Hint of the Evermoon

Caelan's boots crunched on the dusty track, the only sound in the quiet that enveloped the outskirts of the village. Weeds tugged at his ankles, and the bushes, heavy with the summer's growth, brushed against his arms as he passed. Trees arched overhead, their branches knitting together to filter the sunlight into dappled patterns that danced on the ground before him.

He was alone, with only his thoughts for company—thoughts that drifted towards the impending Trilunar Day. It loomed large in his mind, a day of revelation that would either affirm his place in the world or unmoor him from it entirely. Could he, like his parents, harness the energies of the moons? Or would he find himself standing silent and powerless, a null amid the whispered sympathies of his neighbours?

Pushing these thoughts aside, Caelan focused on the path ahead. He was on his way to meet Joren, his best friend, at their recent discovery—a small, crumbling ruin just a short walk outside their village. It was their secret, a place they had stumbled upon by chance and claimed as their own. Hidden by an overgrowth of ivy and shadowed by tall oaks, it was a place few knew about and even fewer dared to explore.

As he approached the familiar bend in the track, he could just make out the grey stones of the ancient structure through the thick greenery. The air grew cooler as he stepped into the shadow of the trees that guarded the entrance like ancient sentinels.

"Joren!" he called out, his voice low, half-hoping to catch his friend already there, lost in some mechanical contraption or sprawled with a book in hand.

There was no reply, just the rustle of leaves and a distant birdcall. Caelan moved towards the hidden entrance, a narrow slit in the wall they had cleared of debris. Each step took him deeper into the cool dimness of their sanctum. The air inside was musty, filled with the scent of earth and old stone.

Inside, the ruins whispered of a forgotten past, of secrets buried under layers of dust and vines. They had explored these halls for days, each turn and discovery pulling them deeper into the mysteries of the old world. It was here, among these ancient stones, that Caelan felt furthest from the worries of Trilunar Day. Here, he was a seeker of secrets, a potential heir to arcane mysteries.

As he waited for Joren, Caelan couldn't help but wander deeper into the labyrinth of rooms. Their last exploration had uncovered a room unlike any other, its walls inscribed with celestial symbols that seemed to glow faintly when he traced them with his fingers. It was this mystery that beckoned him now, drawing him back to the silent scripts that promised answers hidden in their curves and lines.

Lost in the thrill of discovery and the comfort of the old stones around him, Caelan almost didn't hear the soft footsteps approaching from the entrance.

"Caelan, you're early," came Joren's voice, tinged with amusement and something else—perhaps a trace of that same worry that often clouded his eyes when they spoke of magic and Trilunar Day.

Caelan turned, a smile breaking over his face. "Just eager to get away from the village chatter. Any more talk of nulls and moons, and I might have started howling at the sky."

Joren sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet of the ruins. He took a seat on a fallen column; his movements deliberate as he set down the small bag he carried everywhere. The clink of metal against metal echoed slightly, a familiar and comforting sound in the midst of the unknown.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Joren asked, his gaze fixed on Caelan.

Caelan shook his head, a half-smile flickering across his face as he repeated, "As I said—any more talk of it and I’m sure I’ll be found tonight naked upon a hill somewhere screaming at the moons for the stress I’ve endured."

Joren shrugged, his own small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he opened his satchel and pulled out a contraption. He set it before the wall they had been studying the previous day. It was a glassy jug-like object with dials and a compartment that appeared to be empty.

"What's that?" Caelan asked, curiosity piquing as he stepped closer, then remembered Joren’s earlier experiments. "It isn’t going to explode, is it?"

Joren chuckled, turning a dial on the side of the device. "Possibly," he admitted, his tone half-serious. "Best step back a bit. Had a few of these go bang on me already, but this time I think I’ve got it figured out."

Caelan took several cautious steps backward, watching as Joren shielded his face with one hand and rubbed a striker with the other, sending sparks flying into the glass chamber. A soft, unsteady but bright glow filled the room, casting their shadows against the ancient walls.

Joren looked back at Caelan with a proud grin. "See? Not all explosions are bad."

"But you’re a null," Caelan remarked, his voice tinged with both awe and confusion. "You can’t use magic."

