Chương 87: Epilogue One

A couple of weeks of being worked to the bone had made Scillo almost forget he had been dragged halfway across the continent under the suspicion he was about to be executed. But luckily, instead of a dark room with a looming axe over his head, the organization's main headquarters had assigned him to the Archival Department. And it was a surprisingly boring job. Sure, boring was a massive upgrade from a lifetime of imprisonment, torture, or execution, but still…

He hadn't expected to be thrust into another mind-numbing lapse of absolute boredom so soon after the flower shop. He had at least expected some supernatural action! An once-in-a-while occurrence that got his blood pumping, and broke the mind-numbing normality of it all. Instead, he had been stuck into a giant room filled with mold and old parchment, filing tax records and reports. It was a miracle his brain hadn't leaked out of his ears yet.

"If you don't eat that sausage, Scillo, I'm going to assume you're declaring war on my mother's memory," a rumbling voice boomed near him.

"That is a Caltos sausage, one that my mother always used to make for me." Scillo blinked, pulled from his thoughts, and looked up at Alex. Alex was a mountain of a man. He stood nearly six-foot-six, broad shoulders that barely fit through doors, and sported a bristling bush of a beard. Scillo felt amused as he remembered how he almost pissed his pants when Alex had first been assigned as his bunkmate three weeks ago. His fear had gone so far that Scillo had actually attempted writing his last will and testament!

But then Alex had broken down in tears because he accidentally stepped on a stray mouse. Yeah. A big heart for a big body. The man was practically a giant teddy bear trapped inside the physique of an actual bear.

"I'm eating, I'm eating," Scillo mumbled, hurriedly cutting into the meaty length on his plate.

"I was just thinking about the logs I have to file. The guys never write anything in proper ink, so I have to rewrite all of it."

"They're field operatives, little guy. They're too busy to care about penmanship," Alex chuckled. He then reached out with a hand the size of a dinner plate and gently—in Alex's terms—patted Scillo's head, nearly snapping his neck.

"You worry too much." Scillo sighed. Over the last few weeks, his suspicions of his upcoming execution had steadily lessened. When Walker had vanished and the Crater City flower shop had burned, Scillo had been terrified of what this secret global syndicate would do to him. But surprisingly, the people here were... actually rather regular. Alex was an equipment maintainer. He spent his days sharpening weapons, building them, and transporting tools.

He had sisters and loved to talk about them, always complained about the lukewarm water in the bathhouses, and somehow managed to sneak extra pastries from the kitchens. It was hard to remember how scared Scillo had initially been of them when the person sitting next to you had a hand so big that the fork looked tiny in his hands.

"Alright, break's over," Alex said, wiping his mouth.

"The forges sent a bunch of shields up. I've got to polish thirty of the damn things before the evening shift. What do you have to do today?" Scillo shook his head as he stood up.

"The Master Archivist wanted the historical records of Floor 12 moved from Vault 3. Apparently, some upper-tier team is planning a massive descent next month."

"Great," Alex grinned.

"See you at the bunk!" Waving a goodbye, Scillo headed down the stone corridors. Currently, he was wearing the standard slate-grey tunic of the archival runners, a satchel slung across his hip filled with blank parchment, wax seals, and brass tags. As an archival runner, his job was simple: retrieve, carry, and catalog. It suited him, to be honest. He was the "Little Scholar," after all.

But as he approached the deployment wings—the place where field agents got ready to go out and complete their missions—he noticed that the air was completely different. Usually, the deployment wings were loud and full of grumbling agents. But today, it was deathly silent. Operatives were gathered in circles, speaking in hushed voices, not even beginning to strap on their equipment. What's happening? Scillo slowed his pace, and subtly leaned in to eavesdrop on a group near a pillar.

"... completely cut off," a female agent muttered.

"No more missions into Ghenna anymore."

"What about the settlement?" a man asked, scowling.

"Trestfall was huge. I had some friends who lived there."

"All gone," the woman whispered, looking around nervously before leaning in further.

"The whole floor is dead and gone. And they sealed it. There's no chance anybody is still alive there." Scillo's brows furrowed. Trestfall? Sealed? What could that possibly mean? How had an entire Floor been… sealed? What did a Floor being "sealed" even mean? But before he could process what he had just heard, a shadow fell over him. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"Curiosity is a virtue, my boy, but eavesdropping isn't a very moral thing to do." Scillo flinched, his heart hammering against his ribs as he whirled around. Standing behind him was the handler who had brought him here, into the headquarters. His characteristic knobby nose and watery grey eyes peered down at him.

"H-Handler," Scillo stammered, bowing his head quickly.

"I was just... I was on my way to my assignment. I didn't mean to—""Walk with me," the handler interrupted smoothly, turning on his heel and gesturing down a less frequented side corridor that led toward the archives. Scillo hurried to keep up, his short legs trying their best to match the Handler's long strides. He swallowed hard.

"Sir," Scillo whispered, glancing around to ensure they were entirely alone in the stone hallway.

"The rumors... Is it true? Has Ghenna really been sealed?" The handler didn't stop walking. He didn't look down at Scillo either, his watery grey eyes staring straight ahead. The official logs will be brought down to your department by tomorrow morning," the Handler said, his voice warm.

"But yes, Scillo. The rumors are accurate. Ghenna has been sealed." Scillo felt a shiver run down his spine.

"But... what does that actually mean?"

"It is in the name," the handler explained.

