---
The Lower Quarter was never quiet.
Even in its slower hours, it hummed—soft voices, distant laughter, the clatter of pans, the creak of overused stairs. The kind of noise that said life still happens here, no matter who's watching.
John walked slowly through it, hands in his pockets, hood drawn low.
He nodded once to a woman hanging laundry across a cracked rooftop. She nodded back.
A child chased a paper beetle down a crooked lane. Someone called for soup. Someone else cursed over a broken wheel.
It was warm, in its own way.
But the warmth didn't reach the back of John's neck.
Because he could still feel it—that pressure.
That presence.
Even down here, the Governor loomed.
He wasn't just a man anymore.
He was a shape in the air.
A silence behind laughter.
A weight in the stone.
And it grew ever closer, as he finally left the lower quarter and head for the upper quarter.
Where the governor's estate lies.
---
John exhaled through his nose, adjusting his coat.
He was on his way back to the estate. The plan was not to be noticed.
Which, of course, meant—
"JOHN!"
A blur hit him sideways.
Arms wrapped tight. Boots skidded on stone.
John nearly stumbled.
"You're alive!" Finn beamed, still clinging to him.
"Holy stars, man—we went back to the estate, they said you'd left in the morning! So we did a full U-turn, came back looking for you. Dude. I was this close to starting a search party."
He pulled back just long enough to gesture dramatically.
"Or, well… I was. Aurora said you'd be fine."
John gave him a baffled smile.
"Because he is,"
Aurora's voice chimed in, just behind.
She came into view, clutching the book tight to her chest,
her eyes bright with relief.
"Told you he was fine."
"Good to see you guys too." John said, now with a genuine smile.
"What happened to you two?"
he asked, noticing the dirt, the tiredness, the constant glancing over shoulders.
Aurora stepped closer, serious now.
"We found something, John."
She held up the book between them.
"Something big."
John's eyes narrowed.
He looked around.
Then said, low:
"Let's find somewhere quieter to talk."
Aurora nodded.
Finn muttered,
"Please not the soup stall, they've been watching us since noon."
John nodded, eyebrow raised.
"...Noted."
"Stay close," he said.
"We're being watched."
Aurora tightened her grip on the book.
"We better move fast."
And together, they slipped deeper into the Quarter's folds—
three threads winding their way toward something neither above nor below had quite expected.
---
The room flickered with low firelight.
A mismatched circle of chairs and crates gathered around a dented table,
The rebels had gathered again.
No speeches. No battle plans.
Just a moment to sit.
Dust floated in the air like it had nowhere else to be.
Jake, Sally, and King found seats near the edge of the circle—
wooden crates, a low bench, the corner of a worn rug.
Around them faces they hadn't seen during the rush of the last few hours.
Sally sat with her legs tucked beneath her, carefully pouring tea into mismatched clay cups from a dented kettle.
Steam rose slowly, catching the light.
She passed the first to Kaela, the second to a tired-looking woman with silver in her hair.
Her motions were gentle. Natural.
Kaela gave her a brief nod of thanks, cupping the warm mug between her palms.
She didn't drink yet. Just held it.
Across from them, a few rebels shifted, murmuring quietly to one another—
older voices, slow voices.
A silence hung between them all.
Jake glanced at the wall—at old carvings he hadn't noticed before.
Faded symbols. Names, maybe. Dates.
Memories.
Kaela finally spoke, her voice soft.
"Most of us don't talk about where we came from."
She looked into her cup, not drinking.
"But when things feel like they're shaking loose again...
sometimes it helps to remember."
---
(her story)
The tea cooled slowly in their hands.
Sally sat gently between jake and king with the mug.
She poured one cup for herself.
Then held it, letting the warmth soak into her fingers.
Across from her, Kaela stared into the fire.
One of the younger rebal had asked a question—softly, maybe half-curious—
about the city.
What it used to be.
What it was before.
Kaela didn't answer right away.
Jake opened his mouth to say something—maybe to shift the mood—but Kaela spoke first.
Her voice was quiet, distant.
"I heard there are stories," she said.
"From when the city had another name."
The others went still.
No one interrupted.
Kaela sipped her tea once, just enough to wet her throat. Then:
"They say it was built in layers.
Not just stone, but memory.
One atop another. District by district.
Each one carved out from the last, buried when the next came."
She leaned forward slightly.
