They both stared into the darkness below. A soft wind whispered up the narrow passage, as though carrying faint murmurs. Charles and Joseph stood in silence for a moment, exchanging glances—each weighing whether they ought to proceed.
"What now?" Joseph asked.
"We've no other choice," Charles replied in a steady tone. "We've come this far. We'll need to go down and see it through."
Joseph nodded slowly. "But not like this—we can't see a thing without a light."
They locked eyes again, arriving at the same conclusion: they needed to fetch some sort of lamp or torch before venturing deeper. Charles gave a brief nod. "Let's go back for lanterns. Then we'll carry on."
They retraced their steps out of the decrepit building, returning to the carriage parked out front. The driver glanced their way as they approached, reins in hand, ready to depart. Joseph raised a hand in a halting motion.
"No rush. We're not finished yet—just grabbing supplies. We'll be back inside in a moment."
Because the special unit was short-staffed, each member was tied up with their own responsibilities. Though Joseph and Charles could drive a carriage themselves, their current assignment demanded full focus on investigation and analysis of complex clues rather than handling a team of horses. Moreover, the Old Town was hazardous; if anything went wrong, a quick getaway might be crucial. Having a dedicated driver saved them time and effort, allowing them to concentrate on unearthing evidence—or fleeing—if need be.
The driver was, in fact, a trusted hire recommended by the special division. He wasn't a direct member but had experience maneuvering a carriage in perilous situations and extracting people from tight corners.
From a chest of gear inside the carriage, Charles dug out two old oil lanterns. He inspected them swiftly, relief washing over his face when he found they still contained enough fuel.
"Lucky we've still got oil," Charles said, lighting one. Joseph took the other.
"All right, let's go," Charles added.
They headed back into the decaying structure along the same path as before. Silence cloaked the surroundings, broken only by a faint breeze rustling dead leaves in the dusty air.
Charles half-lifted an arm, feeling the chill wind swirl around him. "Hope it doesn't rain," he muttered.
Joseph nodded in agreement. "Better pray you're right."
They continued until they reached the secret passage. The door lay ajar, revealing stairs stretching downward, half-lost in darkness. The soft glow of Charles's lantern illuminated the worn stone steps, but deep shadows clung to every crack. Both men paused at the threshold, breathing carefully.
They exchanged a nod, then descended. Their footsteps echoed against old, damp stone, each contact sending an eerie resonance up the stairwell. The stairs seemed to stretch endlessly downward. The walls on either side were cracked; vines poked through splits, and water dripped steadily from the ceiling, creating an unsettling stillness.
The stale odor of rot and dust made breathing difficult. Sooty stains on some steps suggested lingering traces of that old blaze. As they walked, Joseph ran a hand across the wall, sensing a disquiet, as if these walls contained countless hidden secrets.
Lantern light flickered across the final step, revealing a small landing leading to a narrow, unlit corridor. "Close now," Charles murmured, scanning their surroundings intently.
Following the cramped hall to its end, they arrived at a swollen, mildewed wooden door. It had begun to rot but wasn't entirely ruined. Together, Charles and Joseph pressed against it, producing a complaining groan before it opened. Their lanterns spilled light into a large, concealed room.
The feeble glow revealed a laboratory strewn with antiquated instruments. Long tables were lined with dusty glass flasks, some containing murky sediment dried at the bottom. Rusted scales and medical implements lay about. At the center table, piles of old documents—yellowed and brittle—spread among inkwells and half-broken vials. Faded, hurried scrawl blanketed some pages, the ink barely legible.
Charles and Joseph inspected the hasty handwriting in the battered, time-worn notes, struggling to decipher discolored lines. "Here...'Kil Berk'… Must be 'Michael Berg,'" Charles whispered, gingerly turning a page. But it was too damaged to read more, so he set it aside.
They both sensed the lab had been untouched for ages. The stagnant odor of old mildew and thick dust smothered the air, weighing it down.
Joseph flipped through another set of papers while Charles studied the clutter of glassware atop a nearby table.
"Looks like this was some kind of research lab," Joseph said softly.
Charles nodded, fingertips grazing a water-stained sheet. "Medical data… But some pages read like someone's private journal..."