Joren stood and walked over to Caelan, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "And that’s exactly why I keep telling you not to worry. If you’re a null, you can come work with me and my family, creating new things like this. Magic isn't the only power in the world."

Caelan looked from the glowing device back to Joren, a mix of emotions swirling within him. It was true that Joren and his family had carved out a place for themselves with their ingenuity. Perhaps being a null wouldn't be such a dire fate, but the uncertainty still gnawed at him.

"Thanks, Joren," he said, his voice soft. "Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, though."

Joren clapped him on the back, the light from the contraption flickering as it stabilised. "Either way, you’re not getting rid of me."

"How's this thing even working?" Caelan asked, his curiosity piqued.

Joren laughed, a light, infectious sound that seemed to scatter some of the shadows around them. "Are you truly interested, or would you rather figure out what all this stuff on the wall is about?"

Stepping closer to the illuminated wall, Caelan was about to respond when the details of the surface caught his full attention. "Well, that answers that then," Joren remarked, noting where Caelan’s focus had landed.

"Sorry," Caelan said in a distracted tone, his eyes scanning the now clearly visible seam splitting the wall in half. "It’s not a wall, though."

"What do you mean?" Joren approached, squinting against the brightness of his device.

"There," Caelan pointed. "Do you see it? A seam, right here. It’s a set of doors."

Joren leaned in, his initial scepticism giving way to intrigue as he too discerned the fine line Caelan had described. He tried to wedge his fingers into the seam, attempting first to pull, then to push, but the gap was too narrow, offering no purchase.

"Can't get my fingers in," Joren muttered, stepping back to consider the doors from a new angle. "They must open somehow, though. Look, these carvings along the seam—they might be some sort of mechanism or clue."

"Maybe it’s not meant to be opened by force," Caelan suggested, his gaze locked on the intricate patterns. "These symbols could be a clue. We've seen similar ones around the ruins, but I never noticed them forming a sequence before."

Joren nodded, pulling a small notebook from his bag. He’d taken to sketching the various symbols they found in the ruins, hoping they might eventually make sense. Flipping through the pages, he stopped on a sketch that closely resembled the sequence by the door.

"Look at this," he said, holding the notebook next to the carvings. "It’s the same sequence. We thought it was decorative, but maybe it’s functional."

The pattern was clearly celestial, the moons prominently displayed within a constellation.

“I know a bit about the Trilune, but stars aren’t really my thing,” Caelan admitted, his brow furrowed as he traced the constellation with his finger.

“Same here,” Joren chuckled, leaning in for a closer look. “But it’s pretty obvious that whatever this constellation symbolises, it’s only relevant on a Trilunar day.” He tapped the depiction of the moons aligning within the stars. “Never know—it could be this Trilunar day that’s needed to open the door.”

Caelan’s eyes widened at the thought. “Imagine what might lie behind a door that only opens once every Trilunar alignment.” His voice held a mix of excitement and awe. “What’s so important that it can only be accessed then?”

“Maybe Elder Mareth would know something about this,” Joren suggested, half-serious.

Caelan instantly waved off the idea. “No way, he’d have our skins for just being here, let alone asking about it.” He glanced back at the door, uneasy. “The Covenant elders, especially someone like Mareth, they aren’t exactly forgiving when it comes to meddling with the old ways.”

Caelan shuddered at the thought of Mareth finding them here, “If Mareth knew we were poking around in a ruin like this, especially one with something as significant as this door...”

“Then we keep this between us,” Joren concluded, his tone firm. “For now, at least. We figure out this puzzle ourselves.”

"What do you reckon we should do from here?" Caelan asked, turning to Joren with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.

Joren considered for a moment, hoisting his contraption—a glassy jug-like device that had proven its worth by revealing the hidden doors. "Let's see if there are any other passages we haven't already explored. Who knows what else is tucked away in here?"

Caelan frowned slightly, running through the mental map he had constructed of the ruins. "We can have a look, but I think we've just about checked everywhere out in here. Most paths are just dead ends or collapsed tunnels."

Joren adjusted the device in his arms, the soft glow casting eerie shadows against the crumbling walls. "Yeah, but we didn’t have this before," he pointed out optimistically. "Maybe it might help us find more secrets, illuminate things we missed the first time around."

