Chương 63: Blackridge

Leo left the abandoned farm before sunrise. There was no reason to stay until morning light had properly reached the hills, and after the bell had sounded beneath the house during the night, sleep had become less useful than simply continuing on. He packed his belongings, checked the road, and walked away without looking back at the well. For the first few hours, nothing happened. That was exactly what he wanted.

The road gradually descended from the hills into a broad valley where the vegetation became greener and the land more heavily cultivated. Small farms appeared along the slopes, followed by fenced fields and narrow irrigation channels. People began appearing on the road as well—farmers carrying baskets, merchants with small carts, children running between houses—and with every familiar sign of ordinary life, the strange atmosphere surrounding the previous two days seemed to recede. Leo welcomed it.

He had spent too much time around mysteries since leaving the capital. Sometimes an ordinary road was worth more than an answer. Near midday, he stopped at a roadside inn. It was a modest building with a stone foundation and a wooden upper floor, crowded enough to be lively without being unpleasant. Leo took a seat near the window and ordered bread, meat, and water. Nobody paid much attention to him. That was another thing he appreciated. At the table beside him, two merchants were arguing over the price of iron.

Across the room, a mother was trying to convince her young son to eat vegetables. A group of laborers were discussing a broken bridge farther north. Normal conversations. Small problems. People living their lives without knowing or caring about ancient stones beneath forests. Leo ate quietly. Then he heard a name.

"Blackridge." He stopped chewing. The merchant who had spoken leaned closer to his companion.

"I told you, the southern road is safer. Blackridge has been having trouble again."

"Bandits?"

"Not bandits."

"What then?" The merchant lowered his voice.

"People disappearing." Leo continued eating. The other merchant laughed.

"People disappear everywhere."

"Not like this."

"What do you mean?"

"My cousin lives there. Three people vanished from the lower district last month. No bodies. No blood. Nothing."

"Then they left." Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"They didn't." The first merchant leaned back.

"The city guard searched the houses. They found the doors locked from the inside." His companion frowned.

"That's impossible."

"Exactly." Leo finished his meal. He paid and left without speaking to either man. Outside, he stood beneath the shade of the inn and looked south. Blackridge was not his destination. He reminded himself of that. He had chosen the eastern road. The problem was that the eastern road passed within several hours of the city. Close enough to see it. Far enough to ignore it. Leo began walking east. After perhaps an hour, he stopped. He looked back. The valley stretched behind him, bright beneath the afternoon sun.

Then he changed direction. South. Not because Mira had asked him. Not because of the stones. He wanted to know whether the stories were true. That was all. Blackridge appeared at sunset. The city had been built against a long ridge of black stone, which explained its name, but the name seemed strangely appropriate even before Leo entered its gates. The buildings were dark. Not abandoned. Not ruined. Simply old.

Black stone walls rose between narrow streets, and many of the houses had been built directly against the hillside. Towers stood above the city, their upper sections disappearing into the evening mist. The gate guards barely looked at Leo.

"Business?"

"Passing through."

"How long?"

"One night." The guard shrugged.

"Then stay out of the lower district after dark." Leo looked at him.

"Why?" The guard hesitated. Then he looked toward the city.

"Because that's where people disappear." Leo walked through the gate. He found an inn near the central market and rented a room. After leaving his pack inside, he returned to the street. Blackridge was already preparing for night. Shopkeepers closed their shutters. Lanterns were lit along the main roads. The upper districts remained busy, but the lower streets were strangely empty. Leo followed one of them. The further he descended, the quieter the city became. The buildings became smaller. The roads narrower.

Eventually he reached a stone staircase leading beneath an old arch. A wooden sign hung above it. LOWER ARCHIVE — CLOSED Leo stopped. So Mira had not been lying. The archive was here. He looked around. No guards. No patrols. But someone was watching. He could feel it. Not mana. Something subtler. Attention. Leo continued walking. At the bottom of the stairs, he found a door. There was no lock. Only a circular indentation in the center. The same shape as the stones. Leo stared at it.

He had not brought the silver stone from the farm. He had deliberately left it behind. Still, the door reacted. A faint silver line appeared around the indentation. Leo stepped backward. The line vanished. He approached again. It returned. He frowned. The door was not responding to the stone. It was responding to him. That was not something he liked. A voice came from behind.

"You shouldn't stand there." Leo turned. An elderly man stood halfway up the stairs. He carried a lantern in one hand and a bundle of books in the other. His hair was completely white. His clothing resembled that of an ordinary scholar. But his eyes were sharp. Too sharp.

"Why?"

"Because the door has noticed you." Leo glanced at the door.

"Doors don't notice people."

"This one does." The old man descended the stairs. He stopped several steps away.

"You are not from Blackridge."

"No."

"You don't belong to the Archive."

"No."

"You have no reason to be here." Leo looked at him.

"Neither do you." The old man smiled.

"That is true." He placed the books on the ground.

"My name is Elias Varn." Leo said nothing.

"And yours?"

"Leo."

"Elias."

"I heard you."

"I suspected." The old man looked at the door. Then back at Leo.

"You have been near one of them." Leo's expression did not change.

"Near what?"

"The keys." There it was. Leo's attention sharpened.

"You know about them."

"I know enough."

"Where did they come from?" Elias smiled faintly.

"That depends on which history you believe."

"Give me yours." The old man's smile disappeared.

"My history begins with a lie." The lantern flame moved despite the absence of wind. Elias picked up his books.

"Come." Leo did not move.

"Where?"

"Inside."

"Why?"

"Because someone else is coming." Leo heard it then. Footsteps above the stairs. Several people. Metal. Weapons. Elias looked at him.

"You have about thirty seconds." Leo drew his sword.

"Who are they?" Elias smiled.

"The people who make sure nobody reads the history." The footsteps stopped. A voice came from the top of the staircase.

"Archivist Varn." Elias closed his eyes.

"Twenty seconds." Leo looked at the door. The silver line appeared again. This time, it spread across the entire surface. A mechanism moved inside the stone. Something unlocked. Elias whispered:"Whatever happens next, don't touch the third door." Leo looked at him.

"Why?" The archivist opened the door.

"Because that is the one that opens from the other side." Then the first arrow came down the stairs. End of Chapter 63.