Outside the glowing seal of the archive, the palace wing had descended into complete confusion.
Not just because of the smoke-stained tiles. Not just the three unconscious knights being dragged to safety.
But because of what the door had become.
It was no longer a door.
It was a pulsing, rune-covered veil of light, stitched with golden lines that bent space just slightly when stared at too long. The guards stood in a wide semicircle, none daring to get close again.
Even the backup mages, armed with counter-runes and shield break chants, had frozen the moment they arrived.
"…That's not from our libraries," one of them muttered.
"It's not even from this era," another whispered.
A young knight leaned in. "Sir? Should we wait for the Enchanter's Guild or—"
"No," said Lieutenant Deress, his voice strained. "We don't touch that door. We report it. Immediately."
❖ Tower Command — 42 Minutes Later
High Enchanter Relvan of the Mage Council read the field scroll again.
His fingers twitched once. Not fear. Calculation.
The message was simple:
Archive breach.
Fire-type anomaly.
Seal formation unknown.
Magical presence: sleeping.
System activity confirmed.
One civilian and… something else.
He closed the scroll and looked up at his apprentice.
"Don't deploy suppression," he said.
"Sir?"
Relvan stood and walked to the nearest scrying orb, which now shimmered with static interference around the archive quadrant.
"We've already lost that site."
The apprentice blinked. "But the source is just… asleep."
"Exactly," Relvan muttered. "And the world is already reacting."
❖ Elsewhere in the Capital – That Same Hour
🔸 Clerics from the Circle of White Flame declared the phenomenon an omen of judgment, citing ancient prophecy fragments: "When flame sleeps beneath the seal, the unjust shall whisper, and the world shall bow."
🔸 Street prophets emerged near the eastern plaza, calling the archive "The Cradle of Flame." One wrapped himself in burnt scroll pages and demanded donations in exchange for "blessed soot."
🔸 The Red Sigil, a militant order, interpreted the event as magical rebellion—a "breach in sacred infrastructure" that threatened the monarchy.
🔸 The Golden Ministry, meanwhile, welcomed it. "A divine sleeper comes once per era," said their representative, who then sold over 200 commemorative talismans by sundown.
🔸 Merchants rerouted trade around the district. The city watch refused to patrol it.
🔸 Pilgrims gathered—not many, not yet, but enough to form a line. Some knelt. Others whispered. All waited.
🔸 An underground gambling den beneath the Southern Drainage Quarter took bets:
When the Sleeper would wake again.
What element the next flare would be.
Whether the first disciple was flame or illusion.
Odds were 7:1 that Kairon would never open both eyes.
And inside the archive?
None of this mattered.
Brix paced slowly, shirt half-burned, still processing the changes in his veins.
Kairon, curled up in scrolls and still drooling slightly, didn't stir.
"I don't know who you are…" Brix whispered, brushing ash off the hem of the coat he now wore like armor."But I'll make this silence holy."