1

The third day of exploration began cloudy. Fortunately, the gray gloom was not a herald of storm, and all the hours of digging from the previous days didn’t go to waste. Yet, in spite of the surface-level tranquility, the air also bore a certain sense of glumness, as if to reflect the overall lethargic mood among the expedition crew. They had toiled in the ruins for two days with next to nothing to show for it. Real archaeological excavations could take months if not years, and making profit was never the goal, but this particular venture was historical research in name only, and the company morale appropriately adjusted.

Would this day bring about the much-desired change…?

The search teams were now divided into two larger groups.

One group was to continue excavating the buried locations and search the lower terraces, where more buildings stood on narrow levels descending along the eastern mountainside. Meanwhile, the second group was assigned to return to the already explored major buildings in the central city, where to inspect such sealed doors that were previously found inaccessible, and which had any likelihood of hiding major rooms beyond.

Planning and clear instructions are what people need in times of confusion, and the explorers now set aside their apathy again in favor of manual labor. And again today, one would not join the others.

Izumi bid farewell to her friends and returned alone to the archives. She was in no hurry to get to her office. Her prior thirst for otherworldly knowledge she had lost somewhere over the night, and she now held nothing but reluctance and dread as she approached the tall facade at the end of the western avenue.

Producing no results would turn things even more bleak for everyone. At the same time, actually finding what she was sent for would hasten the decisive confrontation, which she had wished to avoid to the last. Nevertheless, like a dutiful wage slave, she entered the record hall, opened one of the remaining containers, and got to work.

“Alright. Show me what you’ve got.”

By now, Izumi was quite familiar with the mechanics of these ancient devices and was barely conscious of what her hands were doing, her thoughts adrift elsewhere.

One by one, she went through the remaining crystals, and her fortune showed no hint of changing for the better. She was more careful now, in case records were overwritten again, and secret messages were included among otherwise unrelated material. But the investment of additional time wouldn’t pay itself back so soon. She came across no new mysterious warnings nor other mentions of the anomalous doorway. Neither were there references to any underground dwellings, never mind the mythical weapon that could supposedly influence people’s minds, or even the mass occurrence of nightmares at the turn of the previous millennium.

It was quite incredible that official sources would ignore such a major event, which had supposedly affected a great many people at once. Surely there should have been public discussion on the causes, and notes made on what had triggered the following mass exodus? But as frustrating and illogical as it made things seem, this was not the case. Either the anomalous record had been fake, the account fabricated, or else related information had been deliberately suppressed by the lost city’s keepers.

The other memories wouldn’t offer any alternative explanations for the locals’ plans to journey across the unforgiving wild westward, so to abandon their majestic home in the mountains. The previously suggested theory on the effects of climate change were given no support by the crystal records. In fact, by the utter lack of related dialogue, it appeared that the city had been entirely spared from any shortage of food or fuel, though nothing was there to explain their self-sufficiency either. It was possible that the records were mere propaganda, and their creators had hidden the nation’s struggles, to preserve a clean historical image for the later generations. The grand library was then filled with naught but chronicles of equivocal triviality, the truth effectively silenced—but could the explanation really be so simple?

Existential problems of such level and gravity should have become apparent over time, one way or the other. Yet, the records painted a different picture by their sheer existence.

The steady production of new archive entries over the decades proved that the Eylians of the past had to have had stable food sources, clean water, and warmth, regardless of what the arctic conditions were like at the time. No one could have had imagination as wild as to come up with all these detailed descriptions of events that never actually happened, have the following generations diligently uphold the same lie, and so weave a consistent chronology spanning several centuries—all the while struggling to survive in reality.

It would have been suspicious, had the records been exaggeratedly rosy, with nothing but rainbows and sunshine from day to day, but this was not the case either. Problems like avalanches, deaths by wildlife, epidemics, and issues with foreign trade were reported with apparent sincerity. The decisions of the governing elite were oftentimes brought to question, and embarrassing scandals sometimes caused high-ranking officials to be excommunicated. Such records likely would not have been archived at all in a controlled totalitarian community.