"No person can enter Ghenna anymore. A specialized division of men and women possessing exceptionally powerful sealing runes—some of them our very own—have completely quarantined the entire area. For all intents and purposes, Ghenna is no longer available to the outside world." Scillo gulped.

"But why such an extreme measure? What happened to Trestfall?" The handler shook his head.

"Again, the official logs will be brought down to your department by tomorrow morning." He gave Scillo a look.

"Too many questions aren't always good, my boy." Then, he chuckled.

"Actually, I was just reminded of a story." Scillo's eyes twitched. He should've known. The handler fluffed his long coat.

"There was once a kingdom by the sea," he began.

"And in this kingdom, there was a captain of the royal guard named Sir Julian. He was loved by the people, trusted by the throne, and possessed a shield that could deflect even the breath of dragons. But one night, the kingdom's ultimate treasure was stolen, and the only clue left behind was a single silver thread from Julian's own cloak." Scillo kept his mouth shut.

"The king didn't hesitate," the handler continued smoothly.

"Julian protested his innocence, swearing on his ancestors that he had been asleep in his quarters. But the risk was too great. If the captain of the guard was a traitor, the entire kingdom was vulnerable. The king had Julian dragged to the highest cliff and thrown into the sea." Scillo winced. Was there supposed to be a hidden meaning behind all this? He doubted it. Even now, after hearing countless of these tales, he hadn't been able to decipher a single one of them.

"Four summers later," the handler said, "a sea monster washed up on the kingdom's shores. When the royal physicians dissected its stomach, they found the kingdom's treasure tucked neatly inside its gullet. Julian had been telling the truth. He was entirely innocent." Scillo glanced up, frowning.

"So the king murdered his most loyal captain over a misunderstanding?"

"He did," the handler agreed pleasantly, his watery grey eyes looking straight ahead.

"The king felt a great deal of remorse. He ordered a massive gold statue of Julian to be built in the town square, declared a week of national mourning, and gave Julian's surviving brother a seat on the high council. But do you know what the king did not do, Scillo?" The handler grinned.

"The king did not regret the execution," he whispered.

"Because for four years, the kingdom slept soundly knowing a potential traitor had been removed from the gates. The risk of inaction is always infinitely higher than the cost of a preventative mistake." Scillo opened his mouth to reply, but the words died in his throat as he finally took in their surroundings. They weren't… They weren't heading towards the archives. Somewhere, without him noticing, the well-lit corridors that he was familiar with had changed into a descending tunnel.

Scillo felt cold sweat dampen his face, while a cold knot of apprehension tightened in his chest. His fingers instinctively reached for his [Adhesion] rune, though he knew that it wouldn't help him at all.

"Um... sir?" Scillo ventured, his voice cracking slightly.

"We've... we've gone past the archives. Where are we going?" The handler didn't stop.

"The concept of preventative sacrifice is an ancient one, my boy," the handler said, completely ignoring the question as if Scillo hadn't spoken at all.

"People often confuse it with cruelty, but true cruelty is allowing a contagion to spread simply because you lack the stomach to amputate the limb."

"Sir, please," Scillo whispered, the dim memories of his first terrifying days in the organization rushing back to the surface. He could barely understand the complex words the handler was throwing at him.

"Where are you taking me?"

"I truly do hope you understand, Scillo," the handler murmured, clapping the young boy's shoulders and squeezing.

"Sometimes, sacrifices are necessary for the greater good." What? Scillo's legs felt like water. His mind was in turmoil. Did they find out? Did they finally discover the truth about the boy? About the contract he had signed? He had let his guard down. How incredibly stupid was he? Before he could even attempt to pull away, two shadows materialized from the darkness of the descending tunnel. Scillo didn't even hear their footsteps before iron-hard grips clamped onto both of his arms.

He flinched, gasping, as he looked up into the faces of the exact two guards who had sat across from him in the carriage while they had been traveling to the North. The guards didn't say a word. They seized him by the shoulders and forcefully shoved him forward. Scillo stumbled, his satchel falling to the ground.

"Wait—please!" Scillo choked out, but the guards simply marched him onward, indifferent to his cries. Then, the narrow passage abruptly widened, opening up into a colossal, breathtakingly vast amphitheater. The ceiling soared so high into the darkness that the flickering light of the torches couldn't even reach it, leaving an oppressive void hanging overhead. But despite the immense scale of the cavernous room, it wasn't built to hold a crowd.

Positioned right in the center of the sweeping stone floor was a raised semicircle holding exactly twelve stone seats. Scillo's eyes widened as the guards forced him to stand before the looming structure. Sitting in those twelve seats were twelve figures, completely shrouded in midnight-dark cloaks. No skin was visible, no identifying features shown—save for the ornate, terrifying animal masks covering each of their faces. There was a six-eyed Night-Owl. A predatory Bend-Cat. A innocent Capling. A graceful Adlet.

Twelve distinct beasts, staring down at him. Scillo felt smaller than a pebble on the ground. The figure in the Capling mask stood up from one of the central stone seats. The surrounding figures remained perfectly still, like frozen statues. A grave voice came from beneath the mask.

"Scillo Oncidia," the voice announced.

"Three weeks ago, before you were brought into these gates, your movements on the surface were thoroughly logged. And our eyewitness reports have confirmed a deeply troubling problem." The masked figure tilted its head slightly.

"You were seen in the company of a monster from Ghenna," the voice declared. Scillo felt a wave of terror crash into his chest. I'm fucked.