"People used to believe that if you listened closely at night, you could hear the old names echo under the cobblestones. Like ghosts trying to remember who they used to be."
Sally's gaze drifted toward the floor, as if she might hear something now.
Kaela set her mug down.
"There was a little girl," she said with a faint smile.
"She lived near the river.
She used to watch the lights flicker on the water and pretend the city was dreaming.
She liked to believe that everything here was built with care. That someone, somewhere, was watching over it."
A small smile flickering at the edge of her mouth.
"She thought maybe, one day, she'd help fix the broken parts.
You know... do something good. Something honest."
The firelight danced across her scars.
"But then one day, her brother vanished. There wasn't a goodbye. There wasn't a reason. He was… gone."
Kaela's voice didn't waver, but something under it cracked—quietly.
"Her father stopped speaking after that. Her mother stopped waking up."
No one moved.
"They never found out why. Or where.
Just that someone in the city decided he didn't need to be there anymore."
She let the silence sit for a long time.
"That's when the girl stopped waiting for someone to fix it."
King leaned forward slightly, his voice low.
"That girl... was you."
Kaela's gaze didn't flinch.
She nodded once.
"Yeah."
"Maybe it was."
---
Kaela didn't look away from King.
She held his gaze for a moment longer.
But her next words weren't just for him.
"But it's not just me."
A breath.
She turned slightly, her voice low but firm now.
"Look around."
The fire popped once—soft, but sharp. The sound bounced off stone.
"Every single person here has the same story,"
"Different faces. Different names.
But the same shape."
She leaned back slightly.
"We all lost something before we ever found this place."
A quiet fell over the circle again, full of things unsaid.
"I lost my son," came the voice from the silver-haired woman Sally had served tea to.
She spoke with no anger—just absence.
"They said he was chosen. Promised work up in the tower district.
I waited three years."
She looked down into her mug.
"He never came back."
"I didn't have a choice.
I just... couldn't let it keep happening."
A silence stretched.
Then Bren—
the former conductor with the burn scar—shifted in his seat.
He didn't speak right away.
"My daughter," he said softly.
"She was only thirteen when she went.
She had gotten into one of the cities old academies."
He paused,
chewing on the words like they still tasted like ash.
"Then one day, the section she was in got 'repurposed.'
New factories. New walls. But, no warning."
His eyes didn't move from the fire.
"The governor's men said she wasn't on the list."
No one needed him to explain what that meant.
Kaela didn't interrupt.
A second voice—Mira, the one-armed smuggler—spoke:
"I used to run trade for them. Legal, even. Until I asked the wrong question. About some of the medicine shipments, about where they were actually going."
She lifted her cup in a half-toast.
"Turns out asking gets you reclassified as 'problematic.'"
A few quiet laughs—dry, bitter things.
One by one, a few others shared pieces. Not full stories. Just fragments.
"My father disappeared before I was born."
"My partner was conscripted and never came home."
"I remember the first time I saw someone vanish in daylight."
A name. A street. A moment when things changed.
None of them had been recruited.
None of them had joined.
They had just… arrived.
Broken in different ways.
And found each other here.
Kaela looked back at Jake, Sally, and King.
"See.."
"We didn't just wake up one day and decide to tear this city apart," she said.
"No,
It tore itself apart first.
We're just the ones wanting to mend the city.."
Jake sat back slowly, looking around.
Sally didn't say anything.
She just passed Bren a refill of tea, her expression soft.
The room was dim.
The stories.. were heavier than the stone holding it up.
But beneath it all—
There was unity.
Not forged in ideals.
But in loss.
And the decision: never again.
---
The stories faded, leaving a soft quiet in the room.
Kaela leaned back, arms folded, gaze flicking between the three newcomers—
Jake, Sally, King.
"And you three?" she asked softly.
"So… what's your place in all this?"
Jake scratched his neck, glancing toward Sally.
"I mean... like we've said,
we're not gonna pretend to ignore it."
Sally let out a small breath.
"We didn't come here to fight a rebellion."
"Didn't even know there was one until… not long ago."
She set down her cup carefully.
"But we've seen enough. We will try to help however we can."
Kaela gave a small smile hearing that from her.
King added, calm and certain:
"You can count on us."
Kaela nodded slowly, still smiling,
"That's.. good to hear."
Jake sat forward, fingers laced.
"And it's not just us."
A few heads turned.
"There's more of us."
"Smart ones," Sally added with a faint smile.