“What are we not seeing?” Izumi sighed after another uninformative recording, at her wit’s end. “It was all smooth sailing for them, as far as I can tell. And then they suddenly decided to pack up and leave, without caring to make a note of it. Why?”

Only one container was left.

Going by the timeline established thus far, the crystals in the remaining holders were newest. Acquiescas had already gone through a quarter of them the day before yesterday, and judging by the brief descriptions he had left, they’d contained nothing groundbreaking either. It was unlikely that the rest of them were going to be any different.

“But that’s a lot of spare room,” Izumi noted, crouching beside the container. About a third of the slots were empty of crystals. “Either they didn’t have the time to fill all of it—or else censorship hit this place hard.”

Izumi gathered another handful of crystals, and returned to the reader. She was barely paying attention anymore, having lost her faith in finding satisfactory answers to the countless questions that bothered her.

However, after a lot of less enlightening tedium amid notes of state funerals, celebrity weddings, and trade negotiations with the remote land of Ibolhym, Izumi opened a memory that made her prick her ears. She had been right to assume that there might be another message mixed among the otherwise innocuous records, and was finally rewarded for her careful work.

“—Please listen!”

“Huh?”

After a conventional weather report, another voice entirely took over the playback. It appeared to belong to a senior male, and the urgency of his voice made Izumi immediately stir from her reflections and lift her gaze.

“—Please listen to me, whoever you are! What I am about to tell you is of critical importance, regardless of the time or place. I cannot tell you my name or the date, due to my present political standing. The repercussions could be severe! But I assure you that every word I’m about to tell you is true. I hold no guarantee this message will get through, though the worst of the purge is already past, and none suspect my disposition, as far as I’m aware. I implore you, who are viewing this crystal—whatever orders or instructions you have been given regarding the archives, do not dispose of this recording! Put it back where you found it, or where it is likely to remain safe! Do not give it to another, but only commit to memory my words! Share them with whoever you deem worthy of your trust! It is of utmost importance that this message survives the coming ages! People must know the truth! The Council of Elders has deemed that informing the public on the specifics of the incident will only serve to provoke recklessness and misplaced courage, where simple silence will serve better. That in time, the horror we have experienced in our lives will come to pass, drift outside of human memory, and any mention of what happened that day will only be liable to make those who come after attempt what we could not. The generations to come would not understand the risks involved—so the Council has determined. I disagreed and voted against the verdict. Because I personally believe better of people. I believe they have the right to know the truth. It is their only protection against the evil that now lives so close to them! Alas, I was left in the minority. It may well be that the Elders had the right of it. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this—not even this!—lest I bring about the worst of fates, against my best intentions. That being said, I strongly feel I must try, regardless! I have to believe in the underlying wisdom and understanding of the fellow man, or else I would throw away my life’s work for a lie. I cannot leave this matter up to pure chance! People's lives are in danger! The future citizens of Eylia must be warned! I beg of you, whoever you are: do not seek the underground city! Ever speak against any and all attempts to access what is below us! The gate to the Depths must be kept sealed and under surveillance, at all times! Know that we closed it at a heavy cost! Please, keep this record safe. Share it with the community, if the political climate should change. I cannot stress enough how crucial—”

——WHEEZZT!

“Ow!” Izumi winced, as a sharp, metallic sound rang through her head. It came from the linkstone in her left ear, and the abrupt interference was soon followed by a voice, probably belonging to Orik or Vikland.

“Gronan, are you listening? We’re at the Capitol—there’s something in here. You’d better come see it for yourself.”

Gronan’s voice shortly replied. “I’m on my way.”

“Faalan,” Marcus’s voice added after the others. “Is your mom within earshot? Tell her she should step over too, if she’s free.”

“Why are you asking me again?” Faalan’s voice retorted.

“Geez! Almost everybody from my old class may have children by now, but I’m nobody’s mommy!” Izumi cried.