Caelan shrugged, a spark of curiosity reigniting at the prospect. "Suppose it won’t hurt to have another go."

Together, they retraced their steps through the familiar corridors, the light from Joren’s device throwing stark details into relief. They revisited old discoveries and probed the shadows of corners they had previously glossed over. As they moved deeper into the ruins, the air grew cooler and the silence more profound, as if the very stones were holding their breath.

At one point, they reached a section where the floor was littered with debris from a partial collapse. Caelan had written it off previously as inaccessible, but with the new light, he noticed that the rubble didn’t completely block the way; there might be just enough space to squeeze through to whatever lay on the other side.

"Look at this," Caelan called out, pointing to the gap. "I thought this part was completely blocked off, but maybe there’s a way through."

Joren joined him, shining the light into the narrow opening. "That looks tight, but passable. Want to give it a try?"

With a nod, Caelan crouched down and began to carefully remove some of the smaller pieces of debris, testing the stability of the larger blocks.

Joren held the glowing device in his hands, his expression turning thoughtful as he considered the narrow gap they faced. "You know, we might risk the integrity of this thing going through there," he said cautiously. "It would only take a small crack to cause it to explode, its toughened glass but still."

Caelan peered into the darkness beyond the gap, the allure of the unknown tugging at him. He then glanced back at the device, understanding the risk. "I can get through first. I'll fit with a bit of squeezing. Once I'm on the other side, I can take the device from you. We’ll just be extra careful with it."

Joren sized up the gap, his practical mind clearly weighing their options. He was slightly larger than Caelan, which could complicate his passage. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "Alright, we need to be extra careful, though. I will pass it through once you’re clear."

Caelan didn’t need any further encouragement. He crouched down and, with a deep breath, started to manoeuvre through the gap. The stones were cold against his skin, and he had to twist and turn to avoid sharper edges. It was a tight fit, but adrenaline spurred him on, his mind filled with images of what might lie beyond.

Finally, he emerged on the other side, a bit dusty but exhilarated. He turned back to face the gap, reaching his hands through to receive the precious device from Joren.

"Okay, pass it here—slowly," Caelan instructed, his voice steady despite the pounding of his heart.

Joren, careful not to let his anxiety show, eased the device into Caelan's waiting hands. "Got it?" he asked, his tone tense.

"Got it," Caelan confirmed, securing the device. He carefully pulled it through, mindful of every jostle and turn. After what felt like an eternity but was only a few seconds, the device was safely through.

Joren followed, exhaling sharply as he worked his way through the gap. It was tighter for him, requiring a bit of effort and some careful angling, but soon enough, he was through as well, joining Caelan on the other side.

The chamber beyond was dim, the light from the device casting long shadows that played across the walls, revealing more mysterious symbols and carvings.

"Well, we made it," Joren said, a grin spreading across his face despite the tension of the last few minutes. "Now, let's see what all this was for."

As they ventured deeper into the newly discovered chamber, the air grew dense with the musty smell of old paper and leather. The walls were lined with shelves, each filled with tomes and scrolls that spoke of a time long forgotten. The dim light from Joren’s device cast an otherworldly glow over everything, turning the library into a scene from a dream.

"This must have been some old Covenant temple," Joren murmured, his voice reverent as he picked up a tome from one of the shelves. Dust motes danced in the air around him, disturbed after centuries of stillness.

Caelan reached for a book near him, his fingers brushing against its spine. As he tried to pull it from the shelf, the book crumbled, the pages disintegrating under his touch. "This place must be ancient indeed for the books to be in such bad shape," he commented, a note of disappointment in his voice as he watched the remnants of history turn to dust.

Joren, more fortunate with his selection, managed to salvage a tome that seemed a bit more resilient. He carried it carefully to a nearby table, the wood creaking slightly under its weight. With a cautious reverence, he opened the cover, revealing pages that, although worn, held together better than those Caelan had attempted to handle.

They both leaned over the book, the light illuminating the faded ink. Most of the pages were in a dire state, the writing barely legible, the edges frayed and eaten away by time. Yet, as they flipped through, Caelan paused, his brow furrowing.

