"Yes, let's go," Fritz agreed. Another shudder shook the room, sending books to the stone bricks and a wave of fear through him.

He didn't want to risk the wrath of the flood again. Quickly he and his team were packed and moving through the winding bookcase alleys. Fritz followed his Door Sense's impressions, he would pulse it and marvel at how little it strained him now, noticing as well how much easier it was to 'tune' it to what he was searching for. It must be the higher alignment to Focus and Control, he concluded.

Focus had truly freed up more of his mind, made it far simpler to concentrate on what he was doing, while Control seemed to give him greater power to manipulate his Senses and his Attributes. It seemed it wasn't limited to just Ability shaping as he had previously thought. More and more the two Attributes showed their worth, and he felt like his previous self was a fool for disregarding them as he had. Though maybe he shouldn't be too harsh, he'd only known the very basics back then, and even then theoretical knowledge was one thing and experience was another.

Fritz brought his mind back to finding the path toward the doors. Though the multitude of shelves and the occasional broken displays or rotten murals were maze-like in their placements he was able to divine a sort of pattern to the chaos. Always the passage that seemingly led to the way out would be a dead end or loop in on itself while the circuitous route would often lead them, meanderingly, to where he desired to go.

He supposed there was some lesson to it, some 'profound truth', but he had no time for such things, this place would be underwater within the hour. That and the hidden meaning would likely be some worthless platitude about 'the way toward true understanding is long and winding, slow down and consider all before you rush by it'. Something completely at odds with his own path and purpose. He couldn't wait, couldn't slow down, he was afforded no such luxury. The moment he stopped swimming he'd drown.

Soon the doors and the stairs beyond were close, as was the other team. He could hear them, shuffling through the corridors and stopping at intersections just as he was. Though they were lagging somewhat compared to him and his own team. Whatever Ability the others were using to navigate was effective, though not as effective as his own Senses. He thought it might be the Air-mage's Ability, as he could hear a man whisper about 'the wind's flow'.

Reading the air currents to discover the way out was definitely a useful skill and something Fritz attempted to replicate only once before finding the breeze far too soft to feel. He suspected he might be able to accomplish the feat with high enough Perception and practice, but not as he was now.

Fritz and his team came out of the library's winding paths before the other team, gathering on the stairs beyond, panting slightly and waiting.

"Should we close it on them?" Rosie asked.

"They did the same to us," Cal stated. "It would be fair play."

"It would be," Fritz agreed while his Dusksong chimed along, entreating him to return the disrespect.

"We agreed not to," Bert said.

"Did we?" Lauren asked.

"I thought it was implied," Bert said with a shrug.

"Implied or not, it would set a bad precedent," Fritz said, pushing down his Dusksong.

"They set it first," Rosie grumbled.

"We'll close one side, and be prepared to bar it once they come through," Fritz decided.

"Good idea, they'll also get a move on if they think we're shutting them out," Bert said.

"We could just leave them to close the doors," Lauren said. "We don't have to do everything ourselves."

"Huh, you're right. I think the other doors will take at least another fifteen minutes to break. Plenty of time for them to get here," Fritz said. "Good plan, let's go. Scratch a message into the bar to say we've gone ahead."

"Let me," Bert said, pulling out a spare dagger and carving an explanation and something appropriately rude into the wood.

With that done, they left the doors and strode up the steps to the next section of the archives.

"How many floors do you think this place has?" Lauren asked as they climbed.

"Nine?" Cal guessed.

"Too many," Fritz theorised. "This is the eighth Floor of the Spire, and I don't think this library will go higher than that."

"And it'll want to be a multiple of three, so you're thinking six?" Lauren asked.

"Precisely. Just an intuition, mind you, though it feels right," Fritz stated.

"I think so too," Rosie added. "Do you think that's Awareness?"

"Probably," Fritz allowed. "It's an odd Attribute to be sure."

"Yeah, it's weird, not as uhh... real as Durability or Strength," she commented.