She gave one more look to the reader. The playback had ceased. The speaker had made the point clear enough, but without mentioning what exactly was the danger. Either way, considering the earlier communication, it appeared to be too late now for second thoughts. Izumi removed the crystal from the reader, closed the device, and hurried outside, to see what manner of a disaster they were about to unleash.

2

As per its lofty name, the Capitol building held a special place in the street view, and was therefore quite easy to identify. It stood directly to the north from the central Shrine, at the end of the long avenue, approximately six hundred yards from the campsite. There, in the opposing mountain’s close embrace was dug a circular basin, lined with tightly packed houses, the Capitol right in the middle of them, a respectful distance apart.

The overall shape of the building bore a bewildering resemblance to its namesake in the faraway Washington D.C., with rectangular wings protruding from a larger central structure, which was crowned with an enormous, onion-shaped, terracotta-tiled dome. The dome reached high up to the sky, the gilded spire of it well above any other structure in the city.

Logically, the Capitol had ever been the most obvious candidate to hide a hidden pathway into the subterranean city. After all, if any manner of a hierarchy had existed among the slaves, then it stood to reason that their ancient masters below would associate only with the top of that hierarchy and hold little interest in the affairs of the rest.

However, actually identifying the correct hidden door in this massive building and accessing it were another matter. In the northern part of the complex was a grand assembly hall with close to two hundred people’s representatives’ seats, opposing the less numerous Elder Council seats. This was doubtless the heart of the Capitol, where every important matter was once discussed and decisions made. But that was nowhere near all of it, and there were numerous smaller but no less extravagant rooms, conference halls, and offices throughout the multi-storied building. Many of the doors along the dim corridors were locked, as could be expected. Breaking into and searching through them all was a task likely demanding weeks instead hours.

Moreover, the Capitol was not the only suspicious-looking place in the city full of stately buildings, and perhaps already a little too obvious for an entrance point intended to remain hidden. A mistaken guess was going to mean a bitter end to the expedition.

Nevertheless, encouraged by Izumi’s report last night, Gronan had told the investigators to begin their search at the Capitol today. He assigned no scholars to the task, but the men with the heaviest hammers, the crulean among them, and when such a crew went knocking, no secret could remain such for long. Although, the damages to the invaluable historical site in the process were rather heartbreaking.

It was barely noon yet when the anomaly was reported.

The secret was not exactly obvious, but neither were the investigators quite as dense or ignorant as previously advertised. On their way out for lunch, the team had spied in the spacious entrance hall, under a grand imperial staircase, an odd, heavily engraved surface, which differed somewhat from the rest of the wall in color and composition.

An indoors fountain had been built around this surface, giving no reason to assume it was a door, if not for the characteristic dimensions of it. The element had likely been veiled completely from view in the past by the fountain, but after a thousand years, the fountain had run dry, its channels frozen, revealing the out-of-place form behind it.

Was it not precisely what the explorers had been told to look for?

Closer inspection had revealed that the pattern was not only a simple decoration either. The unfitting element had been welded into the wall by running molten silver into the seams, and a keyhole it also had, similarly treated and filled, completely preventing conventional access. But the resistance this fine metal work could offer to Hrugnaw’s warhammer, forged of Visrod’s famous deepsteel, was negligible.

The investigators broke their way through the thick barrier of stone, and found beyond no treasury, but yet another sealed doorway of identical design.

Whatever stood past here, the makers of this place had evidently been determined to keep visitors out. Practically smelling gold already, the companions went on to break through the second doorway as well, discovering in the dark behind a descending corridor, with a lengthy flight of steps. Judging by the sheer length of that passage, there was no simple cheese cellar at the end of it.

That was when they had deemed it wise to call the leader.

In a quarter of an hour, a sizable crowd gathered in the Capitol hall.

The original search team of Hrugnaw, Vikland, Siphis, and Minsk were joined by Gronan, Aft, and Acquiescas. They had also called over Faalan and his team of Tidaal, Ethys, and Gubal. Of course, there was no keeping the fellowship’s dedicated recorder from this significant event; hearing the exchange over the linkstones, Waramoti had slipped away from his own team, and came to witness the making of history.