"Look at this," he said, pointing to the script. "Whatever language it's written in, it isn’t Trilunite."

Joren peered closer, his curiosity piqued. "You're right. This is something else... older, maybe? It doesn't look like any script I've seen in the market scrolls or even the old texts from Elder Mareth's collections."

Caelan watched Joren’s careful handling of the fragile pages. “Maybe you should copy some of this text into your journal,” he suggested, glancing around the shadowed library. “We might find someone who knows what it says, or once we figure out what's behind that door, we might have enough to go to Mareth—if it's important enough.”

Joren nodded, already flipping to a blank page in his well-worn journal. He set it beside the ancient tome, his hand steady as he began to transcribe the strange characters. Each symbol was meticulously drawn, mirroring the mysterious script as accurately as possible.

"Good idea," Joren murmured, his focus intense. "Even if we don’t understand it now, having a record could be invaluable. And if this is as significant as we think, Mareth might be the least of our concerns. Who knows what doors this could open, metaphorically speaking."

Caelan wandered around the large room, his eyes catching on the remnants of what appeared to be a mosaic on a crumbling wall, where earth and roots had begun to infiltrate the stonework. Intrigued, he called over to Joren, pointing out the partial image. "Hey, Joren, what do you make of this? Does it look like a man to you?"

Joren joined him, squinting at the faded tiles. Nodding, he observed, "Yeah, it does. And see those? Three moons above his head. It might be a depiction of The Adamant—the leader from centuries ago. It’s said he was all-powerful, gifted by all three of the Trilune and able to use all magics."

His attention was drawn to pieces of debris scattered around the mosaic. He pointed to one piece showing a flame symbol and another adorned with a leaf. "Look here, fire here, and maybe healing here?" Joren suggested, trying to piece together the story told by the crumbling art.

Caelan's curiosity deepened as he considered the legendary figure. "Do you think The Adamant actually existed?" he asked, half expecting to be scoffed at.

Joren chuckled, shaking his head. "If Mareth heard you asking that, he'd have you scrubbing the Covenant church floors for the next month," he jested before turning serious. "But honestly, whether he existed or not... it doesn’t much matter to me. Everyone before and since him has only ever had one gift, if any at all. Maybe he was just a great trickster, had mates using other magic making it look like it was all him."

Caelan laughed loudly, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Imagine if Mareth heard that. He’d probably keel over on the spot!"

After a moment, Joren glanced around the dimly lit space and suggested, "We should probably head back soon. Doesn’t look like there’s much else to find here." He quickly finished copying the script into his journal, ensuring every detail was noted down before packing it away securely.

As Caelan and Joren made their way back to the collapsed passageway, the atmosphere was tinged with the thrill of their discoveries. Caelan couldn’t help but let his mind wander back to the imagery of the man with the three moons. He wondered about how devastatingly powerful such a being would be. He would be happy just to be graced by one of the moons.

As they arrived back at the collapse, Joren took the lead this time, squeezing through first with a bit more ease than before.

Once on the other side, Joren reached back through the gap, his hand waiting for the delicate jug device. Caelan, with careful movements, handed it through to him. For a moment, everything seemed to be going smoothly, the device halfway through the gap under Joren's cautious guidance.

Then, the unsettling sounds shattered the quiet: a scuffle, a clink of metal, and a hiss that cut through the air like a warning. Joren’s urgent shout for Caelan to get back was just enough for him to instinctively leap backwards, covering his face as he fell.

The expected explosion turned out to be a subdued glassy pop accompanied by a wave of heat and the pungent smell of burning oil. "Joren! Are you alright?" Caelan called out; his voice edged with panic.

From the other side, Joren coughed violently before shouting back, "Yeah, I’m okay! Are you?"

"I'm fine!" Caelan replied, quickly checking himself for any injuries and finding none. He got back to his feet, dusting himself off, relief washing over him as he realised the danger had passed with minimal consequence.

The passageway was now almost pitch black, the remaining embers of the lighting device quickly flickering away.

Approaching the hole cautiously, Caelan paused when a small rock dislodged from above and clattered to the floor. His eyes darted up, scanning the unstable architecture of the passage. The roots and bricks seemed to groan under the weight of the earth, a silent threat that loomed ever larger.