Rosie was right. Awareness was definitely one of the more ineffable, esoteric, Attributes, rife with mysteries and vagaries. While the physical Advanced Attributes, like Grace, even if it had a smooth, slippery texture, felt far more solid. Absently he flexed his fingers, sensing Grace play across his hand.

They stepped through the arch and into a far more organised floor, this one had only one level but its outer walls were lined with murals, mosaics and painted tiles. The bookcases had been replaced with tall wall displays, and flanking those were sculptures or plinths holding other various artefacts of pottery and carved wood. That's not to say much of it was in good condition. The stored pieces were all still... old, ancient, chipped and bare. Dusty, dirty, beyond repair.

Fritz shook his head, scaled a sturdy display and stared into the bright dark. On one outer wall, far away, he thought he saw a small inscribed figure holding a sword. The tiled surface could just be seen, its highest pieces peeked over the display walls and he pointed it out to George.

"Can't see, it's too dark," George replied. "Can you lead us there?"

"Indeed, and as it seems the best place to start our search we should get to it post haste," Fritz announced.

Soon they were amongst the small walls and statues. Many were shattered and some had crumbled into rubble, though here and there there were stones that could be recognised as faces or limbs.

"This is more like a museum, than a library," Lauren commented, as she ran a hand over a cracked bust. A monument to a long dead, or perhaps a completely fake, woman. Only a toga-clad shoulders and a neck remained, the head had broken off, likely now the gravel that lay at their feet.

"A what?" Cal asked.

"It's an archive of objects, rather than books," she provided as the bust cracked down the middle and fell into chunks.

"Looks like rubbish," Rosie said.

"Keep an eye out for anything that looks valuable," Fritz reminded. Though he didn't need to, his team's gazes were keenly looking for potential Treasures and hints of Techniques. "And let me search for traps before you touch anything."

"Yeah, yeah," Bert said, slapping Fritz on the shoulder. "We know what to do, let's get going. We don't want the others to catch up and steal our lead."

"How right you are," Fritz agreed, then with no more words led them into the halls of shattered stone, lantern held high.

They passed by many odd and broken histories, the prevailing themes presented, over and over seemed to be the fall of empires, great kings and wizard-lords. None were recognisable to Fritz and Lauren thought them to be false even if some of the stories seemed vaguely familiar. They had all the credibility and consistency of bedtime tales only half-remembered.

"Just something concocted by the Spire," she said as they passed by a depiction of an oddly styled castle being split by lightning. "There's no rhyme or reason, from what I can see."

"Could be ancient, long-forgotten lore. From a time before the Spires," Fritz mused, though he didn't truly believe it. These artefacts were like the statues in the previous Well, all subtly wrong, blending together like a fever dream.

"No, none of that," Lauren warned sternly. "Men have gone mad trying to study the false histories provided by Spires. You can't trust them to be real."

"I know, I know. It would just be interesting if they could tell us something of the past world," Fritz sighed.

"Why? The world is as it is," Rosie said. "What it was is gone."

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"Mighty profound, Rosie," Fritz smirked over his shoulder. "Planning on a Path Evolution to Philosopher Guard?

"I ain't goin' to be a fish-offer-sizer guard, the dock markets stink," Rosie said, scrunching her face. "Between Climbs I'll be a bodyguard, protect a rich-handsome-man, a noble or somethin'."

"Of course you would," Cal said with a sigh.

"With the riches we've found I doubt you'll need to work between Climbs," Bert said. "Unless you plan on spending up a storm like me."

"Then I'm going to save my rich-handsome-man from an assassin, then he'll fall in love with me," Rosie stated as if it were all planned out already.

"Oh, and he'll leave his lady wife and marry you?" Lauren asked, both intrigued and sceptical of the scheme.

"Nah, nothing like that, but we'll have a bunch of kids," she said, smiling and scratching at the scales on her shoulder.