He bent down and pulled out a battered folder from under the table. Its label, scrawled in faded ink, was nearly impossible to read. Carefully, he opened it. Most pages bore cryptic, half-gone text. But from what Charles could make out, it documented an unusual experimental project referencing a miraculous potion that could split the user into multiple bodies. Each copy would be identical to the original, controlled and animated as if truly alive since birth.
'A split form, apparently ideal for high-risk missions, so if a copy was destroyed, the original would remain unharmed…'
But the notes also described a major issue preventing success. The formula needed a particular parasite that had gone extinct long ago. Without it, the splitting potion would remain incomplete and useless.
Charles turned another page. He discovered the prototype formula for the splitting potion in an old notebook. The writing seemed to be in an archaic script, yet somehow he could read it. It reminded him of the runes encountered at Robert Thorn's place in the earlier ergot case.
"Looks like a copied version of the original," Charles murmured, noticing references to multiple potions.
Besides the splitting concoction, there were recipes for a "translation potion," various healing compounds, and even a "hair growth serum," all apparently part of this laboratory's experiments.
Joseph, leaning in, read over Charles's shoulder. A flicker of surprise crossed his face at this breadth of unusual content.
Some particularly damaged notes fell out of the bundle. Charles lifted them, scanning the remains. Though most was too charred or water-damaged to parse, a few lines stood out:
"…the first trial potion… will begin with an ancient remedy formula. I've never heard of some of these ingredients…"
Then the text abruptly ended. Charles carefully turned to the next page, where he found another tiny scrap of text:
"…most of these ingredients are nearly extinct, though some can be obtained from the 'Hidden Domain,' which—"
Here the text cut off again. He frowned. Annoyed by the many missing sections, he turned to Joseph, who knew more about arcane matters than he did. "Ever heard of this 'Hidden Domain'?"
Joseph nodded. "It's essentially a black market for supernatural dealings—where mages and Ascendants gather to buy and sell items you won't find in normal shops."
Charles nodded in understanding. 'If the crucial ingredient is extinct, it might still be traded there…' he whispered, returning to the battered documents.
"…we've recovered fragments of the lifeform essential to the splitting potion. We suspect it originated…"
Another abrupt break, the pages scorched. Charles gritted his teeth, exhaling frustration, but pressed on:
"We will proceed with the experiment immediately…"
Nothing more. The text ended, leaving it unclear what ultimately happened or how they searched for the parasite. Yet clearly, these experiments and ingredients might have something to do with the people who vanished.
"Maybe that's why Michael is being hunted by the Script-Decipherers," Joseph suggested.
Charles dipped his head. "And maybe it's the same reason Roland disappeared too..."
They searched the crumbling laboratory for further leads. Their lantern light glimmered against cracked walls, illuminating a labyrinth of dusty vials and rusted apparatus. Some glass containers held dried chemicals, their pungent odor mixing with moldy dust. Random stacks of tattered documents littered the tables, many partly burned by the old fire.
"Feels like there's more here than meets the eye," Joseph said quietly.
As they combed every corner, Charles noticed an odd trail of destruction across the floor—like a deep fracture in the stone leading toward a wall. Joseph followed, curiosity piqued. The fissure ended behind a toppled bookshelf, as though collapsed timbers had hidden it.
They pushed the shelf aside with difficulty, revealing a sealed door. It wasn't locked by any mechanism, but blocked by soil and rubble that had caved in from overhead. The corridor beyond evidently led deeper into the facility, but was jammed with large stones. An underground collapse had nearly buried the door, forming a natural barricade.
Charles raised his lantern. Wedging themselves through the debris looked nearly impossible. Removing any large rock threatened to destabilize what remained of the old building. Another collapse could be triggered if they forced it.
"Seems we can't move these," Joseph muttered, trying to shove one rock with no success.
Realizing they couldn't safely clear the rubble, both men sighed, stepping back. The path was completely blocked. They risked bringing the entire structure down if they tried to open it by force. Their only option was to head back to the city for more information, or possibly specialized equipment to open the corridor safely.
As they exited the ruined building, questions swirled in their minds: Who might once have worked with Michael and Roland here? Who knew about these experiments?
"Let's go back to Humphrey," Joseph said as they approached their carriage.
Charles nodded.