"Are you coming?" Joren’s voice pierced the tense silence, pulling Caelan's attention back to the task at hand.

Just as he was about to respond, a subtle shift in the debris above sent a shower of small stones cascading down. Instinctively, Caelan took several steps back, the ground beneath him rumbling ominously. His heart raced as he watched the ceiling begin to give way, soil and rocks tumbling down in a sudden, deafening cascade.

With no time to think, Caelan leapt back, dodging the larger pieces of debris. The corridor filled with the sound of collapsing earth, like thunder rolling through a confined space.

And then, complete darkness enveloped him.

As the noise slowly stopped, the last pebbles clattering off of the floor close to Caelan, his heart began to race. Buried beneath the earth, with no light to guide him, the weight of his situation quickly settled in his mind.

“Joren!” Caelan called out, his voice echoing faintly through the blocked passage, the heavy silence returning his call unanswered. Panic began to claw at him as he realised the severity of his predicament—trapped alone without even a candle’s flame to hold back the darkness.

Frantically, Caelan reached toward the pile of debris that now separated them, his hands scraping against the rough, uneven rocks in the pitch darkness. He called out, "Joren, can you hear me?" but no response came, only the echo of his own voice against stone.

Was Joren hurt? Crushed beneath the collapse? The thoughts whirled chaotically in his mind as his hands fumbled blindly among the stones, trying to gauge the extent of the blockage. But in the complete absence of light, it was impossible to tell how much earth, and rubble lay between him and freedom—or between him and his friend.

As he shifted a particularly large stone, a sudden shift in the debris pinned his leg, trapping him. The initial surge of panic rose sharply, his breaths coming fast and ragged. Calm down, he told himself, struggling to control the fear that threatened to overwhelm him. Just think.

Forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths, Caelan assessed his situation. His leg wasn’t crushed or in pain, just firmly stuck. He needed to be methodical. Carefully, he felt around his leg with his hands, identifying what held him. It was a medium-sized rock that had rolled into a position that wedged his leg against the larger mass of debris.

With deliberate movements, he managed to dislodge the rock enough to wiggle his leg slightly. Each small movement brought him a little more freedom until, finally, he pulled his leg free. The relief was immediate, though the darkness remained a suffocating blanket around him.

Now freed, Caelan’s mind raced with what to do next. He couldn’t leave Joren, not without knowing if he was safe. He called out again, his voice stronger this time, "Joren, if you can hear me, make a noise!" He listened intently, hoping for a sign, a sound—anything. But again, there was nothing.

Caelan knew he couldn’t stay by the collapse. He needed to find another way around, a way to either reach Joren from the other side or find help.

Caelan's cautious steps echoed softly as he navigated back along the passageway, his hands sliding along the cold, damp walls for guidance. The familiar sensation of the walls gave way to open space, signalling his return to the library room they had explored earlier. His heart pounded in the silence; each beat a loud drum in the oppressive darkness.

Moving forward tentatively, he brushed against the towering shelves, their once-intriguing contents now just shadows in the dark. The maze of bookshelves seemed endless until a gap opened up, leading him directly into a table that jutted unexpectedly into his path. He halted, taking a moment to calm the panic that clawed back up his throat. I need to find a way out. Think.

Feeling overwhelmed and momentarily defeated, Caelan reached for the table, intending to sit and gather his thoughts, but the ancient wood groaned under even the slightest pressure, warning him off. Instead, he found the chair where Joren had sat earlier and perched cautiously on the edge, his mind racing for solutions.

As he sat in the heavy silence, a faint sound pricked his ears. Voices? He stilled, straining to listen. There it was again—distant, muffled, but unmistakably someone calling. Am I hearing things? he wondered, the sound so faint it could easily be a trick of his desperate mind.

The voice called again, this time even more distant. Determined to find its source or at least understand his surroundings better, Caelan stood and walked toward the sound. His foot caught on debris, sending him stumbling over the scattered remains of what felt like fallen books and other materials. As he regained his balance, his hand brushed against something different—the familiar texture of tiles.

Realising he had reached the mosaic wall they had discovered earlier, Caelan's fingers traced the contours of the tiles. Climbing cautiously over the mound formed by the debris, he suddenly felt a slight breeze—a real, tangible flow of air.