"Louder ones, too."
A few rebels exchanged glances, curious now.
Kaela tilted her head.
"..How many?"
"A few." Jake replied.
"Also, that one guy who made his life mission to annoy us.
Unfortunately I happen to be his prime subject," he added.
Kaela gave a small chuckle.
"And, who might that be—"
Before Kaela could finish the thought,
"It's cute," came a voice from behind them,
a fourth voice slipped into the conversation.
"that you think I'm not listening just because I'm quiet."
All three turned at once.
"Vey!" Jake jumped.
"I totally forgot you were behind us!"
"That's sort of the idea," Vey said, smiling that unreadable smile.
Vey sat in the same spot he'd been in since they entered—
perched on the edge of an overturned crate, arms loosely draped around his knees.
None of them had noticed him move. Or speak. Or breathe.
As if he was waiting for the perfect opportunity to spook them like this.
Or, so thought jake.
"Ugh.. nah forget I said anything."
---
Sudden footsteps.
Fast. Scattered.
A door at the far end of the chamber swung open with a creak that shouldn't have been loud, but somehow was.
A boy stumbled through—breathless, soot on his coat, panic riding his shoulders.
"They're coming," he gasped,
one hand braced against the stone.
"Governor's forces. At the edge of the Quarter. Their moving fast."
Chairs scraped.
Mugs set down.
Kaela was already on her feet.
"How far are they?" she demanded, stepping toward him.
The boy shook his head.
"They're almost here."
"Most of them are armored. No insignias. But it's them."
Kaela swore under her breath.
"Kaela, what's the situation?"
The elder came,
hearing the sudden commotion.
"Elder nye,
the governors men will arrive any minute now," she said.
"We must move."
"Agreed. We must make preparations."
The elder commended.
Around the room, people began rising, collecting what little gear they kept close—
packs, wraps, old weapons.
Someone knocked over a stool.
No one stopped to pick it up.
Sally glanced toward Kaela, who was already tightening the strap on her shoulder brace.
"You have a good plan for this?"
Kaela didn't look at her as she answered:
"We're not ready for a fight."
Another rebel, older, with a cracked voice, gritted—
"Doesn't look like we have much of a choice."
Kaela looked over her shoulder at the rebel.
"We still have the other sites?"
He nodded once.
"Not far. But the long way's safer."
Jake glanced at the others.
"So what is it then—run? Hide?"
Kaela gave him a sideways look.
"Neither."
"We reposition."
---
The Worker District felt wrong the second they stepped into it.
It wasn't quiet. Not exactly.
There was still movement—
stone grinding under boots, crates being shifted, carts rolling down worn paths.
But it had no rhythm.
No chatter.
No breaks.
No life.
John, finn and aurora came here looking for the others.
John walked a few paces ahead,
his eyes scanning the rows of laborers bent over in endless motion. Their faces were set, empty—
not tired, but stripped of any emotion.
The guards stood along the edges.
Not intervening. Not directing.
Just there.
Like statues with eyes.
Aurora slowed beside Finn, her voice low.
"This place... it's even worse than I expected."
She held the book tighter to her chest.
Finn let out a breath that didn't feel like relief.
"Yeah. Tell me about it."
His eyes stayed sharp—bouncing from building to guard to worker.
They passed a row of workers stacking heavy stone slabs—hands bruised, knuckles raw. None of them looked up.
Not once.
Finn shifted uncomfortably.
"Where are they?"
Aurora shook her head.
"Jake, Sally, King… they said they were coming here, right?"
"To check things out," John confirmed.
He glanced around again.
He looked past the rooftops toward the sky.
He began thinking to himself,
about the things still weighing on his mind.
---
A sharp clang rang out ahead.
Just one sound.
But in a place like this, where every movement followed a pattern,
it was enough to freeze everything.
A metal tool had slipped from someone's hand—a chisel or hook—clattered hard against the stone floor.
The worker who'd dropped it stood frozen, his hand still extended, as if caught mid-frame.
All around him,
other laborers kept their heads down—no one looked over.
Not one.
But their rhythm had faltered.
A half-step too slow.
A breath held too long.
John's attention snapped to it immediately.
He eyes went to the worker.
He took one step toward the man.
Just one.
The worker hadn't moved to retrieve the tool.
His fingers trembled, barely visible at his side.
Across the square, one of the guards turned his head.
Not urgently. Just... tracking.
