The lock clicked with a satisfying thunk as Piper turned the heavy key. She stepped back from the Library’s front doors, listening as the ancient mechanisms settled into place. Beside her, Otter stood feeling a little nervous.
“That’s it,” Piper said, slipping the key into a pocket. “Officially locked up.” She glanced around and flashed a mischievous smile. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” he replied, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.
They moved quietly through the dimly lit corridors of the Library, the faint glow of enchanted lanterns casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. Their footsteps echoed softly in the silence.
“You sure we won’t get in trouble for this?” Otter whispered, glancing at Piper.
“Why would we? We’re not breaking any rules. Just because the doors are locked doesn't mean all the staff has left. Besides, I’m pretty much your boss.”
“What about curfew? I’m supposed to be back in my dorm by 9.”
“I can write you a pass,” she said with a shrug.
Her words were clearly meant to put him at ease, but he couldn't help but feel like she was leaving something out. “And Archivist Dane?”
Piper waved it off, but said nothing in response.
Despite the uneasiness, Otter couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement. Mystery. Discovery. It was what he’d always craved. And now, he wasn’t alone in it.
Piper led the way toward the West Wing. Once there, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Keep an eye on your display. If it glitches, let me know.”
The first five minutes was uneventful, though Otter couldn't shake off the eerie feeling that they were being watched.
Then they came to a section Otter hadn’t seen before.
The Museum Annex was unlike any other part of the Library. Ancient artifacts filled the room—suits of armor rusted with age, tattered articles of clothing, crystal shards and orbs sheltered behind glass cases, and other, stranger pieces he couldn't begin to identify.
"Wow, would you look at this place?" Otter breathed out as they stood amidst relics that had seen centuries pass by, treasures so old that Otter suspected some might remember the world being flat—if artifacts could remember things, which, given the setting, wasn't entirely off the table.
"Each one has a tale," Piper said, her voice filled with reverence as she brushed her fingers over the glass protectively. "Imagine the secrets they keep."
"Probably lots of 'I was lost, I was found, someone dropped me'—you know, riveting stuff," Otter quipped, but his heart raced with the reality of it all. There were items here that had likely changed the course of history, or at least sat in the room while history changed around them.
Otter’s gaze swept across the room, finally landing on something that captured his attention as nothing else did: an ornate display case at the far end of the hall. Inside, perched on a velvet cushion, was a cracked compass, its brass casing tarnished with age.
Piper led him to it, her eyes gleaming with fascination. “That’s the compass of Emrys Gale.”
Otter leaned closer, peering at the artifact. The compass looked ancient, its face a spiderweb of fine lines, testament to its age and the countless hands it must have passed through over the centuries. Its glass was foggy with time's breath, but there was no mistaking the way it seemed to be waiting, like a slumbering beast anticipating the touch of dawn. The needle twitched slightly, even though the case was sealed.
“Emrys Gale?” Otter asked, raising an eyebrow.
“One of the Academy’s founders,” Piper said softly, staring in awe at the artifact. “A legendary adventurer. But no one knows where this compass came from—or why it was left here. Some say it guided him to the Academy’s original location.”
Her fascination was infectious, and Otter could almost imagine the compass guiding grand ships across unknown waters, charting courses into the realms of fantasy she so adored in her secret readings.
Otter traced the edge of the display case with his finger, feeling a chill creep up his spine. “It feels… important.”
As he leaned in to get a better look, a sudden chill enveloped the room. The air grew noticeably colder. Piper huddled closer, and he felt her shiver against him. The lamps on the wall dimmed, casting eerie shadows across the artifacts.
"It feels like... like..."
"Like we're not alone," Otter finished for her, swallowing the lump in his throat.
Then, faint whispers echoed through the room.
The voices were fragmented, indistinct, like a conversation just out of earshot. They seemed to come from the very walls, threading through the air like a ghostly breeze.
Otter straightened, glancing around. “Did you hear that?”
Piper nodded, her expression wary. “That’s what I was talking about!”
The whispers grew louder, swirling around them.
"Maybe Emrys Gale left behind more than just a compass," Piper breathed, her eyes wide behind her glasses as she stared at the case, entranced by the notion that they might be standing on the cusp of unraveling a mystery woven into the fabric of the Academy itself.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Otter felt like the air was growing thinner with every word the walls uttered. He was no stranger to bizarre occurrences—his life was a testament to that—but this was a different kind of oddity, one that set his nerves jangling like alarm bells in a storm.
Otter's fingers hovered mere inches from the ancient display case, the air around it charged with an inexplicable tension. With a tentative stretch, he let his fingertips graze the glass. Suddenly, his wrisplay buzzed, the screen glitching as static crackled across it. His heart leapt into his throat as a message appeared:
Error—Objectives Not Met.
“What does that mean?” Piper asked.
“I don’t know,” Otter said, his voice tight with both excitement and unease. “I’ve gotten strange messages before, but… this is different.”
The compass inside the display case began to glow softly, casting a faint, ethereal light. Its cracked needle spun erratically, as if responding to an unseen force.
Piper gasped. “It’s never done that before.”
Otter’s mind raced. Was this connected to his Luck? The strange glitches on his wrisplay? He pressed a hand against the glass, curiosity burning within him.
Before they could investigate further, the sound of footsteps echoed through the Library.
Piper’s eyes widened. Her prior confidence evaporated like mist under the rising run. “Archivist Dane. Hide!”