Izumi was the last to arrive.

The reason behind her summons went unsaid, but was obvious enough, after her feats at the archives. It was, of course, to tackle any possible ancient systems they might come across and in this decision, Marcus would prove uncannily farsighted.

Not intimidated by the descent ahead, the whole crowd squeezed into the narrow stairway through the broken entrance. Casting light on the steps of stone with their lanterns and torches, they went down without a word, the air dense of anticipation. Though the exact age of these stairs had to have been beyond counting, they showed no sign of wear or corrosion, proceeding sharp, clean, and evenly paced.

At the end of the stairs came a straightforward tunnel northward.

Then, after about sixty feet, this tunnel unexpectedly opened up into a rectangular chamber, roughly twenty-five feet wide, twenty tall, and fifty in length, with slim pillars running in two lines across it. Daylight poured down from narrow cuts in the ceiling, augmenting the effect of the explorers’ lights and allowing them to make a startling observation.

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It was a dead end.

Clearly, another tunnel should have continued after this gallery, but its course was blocked by a gate. A dark wall skillfully engraved with abstract imagery, irregular waves stretching outward from the empty center, like a stylized whirlwind, or perhaps an artistic interpretation of the sun with its rays. Frost made the door glitter pale in the lamp light, as if covered with the dust of diamonds.

“Where’s Hrugnaw?” Marcus called back, showing little respect or admiration for that marvelous work of craftmanship. “We’ve some need for your hammer again.”

“Oh, save your wrists!” Aft interrupted them, bringing his fluorescent ore lamp closer. “This one’s not made of simple stone.”

“What is it?”

The engineer leaned his ear closer and rapped the surface with his knuckles.

“That hue, sound—yeah. Dimeritium alloy. At least twelve inches thick.”

“Blast it...” Marcus exhaled a deep sigh.

“The, uh, what-the-rium now?” Tidaal’s voice asked from further back.

“Dimeritium,” Aft repeated, turning back. “Rich man’s steel, heavy and hard. Mixed, in this case, with a good bit of lead, I think. Forty-sixty ratio, or thereabouts. As small as it is, this door probably weighs about half a ton.”

“Thank you,” Tidaal replied. “Now what does that mean, really?”

“It means,” Gronan impatiently answered on Aft’s behalf, “that we can’t get through this door with the equipment we have. It’s good as unbreakable.”

The news was met with a lot of disappointed moaning by the followers.

“So, how did the ancient Eylians get past here?” Waramoti asked. “I don’t see a keyhole.”

“—Maybe they used these switches?” Izumi suggested.

Everyone turned around to look at the woman. Izumi stood by the wall further aside and pointed at an odd element protruding slightly off a vertical depression. There were multiple similar structures along the walls on both sides of the chamber. At a glance, they had seemed like mere torch holders, but a closer inspection showed that there was no way to put anything on them; both ends of those slim, handle-like arcs reached inside the wall.

“Switches?” Gronan repeated, not getting her meaning.

“Why, yes?” she replied. “They’re quite obviously switches. You grab and pull them. Like this.”

Izumi seized the handle she stood by and started to pull.

“—NO! Nonononono!” Acquiescas immediately cried and squeezed out of the crowd to stop her. “Don’t touch it!”

“Hm? Why?” Izumi tilted her head but obediently stopped.

“It could be trapped!” the scholar exclaimed. “Why are there so many of them? It may be that only one will open the door and the others are fake! If you pull the wrong switch, it could trigger some dreadful contraption or a spell that will kill us all!”

“In a place like this...”

“Excuse me! In 812, a group of researchers from the University studied certain ruins in Oldlan, and unwittingly triggered a trap that cost the lives of four people! What were they doing? Trying get a door open! You can never be too sure with these things! Past people were incredibly crafty, we can’t rush into things without thinking!”