Like a lens rotating.
"John,"
Aurora's voice was low.
He stopped.
"Don't,"
she said, just above a whisper.
"We don't know the rules here."
John blinked,
he stopped.
But, didn't look away from the worker.
The man slowly crouched.
Picked up the tool.
Returned to work.
No punishment. No reaction.
But the tension didn't fade.
Just... reabsorbed.
Like the district itself had noticed the mistake and quietly reset.
Finn cleared his throat.
"Okay. We should keep looking."
John finally took a step back.
No one else spoke.
They kept walking.
---
They turned down a narrower lane—walls tight on both sides, pressing in.
Above them, faded banners hung like forgotten warnings.
The shadows were deeper here.
A small procession of workers passed them coming the other way.
Crates in hand. Eyes down.
No one said a word.
Finn shifted sideways to let them through, brushing shoulders with one of the workers—a man, tall, gray around the temples. Face blank.
The touch was nothing. Just a moment.
But then—
Finn felt it.
A weight. Paper.
Something soft and deliberate slipped into his coat pocket.
He blinked.
Paused.
Looked back.
The worker was already moving on.
Back straight. Face forward.
"Uh…" he muttered, patting his coat.
He reached into the inside pocket.
Felt it. Pulled it out.
A single, small piece of folded parchment. No markings.
Aurora turned toward him.
"What's that?"
Finn shook his head slowly.
"No idea."
He offered it to John without hesitation.
"You're way better with weird mysterious stuff, man."
John took it, eyes narrowing.
He didn't open it. Just tucked it away inside his own coat, close to the chest.
"Later," he said.
Soft. Certain.
They begin walking.
And, someone—or something—was keeping score.
---
As they got deeper into the district,
The streets became tighter. Angled.
A storm drain ran alongside the cracked path—wide enough for a man to crawl through, if they were desperate.
Rust lined its edge. Iron bars sealed its mouth.
Mostly.
One of the lower bars had snapped clean through, the break jagged like old bone.
John slowed as they passed it.
A chill rose at the back of his neck, and for no reason he could name,
he stopped.
Aurora stepped up beside him.
"What is it?"
He didn't answer right away.
Finn was still walking—until he saw them pause.
He backtracked, confused.
"Please tell me that's not another dead end we have to climb through."
John didn't move.
He crouched low.
The grate gaped open in the dark.
And from somewhere below—
faint and far and muffled by earth—came the sound of...
...something.
Not voices. Not clearly.
But movement.
Stone dragging.
Metal scraping.
A rhythm without pattern.
Aurora leaned down beside him, straining to hear.
Then—
A soft knock.
Once.
Twice.
Then silence.
She pulled back slowly.
"...Nope."
John stood. Brushed his hands off.
Didn't say a word.
They all moved on.
The sound still lingering.
And now… the district felt fully haunted.
---
They made another loop around the outer row of structures.
Past the loading platform.
Past the repeating guards.
No one stood out.
No one even looked up.
They'd seen all they were going to see,
the workers' silence,
the guards' stillness,
the sound beneath the stone.
John slowed, finally coming to a stop beside a rusted cart stacked with unused stone blocks.
Finn dropped his hands to his hips with a long exhale.
"I don't think they're here."
Aurora looked around again—eyes still scanning—then gave a slow, reluctant nod.
"If they came through, they're long gone."
John glanced up at the tall brickwork wall ahead—its surface perfectly flat, as if daring anyone to climb it.
He didn't bother.
He kept his hand near the inside of his coat,
where the folded paper rested.
It felt heavier than it should've.
He waited until they turned a corner, out of sight from the line of guards they'd passed.
The shadows stretched long here.
A small alcove between buildings offered a breath of cover.
He pulled the paper out.
Finn and Aurora leaned in.
He unfolded it carefully.
The creases were sharp. The handwriting rushed but clear.
One line.
> "You're being watched. Leave quietly."
They all stared at it.
Aurora's voice was barely a whisper.
"Well that's... ominous."
Finn exhaled through his nose.
"Guess the subtle vibes weren't enough."
John folded the paper again.
"Someone risked slipping this to us."
"Means we should probably heed his warning then," Aurora added.
"Right?"
John glanced over the rooftops. Toward the path back out.
"Yeah. Time to go."
"Let's head back toward the Lower District. We'll continue our search from there."
No arguments.
They slipped back through the district—not running, not drawing attention.
