound whole.
The lantern's glow stretched, thin and pale across empty shelves.
Finn slowed to a stop.
"…Where are the books?"
Harry frowned. He reached up to one of the shelves and ran his hand along it.
Bare.
Dustless.
Just cold, polished wood.
"No titles. No pages. Nothing."
Aurora moved between rows, checking each one. Her brow furrowed deeper with each passing second.
"This can't be right. This place was always full."
Finn's voice edged toward uneasy humor. "Maybe they Marie Kondo'd the whole thing?"
Aurora gave a faint smile.
But didn't blink.
"No. This place never closes. Not unless something—"
She stopped herself.
Harry glanced at her.
He didn't say anything.
Finn was,
aggressively squinting.
At the endless shelves.
The space felt wrong — like it was bigger than it should be.
Like walking through someone else's memory.
Aurora spoke after a while,
"So just to recap — we left the creepy orb vault…
climbed twisty stairs that bent space… and,
now we're trapped in an empty library with no books."
Harry gave a slow, dry nod.
"Happy with your actions lately?"
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"
Finn leaned around a corner. "Alright, so how do we get out of here?"
"Okay," Harry said, voice flat. "We should try to retrace our steps."
He turned — and froze.
Where the entrance had been...
Now, just more wall.
Shelves. Floor. No doorway.
Gone.
Aurora turned, saw the same thing.
"Uh, guys—"
They all rushed back.
Searched the wall with their hands.
Tried tapping. Pushing.
Nothing.
"Okay," Finn said, forcing a shaky grin,
"no door. Cool. I liked windows better anyway."
He looked around. "NO WINDOWS EITHER! IS THIS A JOKE!"
Harry muttered, "Oh come on…"
"Okay. Okay, no problem. We've been trapped in weirder places." finn reassured.
Harry sighed. "Which is not the reassuring take you think it is."
Harry exhaled.
"How did we even end up here, anyway?" He asked quietly.
"Beats me."
"Yeah, I should be beating you right now."
That's when Aurora spoke again.
"Guys.."
"Maybe we were supposed to find something here."
Finn aggressively gestured towards the empty library.
"Maybe we're not supposed to leave."
"...Until we find something."
And just as the silence thickened—
Thud.
A soft sound, unnatural in its precision.
Aurora flinched.
She turned just in time—
—to see a scroll rolling across the wood floor, slow and deliberate.
It came to a stop at her feet.
They didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Because the library had answered.
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[TO BE CONTINUED IN EPISODE 19]