“But, they would pass through here all the time when the city was inhabited, right?” Izumi argued. “If getting it wrong even once meant instant death to everyone involved, then that would mean a lot of bodies over the ages, I think...”

“And I think the professor is right,” Hrugnaw commented. “This place is fairly old. If something goes wrong and the ceiling collapses on us, it would not be very pleasant.”

“I can’t well refute that,” Izumi blankly replied, “but those are some brazen words from someone who was just about to bust through the door with a giant hammer…”

“Now, now, play nice,” Marcus told the two of them. “The treasure’s been waiting for a thousand years, it’s not going to run away today. So let’s rack our brains a little and find a way to open this door like civilized people.”

“Look who’s talking!” Both Izumi and Hrugnaw retorted in unison.

3

Setting their lights around the chamber, the explorers began to examine their surroundings with better care. There were altogether six switches, if switches they were. No other means of opening the impenetrable door could be discovered, so it was likely that Izumi’s hypothesis was correct. Unfortunately, the ancients had left no instructions on how to actually use the mechanism on this occasion either.

Of course.

According to the records, no one was ever meant to pass through here again.

Gronan cared little for such warnings, and neither did his followers seem any more likely to take heed. Could anything change the man’s mind now, with the mythical weapon closer and closer to his reach?

As she contemplated on whether to help him or not, Izumi realized she had been quite foolish to tell Gronan her actual reason for joining the expedition. Knowing Faalan’s importance to her, he could force her co-operation by simply threatening his life. Had that been the source of his confidence in her loyalty? Was she giving herself too much credit by thinking so?

I don’t have much of a choice, do I…?

Izumi glanced at Faalan, who examined the wall a short distance away to her right. By his words, the warrior had been prepared to give up his life, if it meant preventing the hidden weapon from ever being used.

How can you even say that? You have a kid waiting for you at home. Someone who loves you. No ideal can ever be worth that price.

The more Izumi thought about the situation, the clearer it seemed that her and Faalan’s goals were drifting apart. Fighting the Dharves for the weapon while protecting the man, and somehow delivering him back home in one piece was too much asked, no matter how she looked at it. Neither did she feel like committing a heroic sacrifice and dying for the good of the Empire. If she wanted to save the warrior, herself, and Waramoti from this bind, it would only happen by co-operating with Gronan.

Even if it meant handing him the Precursor weapon.

I held something more precious than gold in my hands. But I let them all go, because I was trying to do the mythical ‘right thing’. Never again.

Izumi turned away and stared at the wall, pretending to be thinking. Instead, she thought she heard Gronan’s voice rise from the depths of her mind, loud and clear.

That’s right. They took my family from me. I lost everything because of the mistakes of others, while only doing what was expected of me! You know my pain, you understand my wrath. You’ve lived it. Then why would you deny my right for vengeance? Mine is the proper retribution of all those who are wronged!

Listening to that voice, Izumi looked down and gritted her teeth, squeezing her fists tightly close. Even now, as she recalled the past, the faces of those she had loved, those unjustly slain, the cold anger returned, calling her weak and pathetic for ever trying to get over it. Was not forgetting the same as acceptance? And acceptance the same as endorsement? That was doubtless true evil.

But all of a sudden, Gronan’s indignant voice became replaced by Faalan’s calm words, which resounded in the woman’s head, calming and assuring.

Izumi. You and Gronan aren’t the only ones who have lost and suffered. I also know that pain and fury, and only too well. I do not wish this grief upon my own family. But many more people out there will come to experience the tragedies we have, unless we sever the chain of hatred here. Is their happiness less real, worth less than yours or mine? I don’t think so.

Startled, Izumi raised her head and looked at the warrior. So clear and life-like she heard his voice, she had to doubt if it was only her imagination. To her astonishment, she saw Faalan stare back at her, a knowing look in his eyes.

I didn’t come here to die. I came here to spare others of the sorrow they did nothing to deserve. It’s not me you should try to save. It’s those who have no means to save themselves. No one to fight for them. Gronan will not stop. Then neither must we.