Just three quiet steps retracing their way out.
The Worker District swallowed their silence behind them.
---
The Lower District was louder than the Worker Quarter—but not in a way that felt safe.
Voices carried faster. Laughter didn't last as long.
And the eyes watching from windows or doorways didn't blink as much as they should've.
John, Aurora, and Finn slipped through the narrow streets, staying close, avoiding open corners.
They asked a few vendors.
Got shrugs, closed mouths, vague gestures.
"No kids like that today."
"Maybe early morning."
"You best not be looking for anyone right now."
Finn looked to a group of kids playing near a well.
He crouched slightly, smile easy.
"You seen anyone new come through?"
"Uhm... handsome looking guy, tall and moody. Girl with hair like sunlight. Guy who looks like he eats bricks for breakfast?"
One of the kids opened their mouth.
Then looked behind Finn—past him.
And clammed up.
Aurora stepped closer to Finn.
"Let's keep walking."
They turned down another lane—this one narrower, cracked bricks underfoot.
The buildings here leaned like they were whispering to each other.
Finn muttered under his breath:
"You'd think someone would at least pretend not to be afraid."
Aurora scanned a few balconies.
"No. They're afraid for a reason."
John didn't answer.
His eyes were on a nearby rooftop—where a shadow shifted.
Then—
A hand grabbed auroras arm and yanked her back into the alley.
"Shhh. Quiet."
Aurora spun, halfway ready to react—until she saw her.
A woman, in her early thirties.
Sharp eyes. Familiar.
Shawl drawn loosely around her shoulders.
Two children peeked from behind her skirt—watchful, quiet.
She blinked.
"You—"
"Not here," she said, already pulling them further from the street.
Her voice was sharp. Urgent. "You kids shouldn't be walking so open today."
John followed without question. Finn blinked, but went.
"What's going on?" Aurora asked, voice low.
She stopped once they were tucked behind a leaning brick wall, half-covered in old vines.
Her voice dropped even further.
"They're watching. All the alleys. Every turn. I saw three patrols pass twice."
Aurora held the book closer to her side, wrapping it with her arms.
"Are they looking for us?"
The mother looked between them.
"They said they're looking for anyone who doesn't walk like they belong. Which means you."
Finn gave a crooked smile.
"Wow. Rude, but fair."
"They must be searching for the book." Aurora added.
Finn glanced the satchel,
"Probably.."
"You're with them, aren't you?
The three kids who came here before."
"I saw you all together when you guys first came here."
"When they dragged us—i mean, escorted us in the city?" finn asked.
John leaned in.
"You've seen them today?"
"Not since early morning." She glanced toward the street.
"They were headed to find someone. I told them to look for Keelo."
Aurora's eyes lit up slightly.
"Keelo?"
The woman nodded.
"Old tower. End of the lane with the broken step and the black sun painted on the wall. You'll know it. Roof's half caved in."
Finn glanced back toward the street.
"You think they're still there?"
"If not, they must've at least passed through him. It's the best trail you'll get today."
John offered a quiet, sincere—
"Thank you."
She stepped back into the shadows.
"Go now. And don't come back this way once you've left."
And with that, she was gone again.
---
They didn't say much at first.
Just walked.
The directions were simple enough—
"The old tower at the end of that lane. The one with the broken roof."
John kept his eyes ahead.
His pace steady. Calculated.
Finn lagged a step behind, chewing the inside of his cheek like he wanted to say something but couldn't figure out what.
Aurora clutched the book under her coat again, head lowered, steps light and quiet.
A long moment passed before Finn finally spoke, his voice softer than usual.
"You think they're alright?"
John looked over.
"Jake and the others?"
Finn nodded once.
"Yeah. I mean… we're sure they came this way, right?"
Aurora chimed in gently.
"If they did find this Keelo guy, they probably got answers before we did."
"Or got into trouble before we did," Finn muttered.
John smirked faintly.
"Let's hope not."
They passed a cracked step at the edge of the lane.
A faded symbol—black sun, painted crooked—marked the wall ahead.
They were close.
Aurora slowed a little, eyes drifting toward the rooftops above.
"Harry's still in the archives," she said softly.
"Reading who knows what right now… probably surrounded by every scroll in the whole frickin place."
Finn chuckled, but there was a note of worry underneath.
"Bet he hasn't even noticed the city's on fire."
"He's smart. He'll catch up." john added.
