Nestled deep beneath the most prestigious university in the city-state of Wind Harbor, the underground archive had been enveloped in an uncanny, almost reverential silence. The subterranean vault was more than just a repository of knowledge; it was a sanctuary imbued with a mystical essence that set it apart from mundane places. Unlike other city-states governed by religious institutions like the Storm Church or the Death Church, this archive in Wind Harbor had a singularly supernatural importance.
Only objects and beings deemed as “sealed artifacts” were permitted to be stored here. These were not ordinary artifacts; they were anomalies and contamination vectors ranked among the top one hundred in terms of their potential danger or mysterious capabilities. It was a place reserved for entities like Alice that displayed some kind of lifelike characteristics.
These entities—whether anomalies or contamination vectors—shared an unnerving commonality: they exhibited signs of life. Some demonstrated inexplicable cognitive functions, potentially capable of communicating with humans or showing tendencies to move and escape. No matter the extent of their lifelike attributes, each displayed at least a rudimentary instinct to seek pleasure and avoid harm—much like Alice, who had complied instinctively when she first encountered Duncan despite having no prior knowledge of him.
In simpler terms, these entities were somewhat sentient—just enough to fear death but not fully understand it. Duncan found this level of sentience to be somewhat convenient, as it often made his work easier.
As they stood in the corridor, Lucretia looked around with a palpable sense of awe. Meanwhile, Nina and Shirley momentarily widened their eyes in surprise, then inexplicably lifted their faces with an air of smug satisfaction, though it was unclear why they felt so self-satisfied at that moment.
Ted Lir, known as the “Truth Keeper,” paused and turned to Duncan, his eyes filled with a complex set of emotions. They were not fearful, as most people’s would be when meeting Duncan, but neither did they betray any signs of alertness or hostility. After pondering for several seconds, he finally spoke, “You should visit this place more often while you’re in Wind Harbor.”
Taken aback, Duncan responded, “That’s unusual. In other city-states, as soon as I make contact, they’d prefer I keep my distance. Places of such significance would immediately be fortified. Why are you encouraging me to visit?”
Pointing to the now eerily quiet corridor, Ted simply said, “With you here, I can finally take a break.”
Though puzzled, Duncan noticed that Ted seemed unfazed by the reactions of others to his comment. Ted casually dropped this piece of information and continued to walk deeper into the hallowed halls of the archive.
The group followed, but Duncan purposefully lagged a few steps behind. He pulled Lucretia aside and whispered, “I don’t remember much about this ‘Truth Keeper.’ Has he always carried this aura of bearing a lifetime of grievances?”
Speaking softly, Lucretia replied, “Lord Ted has recently been tasked with overseeing the graduating class here at the university.”
Duncan couldn’t hide his surprise when he heard Lucretia’s explanation. “Wait, the leader of the city-state’s guardians also has teaching responsibilities? I don’t recall Vanna having any such additional duties when she served as an inquisitor.”
Lucretia took a moment to elucidate. “The divine power within our realm is intimately connected to the actions and beliefs of its devotees. For the followers of Lahem, the pursuit and dissemination of knowledge are sacred activities. That’s why the entire ecclesiastical structure here is built around an ‘academy.’ The higher-ranking priests are obliged to serve as instructors, guiding students in their academic and spiritual journey. The more senior the cleric, the more demanding and complex their teaching obligations become. As the Truth Keeper, Ted Lir has the burdensome task of overseeing the graduating class, which is the most challenging group to manage.”
Duncan was momentarily silent, pondering Lucretia’s words. A strange, unidentifiable emotion began to surge within him. He couldn’t resist looking up to catch a glimpse of Ted Lir, who was walking a few steps ahead of him.
Sensing Duncan’s gaze, Ted Lir turned back. A moment of confusion crossed his features. Why was Captain Duncan, who had suffered memory loss due to some subspace incident and had been interacting with him as though they were complete strangers, now looking at him with eyes filled with a mysterious blend of understanding, nostalgia, and even sympathy?
After a brief moment of contemplation, Ted Lir dismissed the oddity and stopped before a door at the end of the corridor. “Here we are—Containment Room 24,” he said, gesturing at the door in front of them.
The door was an imposing construct, intricately engraved with an array of sacred runes. It seemed to be made from a dark, nearly opaque steel, inlaid with glimmering streaks of silvery-white metal. Shirley peered at the door and felt an inexplicable pull, as though her consciousness was being sucked into a dark void framed by shimmering flecks. Alarmed, she quickly looked away.
Nina, meanwhile, surveyed the corridor they had just traversed and took stock of the area surrounding Containment Room 24. Her brow furrowed in puzzlement. “It’s strange that there aren’t any guards here. Shouldn’t a place of this importance and potential danger be heavily guarded?”
Ted Lir glanced at her as he casually responded, “Guards are indeed posted at key strategic locations throughout the archive. However, it’s often safer to minimize human presence near the individual containment rooms. You see, some of the ‘anomalies’ stored here have the unnerving ability to psychologically parasitize humans and jump from mind to mind. Keeping a large number of guards in close proximity would actually increase the risk of these entities finding a way to break containment.”