"Scandalous!" Bert laughed.

"I know!" Rosie chuckled along.

"Rosie! No!" Cal cried, grimacing.

Lauren's face warred between delight and disgust as if she didn't know what to think. Eventually, she settled on a stifled cackle. George merely shook his head with a smile.

Fritz ignored the chattering, letting his team, joke and jest. Soon they took to expounding on their ideas for spending the inordinate wealth they had acquired. They each had their distant dreams and far away fantasies, not all could be fulfilled right away but this Climb was the crucial first step towards a new life. One where they could choose. It was a freeing feeling, though Fritz didn't dare share in it, somehow he felt his fate was tied up in some great storm.

Eventually, they wound their way to where Fritz had seen the inscribed tiles of the swordsman. He held the lantern up so the rest could see what he had found. There, running up and across the wall, were around a hundred hand-sized slates of white clay, all carved with an armoured man holding a long sword in both hands. In each depiction, the warrior's footing and martial form changed. The tiles detailed the solid, staunch stances and strong, sweeping strikes.

"Whoa," George said, his gaze dancing all over the wall. "It's beautiful."

"It's kind of blocky," Cal said, and Fritz had to agree with him, while the lines of the carving were bold and clear, artistically they left a lot to be desired.

"Stiff," Bert agreed.

"They are somewhat simple," Lauren observed.

"Look how clean the lines are, the simplicity is the point!" George cried.

The team stared at him, surprised at his sudden, heated outburst.

"Sorry," George said, getting a hold of himself.

"No sorrys needed, your passion for swords merely startled us," Fritz said. The rest of his team nodded.

"Fritz... I dread the answer, but is this just art or is it..." George said, as if not wanting to get his hopes up.

"Oh, that's a Technique alright," Fritz said with a sly smile.

George grinned wide, then his smile faltered as he looked over the hundred tiles.

"I'll need help prying them off," he said.

"You heard the man, let's strip this wall," Fritz ordered.

---

"Pass me up the chisel," Fritz said as he sat atop Bert's shoulders. He grumbled but handed up the tool of sleek black metal. Fritz took it and put the edge between the tile and the wall, prying up the depiction of the swordsman, catching it and handing it down. Not all the inscribed tiles were so hard to shift, in fact, most came free with just a pull. Though some, like this current one that was above Fritz's own height, needed the attention, or rather the leverage, of the dark chisel.

The work taking down the Technique tiles had taken fifteen minutes so far and they were close to two-thirds done. George was nearly prancing with each excited step, and humming a low tuneless song, so delighted he was at their discovery. Fritz had often thought the man needed to smile and speak more, and now he regretted those thoughts. A dumb grin hadn't left George's face the whole time they had been busy, and he would prattle on, trying to guess which sword style they had found.

It was obviously one that was a two-handed Technique with a focus on devastating, singular, straight cuts. Meant to fight hordes of beasts, or lonesome large monsters, judging from the examples painted on the pale clay. What it had in sturdy substance it lacked subtlety or guile and likely wasn't well suited to duels. Therefore, it was of little interest to Fritz who's fighting style favoured more flash and flourishing.

It was perfect, however, for George. Fritz cursed the man's luck. Why couldn't they find a sword style for him?

"Can I use the chisel, this one is stuck fast," George said in a giddy, nearly singsong manner.

"Sure thing," Fritz said, hoping his smile didn't look strained. He flung the tool to his teammate.

George caught it easily and gave it a glance before holding its point to a stuck tile. Then his grin fell away and he frowned, hard, staring, glaring, not at the wall, but at the black metal of the chisel.

"What in the abyss?.. what?... where?" he said, then he turned his glare on Fritz and Bert and held out the tool. "Where did you get this!?"

"Spire," the two said together.

"What's wrong with it?" Fritz asked.

"Did you break it?" Bert added.

"Nothing and no. I don't think I could break it, even if I wanted to," George replied running a hand over his shaved head. "You don't know what you have do you?"