They turned the final corner.
And there it was.
The tower stood crooked at the end of the lane—
tall, narrow, and cracked like an old tooth.
Its roof sagged in the middle, broken planks poking toward the sky like ribs.
One window flickered faintly. The others were dead.
No door. Just a dark archway.
John stopped.
"This is it."
---
They stood at the edge of the path, facing the tower.
No one spoke.
The wind stirred slightly, tugging at the hem of Aurora's coat.
The air felt different here—thicker somehow.
Finn squinted up at the broken roof.
"So… do we knock? Or does he just sense us standing here awkwardly?"
Aurora took a slow step forward.
John didn't move.
Because a voice spoke behind them.
Smooth.
Measured.
Unwelcome.
"Hello, young ones."
They turned.
A man stood behind them—
tall, in a fitted coat with crisp black stitching, boots polished to silence.
Dark eyes. Pale hands folded neatly behind his back.
He wasn't sweating. He wasn't breathing hard.
He looked like he'd always been there.
Watching.
"I must admit," he said, smiling faintly,
"I expected a bit more caution.
Elves are usually… elegant."
No one answered.
Finn muttered under his breath,
"Oh, great. Not another smooth-talker with a dramatic entrance."
The man stepped closer.
Not threatening. Just sure of himself.
"The Governor has taken quite the liking to you."
John straightened slightly.
"And what does he want now?"
The man tilted his head.
"To see where your loyalties lie."
There was no menace in the tone. Just... curiosity.
Aurora's grip on the book tightened.
John didn't hesitate.
"Our loyalty.. is to each other."
That made the man pause.
A flicker of something passed behind his eyes.
Then he smiled again.
"Is that so?"
From behind them—down the lane—boots.
Two guards stepped into view at the corner.
Silent. Waiting.
The man didn't glance back.
"I do hope you choose wisely."
And without another word—
he stepped backward into the shadow of the wall.
He vanished.
And, with him the guards vanished out of view.
Like smoke.
Finn blinked hard.
"Okay. I hate this city."
John exhaled slowly. Then turned toward the tower.
"Let's go, you two."
And they stepped through the crooked archway.
---
(Inside Keelo's Tower – The Man Who Listens to Walls)
They stepped into the archway shaped like a crooked mouth.
Stone steps led up into shadow—uneven and narrow, twisting into the tower's spine.
No sounds. No greetings. No signs of life.
Just dust.
And the quiet hum of something that wasn't quite audible.
John led first, hand brushing the wall for balance.
Finn followed, mumbling under his breath.
"Wow, love what he's done with the place."
Aurora said nothing—too busy watching the shadows.
They moved like they were waiting.
At the top of the steps, a room opened. Round. Dim.
Lit by a single hanging lantern that swung slowly, though no wind blew.
Books were stacked in piles. Some with no titles. Some with too many.
Pages drifted through the air like leaves, suspended by threads of copper wire.
There were jars filled with dust and buttons.
A teacup on a shelf filled with dirt.
And in the center, seated cross-legged on a wide rug patterned in spirals—
was a man.
Thin. Barefoot. Wearing a coat several sizes too large, the sleeves bunched at his wrists.
His hair was silver, but not old.
His eyes... well, they didn't match.
One pale. One dark.
Both watching them long before they'd arrived.
He didn't move.
He just grinned.
"Echoes," he whispered.
Then he frowned.
"No... fractures."
He looked off to the side suddenly, like someone had just whispered something behind his shoulder.
"They say it's both."
John exchanged a look with Aurora.
Finn raised an eyebrow.
"Hi?"
The man stood without using his hands. Just rose—like the floor pushed him up.
"You walk like you've seen the edge. But not the drop."
"I know who you are."
He paused.
"...I think."
He stepped closer—slow, measured steps across the spiraled rug.
His voice dropped, urgent now.
"What's in that satchel, cutiepie?"
Eyes locked on Aurora.
"No really, tell me, what's in it. It speaks, you know. I can hear it."
Aurora blinked.
"…Excuse me?"
"The satchel," he insisted, stepping a little too close, hands fluttering in the air like he was painting her outline.
"It hums. It has weight. Not physical! No, no, not that kind. The kind the stars above notice."
Finn gently stepped between them.
"Okay, buddy, personal space—ever heard of it?"
The man gasped.
"The voices are too loud today!"
He flinched, spun on one foot, then grinned again.
