As they drew closer to the library, their moods lifted. The answers they sought were perhaps within reach, and Basil was determined to uncover the truth about the patchwork and the Office of the Singularity.
They reached the base of the hill where the library stood, its majestic entry gates now fully visible. The ancient structure was both imposing and inviting, a repository of knowledge.
"We've made it," Walther said, his voice filled with awe.
Basil looked up at the towering spires, feeling a mix of anticipation and fear. The journey had been long and challenging, but they had arrived.
As they approached the grand entrance of the Auspex's library, Basil couldn't shake the feeling that the nightmare was a harbinger of what lay ahead. The young woman's voice echoed in his mind.
The library's massive wooden doors creaked open, revealing an interior that was both grand and labyrinth-like. The entry hall was vast, lined with towering bookshelves that stretched up to the high, vaulted ceilings. Elaborate chandeliers cast a warm, golden light, illuminating the rich mahogany and marble surfaces. The air was filled with the scent of old parchment and polished wood, creating an atmosphere unlike anything else.
The group stepped inside, their footsteps echoing softly on the marble floor. Basil marveled at the sheer scale of the library, feeling both humbled and exhilarated. This was a place where countless secrets were held, and he was determined to uncover the ones they needed.
As they moved deeper into the hall, a familiar figure emerged from one of the side corridors. Nymous, looking weary but resolute, approached them with a broad smile. "You've made it!" he exclaimed, embracing each of them warmly. "I've been worried sick, waiting for you."
Basil felt a surge of relief at the sight of Nymous. "It's good to see you," he said, returning the embrace. "We have a lot to catch up on."
Nymous led them to a cozy reading nook, where a fire crackled in a large hearth, casting a comforting glow. They settled into the plush armchairs, and Nymous began to share his findings. "I've managed to uncover some information about the Office of the Singularity," he said, pulling out a stack of ancient manuscripts. "It's fragmented, but extensive."
He spread the manuscripts out on a low table, but then he shook his head in frustration. "None of this makes sense," he said, sighing deeply.
Nymous turned to Basil. "May I see the patchwork?" he asked. Basil handed it over without hesitation. Nymous took out a needle and started to carefully remove the top layer of textile.
Walther's eyes widened. "What are you doing?" he exclaimed.
"Trust me," Nymous replied, his focus unwavering.
With careful precision, Nymous succeeded in removing the top layer. As the threads came away, a different set of markings began to appear. It was not a Class D patch; it was an unclassed patch labeled "OOS."
Everyone stared in disbelief. "This is not possible," Walther whispered, his voice filled with awe.
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"Patchworks need to fall under a class, they just work that way," he added.
Basil leaned forward. "Could this explain the weirdness we experienced underway?" he asked, his mind racing to connect the dots.
Walther nodded. "We felt an ancient presence, something malevolent. It was unlike anything I've ever studied."
Samuel chimed in, recounting the eerie events they had experienced on the road. "There was this bizarre wind, a blue glow from our metal equipment, and an ... oppressive silence that fell over us. It felt as if we were being watched."
Nymous listened intently, his expression growing more serious. "It sounds like the patchwork is already affecting your surroundings. The incomplete documentation makes it even more dangerous because we lack the understanding of its function."
They discussed their experiences late into the night, piecing together the fragments of information they had. The sense of urgency was high.
"We need to decide on our next steps," Nymous said, looking around the group.
Just then, an elder from the Auspex's Order entered the reading nook. White haired and aged well beyond his prime, he joined the group.
The elder settled into a chair, his robes rustling softly. He gazed at the group with a serene but serious expression. "Wisdom," he began, "is not just the accumulation of knowledge, but the understanding of how to apply it. It is the light that guides us through the darkness of ignorance and fear. In these halls of Auspex, we seek not just to know, but to comprehend, to weave the threads of history and magic into a practice that can withstand any lineage or generational war. This place is a sanctuary for the mind, a refuge where one can find the wisdom of ages past and present."
With a crackling, almost ranting voice, the elder continued. "We do not know for certain," now switching to a voice with a hint of sorrow. "What you have brought with you there. The patch. There are several theories, each as unsettling as the last. One possibility is that it was not created by the inceptor of our realm, Jaunaroth, but through some illegal, unfathomable action. Such an act would go against the very fabric of cosmic rules, a transgression of the highest order."
The elder paused, his gaze distant as if recalling ancient memories. "Another theory is that its power was found to be too dangerous after its creation. In such a case, it would have been attempted to be hidden, its true nature concealed under layers of false classifications. It may have been bestowed upon a remote, unknown family deemed too insignificant or too ignorant to ever uncover its true potential."
"But this," he continued, shaking his head, "is impossible. There are cosmic rules, safeguards put in place by the inceptors themselves. To circumvent these rules is impossible. These rules are the very threads that hold our realm together, and to break them is to risk unraveling everything."
Walther, leaning forward with intense curiosity, asked, "Then why did it show up now?"
The elder's eyes gazed upwards, pondering deeply. "That is the most troubling question of all. If this patchwork has reemerged, it may have been dormant, waiting for the right—or wrong—moment to surface."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a hushed tone. "There are whispers in the oldest texts of an unclassed patchwork, a thing of mystery and unknown potential. Those who spoke of it did so in riddles and allegories, never directly. They feared it, yet they revered its power. It was said to be a keystone, one that could bind or unravel."
The group sat in heavy silence, absorbing the gravity of the elder's words.
Basil, feeling the enormity of their task, looked at his companions and then back at the elder. "What do we do now?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
"You must continue," the elder advised, his voice laden with the weight of experience. He sighed deeply and began to share an emotional story from his youth. "When I was a young man, much like yourself, I was the heir to a small noble family. We were entrusted with an obscure patchwork, one that seemed insignificant at the time. Its true nature was shrouded in mystery, much like the one you hold now. But I figured out it allowed me to predict some future events, and I made great use of this.
"But, I was eager and ambitious, determined to prove myself worthy of our family's legacy. In my hubris, I mishandled the patchwork, not fully understanding the dangers. I tried to approach higher houses and tell them which events were about to happen in their lives. The consequences were disastrous. It turned out that the fortune telling was sometimes inversed. The exact other event happened, and this led to big losses of grain and wealth for one house I advised. Several matriarchs and lords decided that my fortune telling was satanistic, and I was arrested."
The elder's eyes grew distant as he continued. "As punishment for my failure, I was sentenced to work here in the Auspex library, condemned to study and safeguard the knowledge I had so recklessly disregarded. I was torn from my family, my wife... left behind to face the shame and ruin that my actions had brought upon us. It has been my penance to ensure that others do not repeat my mistakes."
Basil and the others listened, moved by the elder's tale of loss and redemption. There was a long silence before Basil spoke again. "Who are you, elder?" he asked softly.
The elder straightened, a hint of his former nobility returning to his bearing. "I was Jerich, the intended heir of the Trenig family," he revealed. "Now, I am simply a guardian of this knowledge, a watcher, ensuring that the wisdom of ages past is preserved."
"Wow," Basil said, clearly impressed. "To think that an heir like you would end up here, you must know a lot about patchworks."
Jerich nodded, a faint smile on his lips. "Yes, I have spent countless years studying them. I, Jerich, was banished to these study rooms forever because I mishandled an obscure patchwork. It was my greatest failure, but it has also become my life's work to prevent such tragedies from happening again."