"A chisel?" Fritz said.

"A rustproof tool?" Bert elaborated.

George looked at them with intense yellow eyes that were almost annoyed.

"What is it?" They asked, now interested.

"Adamant," George said.

"Like what the bow covers itself in?" Fritz asked.

"Yes, but that's just conjured material," George said.

"There's a difference?" Fritz asked.

"Obviously, conjured materials disappear over time," George said with a roll of his eyes. "But what you've got here is a Gods damned sliver of pure adamant."

"Okay, and that's....rare?" Bert asked.

"Very. Outside the Stone or Metal Spires it's near unheard of," George said.

"What's so special about it," Fritz inquired. "I know it's rust-proof and tough, but that goes for many magical metals."

"It's Adamant, it's near unbreakable, immune to all attempts to destroy it," George proclaimed.

"All attempts?" Bert mused.

"Very few things can damage Adamant," George said. "A God could. And a Dragon. Or a Leviathan. Maybe, just maybe, a Master Climber."

"I know there's not enough for a sword, but do you think there's enough that it can be reforged into a dagger?" Fritz asked.

"Or gauntlets," Bert said.

"Abyss, no! Are you not listening!? It's so inured to heat and flame that you would need dragon's breath or a lava forge just to begin to work with the stuff," George explained, near ranting. "Even then you would need an enchanted anvil, and hammer, to come close to reforging it. And those would likely need to be replaced after mere minutes of work."

"Ah, too bad," Fritz said dejectedly, though he found Georges raving's somewhat amusing and hid a smirk.

George ignored him and continued his tirade. "And it's this great, inviolable metal that has been used to make a chisel!"

"A chisel!" He repeated. "What..a..waste!"

With that the man seemed to run out of steam and sagged, sitting heavily on the ground, his head in hands, grumbling something about cruel, stupid Spires.

"Pass the adamant chisel would you?" Fritz said nonchalantly.

"We've still got to get these tiles off," Bert added.

That caused George to lift his eyes, he stared at the two for a second, then smiled while shaking his head.

"Right you are," he said. "One moment, I've got my own to pry up."

With that they were back to work, Bert Fritz and George pulling the Technique off the wall while the others sorted the tiles behind them before stacking them in Cal's black pack. Soon after that, it was lunch, more stew, and likely one of the last hot meals they would have unless they came across some edible monsters or plants. They were at least well provisioned with rations, having a full week's supply of them, but no one wanted to go back to the mushy, flaky bland bars of questionable content.

Again they were off into the winding halls, and although they looked for Treasures or valuable artefacts there were few to find. A few baubles here and there but nothing that was as downright magnificent as the Techniques they had found.

"Think we'll find another?" Rosie asked.

"Two is already extremely fortunate," Lauren said. "Even if they turn out to be less powerful or more limited Techniques."

"Less powerful?" Rosie asked. "Aren't they all about the same?"

"No, not really," Lauren said. "There are better and worse ones."

"I'm not sure that's true," Fritz said. "My father said all Techniques had different strengths and weaknesses, and not to discount the seemingly weak ones because they all gave an edge. So much so that even the Spires acknowledge it."

"When you learn a Technique it should be specialised rather than versatile," Lauren argued. "There's no use in a weapon master Technique when you only use a sword. You should rather go for a sword style. Specialisation over versatility. Even then, some Techniques are better than others, for example: Dantovi Dagger Dancing is far more refined and respected than Jim's ex-stabber-ganza."

"I know which one I'd pick," Bert said. "Jim sounds alright with a well-named Technique like that."

"Refined and respected, sure," Fritz said, ignoring his friend's comments. "Though the claim that it's worse doesn't hold. It might even be better in some situations."

"Unlikely," Lauren said dismissively. "There's a reason certain rare and secret Techniques are handed down through noble families. It's because they're more powerful than the rest."