They ducked behind a towering shelf full of ancient bones, pressing themselves against the cold stone. The footsteps grew louder, deliberate and measured.
“I thought you said we wouldn’t get in trouble.”
“You won’t, but I’m your boss. I certainly will. Now shush.”
Archivist Dane strode into the Museum Annex, her dark skirt brushing the floor. Her sharp gaze swept across the room, taking in the artifacts and the flickering torches.
She paused near the display case, her eyes narrowing as she examined the glowing compass. For a moment, Otter thought she might open the case and inspect it further—but then she shook her head, muttering something under her breath. "Ridiculous. Every time there's a flicker or a draft, these old relics start acting up. Knock it off," she said, addressing the whispering compass as though it were a mischievous scribe caught doodling in the margins. “You’ll scare the help. Or worse, the students.”
Otter dared to peek around the side of the lectern. Dane had turned her back to them, inspecting a shelf laden with ancient scrolls. Her shadow danced on the stone floor as if mocking their silent plight.
"Is she talking to the artifacts?" Piper mouthed to Otter, her face a canvas of bafflement and awe.
Otter shrugged, heart pounding. If they made it out of this without earning themselves a write-up, or worse—latrine duty—he'd consider it a win for his infamous Luck stat.
Dane continued her rounds, oblivious to the two stowaways trying to turn themselves invisible. Maybe there’s a cloak in here that does that, thought Otter.
With every step she took away from them, the pressure in Otter's chest eased a fraction, replaced by the bubbling effervescence of mischief and narrow escapes.
Finally, with one last disapproving glance at the glowing compass, Dane exited the Annex, her footsteps fading into the library beyond as she muttered to herself. “Circulation is already down, and now the old ghosts want to make it harder on me…”
Otter and Piper didn't move, didn't even dare to exhale fully until the echo of those steps had vanished completely.
Once the coast was clear, they emerged from their hiding spot.
“That was close,” Otter whispered, his heart still pounding.
Piper nodded, her expression a mix of relief and excitement. “Did you hear what she said? Haunted relics.”
"Knock it off," Otter whispered, mimicking Dane's stern reprimand to the empty air, before he and Piper burst into quiet laughter, the kind born from relief and the shared exhilaration of narrowly dodging catastrophe.
"Seriously though," Piper said, her voice still a whisper but now edged with a steel of determination that surprised Otter, "we can't let this go. That compass... there's something about it."
Otter stole a glance at the glowing compass, his mind buzzing with thoughts. "There's definitely more to this place than meets the eye," he finally said. “Dane didn’t seem too concerned, though.”
Piper bit her lip. “I guess not. But what was up with your wrisplay? That has to mean something.”
Otter agreed. Whatever this was—whatever the compass meant—he needed to know. “We should research Emrys Gale and see if we can find any clues.”
Piper smiled. “Absolutely.”
As Otter left the Library, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the night’s events were more than coincidence. The compass. The whispers. The glitch on his wrisplay.
Luck.
It wasn’t just a stat. It was connected to something bigger. Something older.
Otter's steps carried an unusual buoyancy as he made his way back to his dormitory. The evening's revelations about the compass and its potential link to both Emrys Gale and his own peculiar Luck filled him with both exhilaration and trepidation. With each turn down the stone-lined corridors, his mind spun faster than the compass needle itself, ricocheting between excitement over the uncharted adventure ahead and the gnawing thought that all this might somehow intertwine with the enigma of his father's disappearance.
Could Da have stumbled upon something like this? he wondered, stepping into his room. He let the door thud shut behind him, sealing off the world outside.
He flopped onto the bed, gazing up at the ceiling as if it held the answers written in invisible ink.
"Focus, Otter," he chided himself, sitting upright. "You need something... tangible. A puzzle to untangle the mind." His gaze landed on his journal. He slid off the bed, and sat at the desk. Retrieving his father’s knife from under the mattress, he carefully sharpened a pencil.
"Right, a maze. For Levi." It was a simple task, designing a maze for the roguish Dungeoneer. Yet, as the marks took shape under Otter's hand, the lines twisted and turned with whimsical abandon, mimicking the chaotic dance of his thoughts.
"Okay, so we start with a spiral here, and—no, wait, dead end," he mumbled, scratching out lines with fervor. He plotted twisty pathways, laid traps and false leads, crafting a miniature world where he was in control, a stark contrast to the unpredictable whirlwind that was his life. He could feel the tension unwind, thread by thread, as the maze grew more complex, and for a fleeting moment, he was just a boy with a penchant for puzzles, not the key to a mystery steeped in ancient lore and family secrets.
The door to his room shook suddenly, jolting him from his reverie. Otter glanced up, only to see the culprit: a draft slipping through the window he'd left ajar. With a chuckle, he tied the final knot in the maze, the endpoint tucked neatly in the center.
He admired his handiwork. It was intricate and baffling—a metaphor for the night's escapades, perhaps—but solvable, given enough patience and wit. Just like the riddle of Emrys’s compass, Otter hoped.
"Let’s see how long this takes you." Otter grinned, tearing the page from his journal and rolling it up neatly. He stowed it in his satchel, ready to be gifted at their next meeting. As he extinguished the candles in his room one by one, darkness embraced him, a comforting blanket woven with threads of uncertainty and adventure.
"Game on," he repeated, a silent promise in the stillness. Tomorrow's light would bring research and secrets to sift through, but tonight, Otter would dream of mazes and maps and the faint whisper of destiny calling his name.