"Sorry. Sorry. I get... distracted.
They echo weird in here."
He tapped the side of his head.
Then leaned dramatically toward John.
"You came for questions."
"You'll get answers."
"Wha—"
"Just not the ones you wanted."
John stepped in carefully.
"We were told you might've been visited by some friends of ours. Three of them. Came earlier today."
The man blinked. Looked surprised.
"Three? Three what?"
"Teenagers," Aurora clarified, arms crossed now.
"One quiet. One loud. One super angry."
Keelo scratched his chin.
"B-but they never knocked."
"Then again... sometimes I don't hear knocking. So, I just listen to them instead."
Finn opened his mouth, then closed it.
John sighed.
"So they didn't come?"
Keelo tilted his head. Thought deeply.
Then snapped his fingers.
"Wait, wait—no no. Don't go."
They had all taken half-steps back toward the stairs.
"You're here. Which means the others will be too."
He nodded.
To himself.
To the walls.
To something.
"Because the book called. And when the book calls…"
He turned, spinning twice, arms wide.
"It means the stone will speak again."
They froze.
Aurora's hands tightened on the satchel.
Keelo turned to her. Eyes wide again.
"Tell me, cutiepie. What's in it."
"Stop calling me that."
"What's in it?"
Aurora groaned. "It's a book."
He went still.
Then beamed like someone had handed him the moon.
"Ahhh... I knew it."
He dropped to the floor like a marionette with cut strings, cackling softly.
"The voices win again!"
---
(Inside Keelo's Tower – The Book That Shouldn't Wake)
Keelo's laughter slowed gradually—fading into a hum.
He lay on his back now, arms sprawled wide like a man sunbathing on stone.
"So, it's real," he murmured.
"I thought the dream was just a dream. But dreams are just truths wearing costumes, aren't they?"
John stepped a little closer.
"What book are you talking about?"
Keelo sat up far too quickly.
His spine bent like it didn't know how to be gradual.
"The book in her satchel," he said, pointing to Aurora.
Then—
"No—not that book. The one inside it."
Finn glanced at Aurora.
Aurora glanced at John.
Aurora's face tightened.
"You're not making sense."
"I never do," Keelo said, proudly.
"That's how I know I'm right."
He stood again, brushing imaginary dust off his coat.
"They tried to burn it, you know. Twice. Actually."
"The first time, it laughed."
"The second time, it cried and then laughed. Which was worse."
He tapped the side of his temple again.
"Because that book remembers what this city forgot. And forgetting is how we got here, isn't it?"
John narrowed his eyes.
"Ahh... the buried city."
Keelo turned slowly to him. For a second—just one—his expression sobered.
"You've seen it, right?"
His voice dipped to a whisper:
"The ribs beneath the skin."
"The heart that was paved over with gold and rules."
"The place where the silence reign supreme."
No one responded.
The lantern above them creaked.
Keelo smiled again. Softer this time.
"That book shouldn't be awake."
He turned to Aurora. A little more gently now.
"But since it is…
it's going to make you ask questions."
Aurora stared.
"The book?"
"Mm." He nodded.
"Not with words. With choices."
"You'll see."
He stepped away again, almost gliding now.
His tone changed.
"They're already listening. Right now. At this very moment."
"The ones unseen, but in plain sight."
He stopped, looking at nothing.
"And, they don't want it to be found."
Then slowly turned back to face them, eyes sharp.
"Which means you have to decide—"
"Is the truth worth being hunted for?"
The room went still.
Finn looked like he was thinking, his expression unreadable.
Aurora clutched the satchel tighter.
John exhaled slowly.
And Keelo? He just tilted his head.
"…Well?"
---
(A Crack in the Conversation)
Keelo had gone quiet.
The air stilled around him, like even the dust had stopped floating.
He stood with one hand resting on a shelf of mismatched objects—
his fingers grazing the edge of an empty picture frame.
Then, without turning:
"There's a name for what's coming, you know."
The sentence fell into the room like a dropped stone.
John frowned.
"Coming?"
Keelo didn't answer directly.
His fingers tapped the frame.
Once.
Twice.
Then he whispered:
"It wasn't supposed to wake."
Finn raised an eyebrow.
"You mean the book again?"
Keelo laughed—but it was quieter this time. Less manic.
It wasn't joy. It was recognition.
"No."
A pause.
"Not the book."
He turned toward them now.