“Sealing methods for most ‘anomalies’ and contaminants are often far more sophisticated than simply stationing a bunch of guards around them,” Lucretia elaborated. “In some cases, a single, carefully placed enchanted stone or a light dusting of a particular metallic powder on the ground can effectively contain certain anomalies for extended periods. Adding extra human presence could inadvertently create a vulnerability, especially with entities that possess intangible or formless abilities. That’s why the core areas of many containment facilities, like this one, are minimally staffed. Many of the containment procedures are self-activating and function perfectly well without human intervention.”
Ted Lir nodded approvingly at Lucretia’s explanation. “Exactly. The guards positioned outside these core areas serve less to contain the entities inside than to ward off external threats. Their main job is to prevent unauthorized access that could disrupt the delicate balance of the containment procedures.” He then gently placed his hand on the door to the Sample Containment Room. Following a soft, almost imperceptible clicking noise that seemed to come from nowhere in particular, the door swung open. “However, the entity we’re dealing with today is an outlier, even by our standards. I’m not entirely sure if it belongs in the Sample Containment Room or should be stored elsewhere.”
As the door creaked open, they were greeted by a room that, although not especially large, was intensely lit. The walls and floors were emblazoned with an elaborate lattice of sacred symbols. The room was devoid of conventional furniture, but it had an unusual number of oil lamps filled with specially formulated oils, as well as gas lamps mounted on the walls. These multiple light sources seemed designed to fill the room with an even, unyielding illumination. The centerpiece was a square platform upon which a mysterious “sample” was displayed.
Positioned next to the platform was a member of the clergy, draped in scholarly robes and donning an enigmatic dark mask. Their hands were shackled tightly, a clear sign that this individual was not a conventional guard but rather part of the containment protocol. Upon Ted Lir and the group’s entrance, the masked individual glanced up, locking eyes with Ted and nodding slightly in acknowledgment.
“Has there been any change in the sample’s activity?” Ted inquired immediately.
The shackled guard shook its head, maintaining their silence.
“Any evidence to suggest that your shackles have been tampered with?” Ted pressed further.
The guard lifted their shackled hands, displaying them openly to Ted before shaking their head once again.
Satisfied, Ted Lir nodded back. “Very well, you’ve done your duty admirably. You may take your leave and rest now. But remember,” Ted’s tone grew stern, “before you go, make sure to personally replace the ‘shackles’ onto the hands of the ‘statue.’ Under no circumstances are you to switch places with the statue, nor should you respond to any vocalizations it may emit, even if they sound like cries for help.”
The shackled guard nodded solemnly, silently exiting the room without uttering a single word, thereby underscoring the weightiness of their responsibility and the gravity of the situation.
“After the shackled guard has departed, I can elaborate further,” Ted Lir began, addressing Duncan and the rest of the group with a more open demeanor. “The shackles that the guard was wearing are actually a component of Anomaly 87, often referred to as the ‘Statue’. There’s a specialized ritual protocol that allows us to temporarily borrow these shackles. Whoever wears them has to remain silent and gains the ability to restrain a designated entity within their field of vision. This technique is particularly useful when we’re dealing with newly discovered objects whose properties are uncertain, yet potentially dangerous.”
“Such as, perhaps, an unexplained ‘intruder from another reality’ that decided to make an appearance in a local marketplace?” Lucretia interjected, her eyes drifting to the mysterious substance displayed on the platform in the center of the room.
This substance seemed to be a lump of what looked like metal, solidified yet eerily smooth, almost as if it had skin. It gave the unsettling impression that it had once been a fluid, or perhaps gelatinous, entity that had abruptly frozen into its current form. Protruding from its slick, metallic surface were angular, horn-like growths. They appeared as if something—some entity or force—was trying to break out from within this puzzling mass.
“The angular protrusions actually began to manifest shortly after the sample was introduced to this containment room,” Ted Lir went on to explain. “Within mere minutes of its arrival, the sample exhibited highly erratic behavior; its surface topology underwent a rapid transformation. We even contemplated relocating it to a more secure, higher-tier containment facility out of concern that it might compromise the integrity of this room’s seals. However, just as suddenly, its activity levels plummeted, stabilizing to the point where it’s now almost indistinguishable from an inert lump of metal.”
Duncan zeroed in on a particular word in Ted’s explanation. “‘Almost?'”
“Yes, ‘almost,’ because it’s not entirely inert,” Ted Lir confirmed, nodding thoughtfully. “Deep within the core of this lump of matter, we’ve detected a faint but sustained signal of some form of activity. While the outer shell has hardened into this state, something at its very core remains active. In fact, you can hear it yourself.”
As he spoke, Ted Lir reached for a hefty, magical tome he’d been carrying. Flipping it open to a designated page, he lightly tapped a specific inscription.
Materializing from the thin air above the page was an object resembling a stethoscope.
Ted picked up the conjured instrument and hung it around his neck. With the caution one might expect of a person handling high explosives, he then placed the end of the stethoscope delicately upon the lump’s surface.
In the ensuing moment, a rhythmic, palpable sound filled the room, echoing off the walls and reverberating in the chests of all who were present.
Thump, thump, thump…
“There’s a heartbeat,” Ted Lir announced solemnly, looking up to meet the eyes of everyone in the room. “Inside this mysterious lump of metal beats a heart that is, against all odds, still very much alive.”