Izumi relaxed her posture, opened her hands, and drew a deep breath. And then she nodded.

Behind her, she heard Acquiescas’s actual voice, absorbed in contemplation.

“There are three possibilities, as far as I can tell,” the scholar thought aloud, gazing around the gallery. “First: only one switch is correct and we must identify it to pass. Two: all the switches are required and must be activated simultaneously. Or three: the switches must be operated in a specific sequence. But if that’s case, we would somehow have to deduce the correct order...Is there any way we may do so...?”

“You may be right, professor,” Izumi commented. “And here’s how we check the answer.”

She stepped to the nearest switch and grabbed it.

“Stop!” the scholar shrieked. “What are you doing, you mad woman!? Did you not hear a word I said!? We could all die in here!”

“Oh, I heard you, loud and clear,” she answered. “And I’ve decided to ignore it. You want results or not? The clock’s ticking, teach, and you’re a thousand years too late for the train of caution. So unless you want to risk becoming a pancake with glasses, I suggest you take a hike. Everybody else too.”

“W-w-w...”

“Hee-ho! Here we go!”

Applying force, Izumi pulled the switch. It would only give in by an inch or two and then stopped. She tried with two hands and yanked again, but without better results. Acquiescas watcher her effort eyes rounded, mouth hanging wide open.

“Oh, either it’s jammed, or we’ve got a miss,” she observed. “Thankfully, it doesn’t look like they’re trapped.”

“You—I can’t even begin to tell you how insane you are!” Acquiescas yelled at her, his face bright red with a mixture of fear and anger.

“Yet, I don’t see you leaving,” she pointed out.

“I—I will not let you take credit for this one too!” he shouted in answer.

“How about you, boss?” Izumi called out to Gronan. “Last chance to turn back.”

“...I told you this,” Gronan answered, showing no intention to move. “I will rather be squashed by the mountain than leave here empty-handed.” Then, turning to the others, he added, “And I’m sure you bastards are no different! All of you! Grab a switch and pull!”

“Aye-aye!” Tidaal replied, reaching for a handle on the eastern wall. “Finally words I can understand.”

The nearest mercenaries each seized a switch. They tried pulling all at the same time and in turns, but the door wouldn’t budge. Rather, none of the switches appeared to be responding at all—save for just one.

“Hey, hey, hey! Lads!” Vikland shouted. “This one’s working!”

He easily pulled the switch all the way to a horizontal position, and unlike the others, it offered next to no discernible resistance. However, even though the lever worked, it had no effect.

“The door’s not opening,” Gronan remarked.

“Why does only that switch move, and none of the others?” Acquiescas pondered.

“Did you hear that?” Faalan suddenly asked.

“What...?” Gronan turned to him.

“There was a peculiar sound, a hum, but it faded away. It appeared to be coming from behind the wall on the other side.”

“Indeed, I heard the same,” Waramoti affirmed.

“Damn it, did your parents mate with more than elves to get you ears like that?” Gronan grunted. “Vikland, give the lever another go!”

“Will do!” The mercenary pulled his handle again.

“Yes, there it is again.” Faalan nodded.

“I barely hear it with my ear on the wall!” Aft yelled from across the chamber. “But it’s there!”

“So there truly is some manner of a mechanism attached to these switches?” Acquiescas observed. “But, how does it work?”

“Oh, now mine’s working too,” Marcus surprisingly reported, pulling down his lever. But he couldn’t get it as far down as Vikland did. After about sixty degrees, it suddenly jammed and jolted back, escaping from his hands.

CLANG! Immediately, a heavy, metallic noise rang out, echoing along the walls.

“What happened?” Gronan asked.

No one was able to answer him.

“First the switch worked and now it doesn’t,” Marcus said, trying the handle again.

“Don’t break it!” Acquiescas cautioned him. “Gently!”

“What do you think, Izumi?” Faalan asked the woman.