Fritz wondered at that. Was it entirely true? He had no doubt that powerful Techniques were kept by the nobles, but were they strictly better in all respects? Maybe they were. Although eventually, he'd try to find out. He'd have to research it on the outside, there were so many things he had left to discover. He was almost level eighteen, about to start Evolving his Abilities, and yet he still felt he had only scratched the surface and that he still had so much to learn about, well, everything.

He let the talk die down, taking a left and striding down a passage in contemplative quiet. Out of the corner of his eye something tugged at his attention. There in the dark was a mural, mostly rotted away. This one, unlike all the others, held an oddity to it that was subtly different, and a little intriguing.

What he could make out of the faded mural didn't mean much to him. At the bottom, there were people, kneeling and holding up their arms in worship or perhaps defiance. Standing above them was a smattering of strange human-like creatures, one of which he recognised as a faerie with wings like a moth. Above them all was a rotted hole in the fabric, but from it three great, smooth limbs encompassed and enclosed the entire gathering.

"What's that? Why'd you stop?" Rosie asked.

"No reason just got a strange feeling from this one," Fritz said. "It's nothing."

"Maybe the faerie reminds you of someone," Bert said, nudging him with an elbow. "Maybe a certain Duskmoth."

"That must be it," Fritz said, turning away.

"It's false, completely meaningless, remember," Lauren chided.

"Of course, it's nonsense," Fritz lied.

They moved on from the mural, and Fritz saw nothing else that unsettled him or piqued his interest. In fact, he was beginning to think that the Sword-style tiles were the only real prize to be had in this archive. How he wished he could've chosen Treasure Sense, this silent searching was starting to get boring and he could tell that his team were becoming restless. It also didn't help that the traps were increasing in frequency, if not subtlety. The traps were no longer limited to cursed books and poisoned scrolls. They had encountered sudden pits and falling stones and they were getting increasingly prevalent, perhaps to make up for the ease of the maze. Fritz suspected the danger would only get worse from then on.

Distantly he had the impression that the great library they were in was sinking sooner, flooding faster and the dripping of the outermost walls seemed to collaborate that conclusion.

"We should leave this floor, quick as may be," Fritz announced to his following team.

"Why? We've only been here a few hours at most," Bert asked.

"There's a time limit to this place, and I want to be as high and as close to the stairway as we can be," Fritz explained. "Even if it means we can't comb through everything for Treasures."

"Strange we haven't seen a chest yet," Cal said.

"It's stranger that the Techniques were just part of this Floor's materials," Lauren said. "Though we should have seen another bronze chest by now. Then again, I think our mad dash to the sixth Well might have cost us that."

"I think the raider had better loot than a chest," Rosie stated.

"True as the rain," Cal replied.

They had to slowed to a walk and Fritz led them to the other set of double doors and up to the next floor. It seemed they were first this time as well, judging by the thick layer of undisturbed dust. Unfortunately, that same dust was kicked up as they walked up the stone stairs. Sneezing and spluttering, they took to covering their mouths and noses with sheer sashes of sirensilk.

"Bloody dust," Bert snuffled. 'My Vitality does nothing against it."

"I could burn it away," Lauren offered.

"I'm very sure that's a terrible idea," Fritz said. "Heard of a flour explosion? Seen a watermill blow up like an amateur alchemist's lab? It's quite horrifying, louder than thunder and as deadly, if not more so, than a bolt of lightning."

"Oh, right, yes, that would be bad," Lauren said the embers in her eyes dying down.

"I'm just glad there's no cobwebs," Cal said.

"Why's that?" Fritz asked.

"No cobwebs, no spiders," he said cheerily.

They were nearly at the top of the stairs when Fritz stopped and held his lantern close to the arch of the double doors. There was a thick covering of thin gossamer threads, covered in dust and crisscrossing the entire entrance.

"Damn you, Cal," Fritz said. "You just had to say it."

Cal's face fell when he stared up at the webbed doors.

"Sorry."