His mismatched eyes seemed clearer for just a moment.
"It's not a what. Not really."
"It's a remembering."
Aurora's grip on the satchel shifted again.
"What is?"
Keelo tilted his head. Then smiled. Not a wide smile.
A sad one.
"The world has rules."
He held up a hand. Open.
"The sky."
Then another.
"The stone."
Then brought them together, palms flat.
"But there are older rules. Ones written in silence. In endings."
He looked toward the wall again, eyes distant.
"You can pave over bones. You can change the name on a grave."
"But the ground never forgets what bled into it."
No one spoke.
John's eyes narrowed. His hand brushed near his pocket, as if to confirm the folded note was still there.
Finn finally broke the silence.
"…I liked it better when you were just being weird about satchels."
Keelo laughed once—abrupt and hollow.
Then he turned fully back to them, smile wide again.
"Anyway! You'll need water. Probably thirsty by now.
Salted?
if you can find it. You can have it."
---
(His Name)
John stepped back toward the stairwell, shaking his head softly.
"No, but thanks… Keelo."
"Hey I really am thirsty, dude."
The man's head perked up instantly.
"Keelo?"
They all stopped.
Aurora blinked.
"Yeah. That's your name."
He tilted his head, deeply puzzled.
Then laughed. Like something was clicking together inside his head in the wrong order.
"No, no, no. I'm not him."
A pause.
"Or… he's not me. Or is he?"
Finn squinted.
"Okay, you're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"The spiral thing where you say two opposite things and act like they're both true."
Aurora cut in.
"So you're not.. Keelo?"
The man stood very still. Then grinned.
"No."
He tapped his chest proudly.
"My name is Nero."
A long beat of silence.
Finn turned to John.
"Let's just leave, bro."
---
(Inside Keelo's Tower – Departure)
No one moved for a few seconds after that last line.
The lantern swayed overhead—creaking softly.
Keelo was humming again. Something without rhythm. Without words.
Aurora adjusted the satchel over her shoulder.
Finn glanced toward the stairs, then at John.
John nodded once.
"Yeah, we should go."
Keelo didn't stop them.
Didn't follow.
Didn't even say goodbye.
He just tilted his head toward the wall and whispered something too soft to hear.
They made their way down the steps—quiet, careful.
Not from fear of waking anyone.
Just… out of respect.
For something.
---
(Outside Keelo's Tower)
Finn was the first to speak, once they were outside and the crooked tower was behind them.
"So, what a.. normal, totally healthy guy, huh.
Was super helpful too."
The sun had begun to lean west.
The streets were quieter now, stretched thin by tension.
But the square by the fountain still held a soft hum.
John stayed by the edge, scanning the perimeter, just out of frame.
Aurora and Finn slumped onto the low stone ledge, across from each other,
both half-draped like they'd just completed a marathon.
Aurora wiped her forehead and leaned over the water.
"Finn, think it's safe to drink this?"
Finn peered in, squinting at the slightly greenish tinge.
"Safe? Absolutely not."
He dipped a finger in anyway.
"But I'm like thirty percent dust and stress right now, so let's risk it."
Aurora smirked.
"Pretty sure that's how plagues start."
"Well, better than dying of dehydration next to a perfectly functional medieval birdbath," Finn replied,
already sipping water from cupped hands with dramatic flair.
Aurora rolled her eyes, laughing softly.
"We survived some shadow-chasers, book cultists, and a guy who talks to ceilings—and this is not where we draw the line."
"Fine fine, let's drink now worry about radioactive fountain water later." aurora said, as she joined finn.
She dipped her own hands into the cool stream—
splashing her face once, letting the chill bring her back to herself.
John finally allowed himself a faint smile,
He stepped closer to the fountain, glancing at the water.
"Room for one more?"
Then—
Behind them,
A sound.
Soft.
Stone scraping against stone,
from a slanted section of wall—
a door creaked open.
A door hidden in the ground.
John turned.
Aurora's hand froze mid-motion.
Finn straightened slowly, his posture shifting.
Dust spilled out first.
Then movement.
A silhouette.
Then another.
Jake.
Sally.
King.
Behind them—
Vey.
Smiling like he knew this moment would happen exactly this way.
Aurora stood without a word.
Finn rose beside her.
And, John stepped forward—
The door sealed shut behind the returning shadows.
Above and below.
They were finally together again.
---
[TO BE CONTINUED IN EPISODE 13]