Izumi thought for a moment, rubbing her chin, and then answered,

“Maybe it’s not just about the right sequence, but the timing matters too? When you pull the right lever, then the next one is unlocked for only a brief moment, and then the next...Maybe?”

“Try it!” Gronan shouted.

Vikland pulled the first lever again. It worked just as well as previously.

“The noise grows briefly, then begins to quiet,” Faalan observed.

“That’s true,” Waramoti said. “Like there’s a large wheel being spun.”

Marcus grabbed his handle next. This time, he did it earlier and the difference became immediately clear. The mechanism allowed him to pull the switch way down, the same as the other one. Simultaneously, the rumbling noise was strengthened, becoming audible to everyone in the chamber.

“That’s it!” Acquiescas exclaimed, a wide smile appearing on his face. “They do work in a sequence! But, which is the next one?”

BANG! CREEE—!

When the next handle was pulled, a hideous noise followed, together with the high-pitched screeching of distinctly metallic objects, akin to a braking train. The floor made a shudder and the grinding stopped short. Everyone in the hall reflexively squeezed their eyes shut and hunched lower, as if expecting the ceiling blocks to rain down on them. Fortunately, none did.

The door remained closed.

“So, the system is forcibly interrupted if you pull the wrong switch,” Izumi summarized.

“It’s not going to endure another sudden stop like that,” Acquiescas said. “We cannot keep on experimenting like this, or we will break down the whole thing!”

“And never get through the door,” Marcus sighed.

“But how?” The scholar wiped his jaw and tried to think. “Is there no way for us to learn the correct order?”

“Look around you!” Gronan urged them all. “Look for any signs, any clues!”

They all did as instructed, but the walls and pillars about them were unfortunately plain. There was no writing to be seen, no symbols, no numbers. Looking upward along the west wall, Izumi saw through the thin rime film a layer of red, flaking paint. Above the red surface was a simplified seawave pattern in white paint—or were they mountains?—with little red circles, and dark green figures that resembled people. The characters were bare silhouettes, not very realistic, and indistinguishable from one another. They appeared to be dancing, and the same imagery repeated uninterrupted from wall to wall, around the gallery. If a message was hidden in those patterns, then it was definitely a puzzle of devilish cunning.

“Someone has smeared the wall over here,” Faalan commented.

“What?” Izumi, who was closest, went over to see what he was looking at.

Indeed, a span above the switch, someone had drawn a brief, wide dash with white paint, barely visible under the frost. A single stroke of no apparent artistic quality, bearing no clear connection to the surrounding paint work.

“Wait a minute...” Izumi got an idea and returned to her own handle, to wipe the wall above it. It had been difficult to see at first, but she found a similar smear there too.

“Ah, I get it,” she said. “There used to be a symbol here once, to mark the correct order, but they painted over it. So that nobody would be able to open the door.”

“Ha! Here’s something like that too!” Aft called out.

The others made identical reports. Whatever had been drawn on the walls in the past was now covered with a thick helping of chalk paint, and rendered illegible.

“So much for that door,” Tidaal remarked. “If that was our only clue.”

A heavy, disappointed silence settled in the chamber, everyone staring at their toes. Blindly guessing the order of the six switches correctly with a single try required phenomenal luck. Sadly, none of the people present could boast such a heavenly gift. They could continue to experiment and risk breaking the machinery, but doing so could bring about the irreversible failure of their quest.

Was there no other way?

At least one among the company had yet to give up. Looking around, to check if anyone else was within the hearing distance, Izumi whispered to Faalan,

“Shut your ears! I’m making a private call!”

The man played along with admirable patience, and covered his ears with his palms, without even knowing why. Izumi turned back to the wall, crouched, and whispered,

“Yui-chan, are you awake?”

“I’m always here, though,” Yubilea’s figure appeared, disinterestedly rubbing the corners of her eyes.

“Can you see the original image? If you could see the magic particles in those crystals, then this shouldn’t be much of a problem.”

“What are you imagining?” the spirit moodily responded. “Sensing fluctuations in energies and seeing through walls are not even remotely related! I can’t see anything there. But you can.”

“I can?”

“Well, if I help a little. I’ve got the hang of tweaking the Ocíl by now. If Statha opens your senses to perceive more than you normally could, then the opposite should be possible too, to limit your perception to only specific signals. In theory, if there is another layer of paint under the smear, then it will reflect heat in a different way from the white paint. If you can focus only on the disparity in wavelength, then you will see the image. You’re going to have to do the fine control on your own, though. It’s tricky, but I’ll share the principle.”

“Thanks again, Yui-chan. I’d give you a kiss, but since I can’t, my gratitude will have to do.”

“I need neither your kisses nor thanks!” the spirit yelled. “Find me some gold!”

As an existence inseparable from Izumi, it didn’t take much time or effort for Yubilea to feed the necessary information to her brain. The technique seemed laborious indeed. Like trying to hear a singular whisper in the noise of Akihabara, but visually. Yet, it wasn’t completely impossible. Bringing her lantern closer to warm the wall, Izumi whispered the incantation.

“Ocíl—Enthró.”

All sounds faded. The rest of the chamber darkened and disappeared from Izumi’s vision, as she focused her gaze to the paint on the wall. It took a moment of trial and error to find and stop at the correct level of infrared radiation, but she eventually began to make out the faint outline of a contrasting image.

“This is...Some kind of an animal?” she pondered. “A platypus?”

“The heck is that?” Yubilea twisted her face. “No matter how you look at it, it’s a dog!”

“Rather fat for a dog...” Izumi commented. And then stopped. “Hey. No way.”

“What?”

Not answering, the woman dashed over to Faalan’s spot. “You can open your ears now.”

She inspected the second smear. Under it was a vague but unmistakable image of another creature. A simplistic snake depicted with what looked like a spiky mane, quite unfitting for a reptile.

“Yes! This is it!” Izumi exclaimed, overcome with excitement. She then got up and ran over to Acquiescas. “Professor! Did you make notes of the pictures in the temple above, along the main street? The Divines and their spirit animals?”

“W-what are you talking about?” Acquiescas frowned at her, stirring from his thoughts. “Of course I did, but what does that have to do with anything…?”

“The fat dog and the hairy serpent—you know them, what they mean?” she questioned him.

“Yeotyra and Athysla, you mean?” The scholar asked, at the same time searching his satchel for his notebook. “Why? What is this about?”

“Is there some kind of a hierarchy for these spirits?” Izumi asked him. “Any specific order, by which they’re known? Do the stories tell?”

“Well, not a hierarchy, exactly,” he answered, opening his journal. “But by our findings, it seems the locals associated the Divines each with specific seasons. For example, Varnis with late winter, Orthus with spring, Genfu with midsummer, Athysla with fall, Illan with early winter, and Yeotyra comes last, after the year is finished, and—”

“—So who starts the year?” she asked.

“Varnis, of course? They go precisely in the order I just listed and—”

“—Thanks, professor! Let me borrow this!”

Izumi snatched the notebook from Acquiescas’s hands and hurried to examine the remaining switches, while the rest of the company observed her eccentric antics with growing confusion.

“Anybody have a pen?” Izumi requested.

“Er, I have some coal,” Marcus shrugged and handed her a piece that he had used for marking things.

“Great!” Izumi exclaimed, took the coal, and proceeded to draw numbers on the walls, above the switches. “Vikkun’s first. Marc’s second. Faalan’s third. Redbeard’s fourth. Aftie’s fifth. And mine’s last. There. It’s solved.”

Done with the markings, she tossed the goal back to Marcus, and then faced Gronan and Acquiescas in the middle of the gallery with a wide, self-content grin on her face. Gronan’s expression looked no less astonished than that of the professor as they stared back at her.

“Who in the blazes are you?” Gronan spontaneously mouthed.

With a playful wink, Izumi answered,

“I’m the hero, of course.”