The fresh sensation was invigorating against his skin, and he paused to let it wash over him, the smell and feel of it unmistakably coming from above the wall. His hands moving over the broken edges of the wall where the breeze was strongest. There, a small crack or opening seemed to offer a whisper of freedom. Faint light trickled in from above, barely visible but unmistakable.

Heart racing with renewed hope, Caelan began to clear the debris from around the breezy crack, each movement fuelled by the promise of escape. As he worked, the air flow strengthened slightly, encouraging his efforts.

As Caelan edged closer to the gap, his pulse quickened with the stirrings of hope. He paused, gathering his breath, and then shouted into the darkness, "Help! Can anyone hear me?" His voice seemed to disappear into the void, absorbed by the damp, earthy walls.

He paused, straining his ears for any sign of a response—a shout, a movement, anything. But there was nothing, just the oppressive silence pressing back against him. He called out again, his voice echoing slightly before fading away, leaving him enveloped in quiet despair.

Undeterred, Caelan returned to the gap, his fingers digging into the cold, moist earth. He pulled at roots and scraped away soil, each movement deliberate, hoping to widen the opening enough to escape. The work was slow and gruelling, his hands aching as he tore at the obstructions. He persisted, driven by the flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could get out and find Joren.

Time seemed to stretch on interminably as he laboured. Caelan's efforts gradually loosened a larger section of earth, which gave way unexpectedly. A shower of soil and debris cascaded down, and he barely had time to react. Jumping back to avoid the falling earth, he stumbled over a pile of debris, his foot catching on something hard.

Losing his balance, Caelan crashed into the table behind him. The old, weakened wood could not withstand the impact, and it shattered under his weight, sending splinters skittering across the floor. He lay amid the wreckage for a moment, catching his breath, the reality of his situation crashing down on him as heavily as the debris.

Shaken but uninjured, Caelan pushed himself up from the broken table, dust and splinters clinging to his clothes.

Caelan approached the gap again, his every step cautious and measured. The sliver of light trickling in offered a faint promise, yet the opening was still far from anything through which he could feasibly escape. Peering inside and up toward the light, he sighed. From the little Caelan could make out, the removal of any further dirt was likely to bring another collapse.

He paused, lying with his back against the remnants of the cold stone wall now mixed with root and soil. He allowed himself a moment of grim contemplation. Which would be preferable? A slow, lingering demise in this subterranean tomb, or a swift end, crushed beneath a sudden collapse? The thought was morbid, yet inescapably pertinent given his dire circumstances.

His mind inevitably wandered back to Joren. If his friend had been caught under the initial fall, there was little chance he had survived. The possibility tore at Caelan, the pain of potentially losing his closest friend, and for what? A childish fancy at an adventure? They had been foolish to push past the collapse.

Exhausted, both physically and emotionally, Caelan carefully moved away from the void and returned to the chair that had miraculously remained undamaged following his fall into the table. The adrenaline that had fuelled his frantic efforts began to ebb, leaving behind a profound fatigue. As he sat in the oppressive darkness, the emotions he'd managed to hold at bay surged forward. Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over and tracing cold paths down his cheeks. His quiet sobs began to echo softly off the stone walls around him.

The empty space and silence magnified every small sound—the drip of water trickling from some unseen space, the rustle of his own movements, his breathing. It was in this deep silence that he heard it, a faint whisper almost lost in the ambient noises of the underground space. "Don’t cry," it said, the voice small and ethereal, like that of a child.

Startled, Caelan spun around, his eyes straining to peel away the oppressive darkness. The flicker of hope—and fear, that someone might be near was quickly crushed by the emptiness that he faced. There was nothing—no one—there. Just shadows and the faint outlines of bookshelves and broken furniture.

"Hello?" His voice wavered slightly, silence echoing back to him, mocking his aloneness. Caelan's heart raced. Was his mind beginning to play tricks on him? The stress and isolation, the grief for Joren—it was all too much. He couldn’t start imagining things.

"Is someone there?" he called again, louder this time, his voice firm despite the tremor of fear. Again, nothing. No whisper, no movement, just the cold embrace of the dark.

Shaking his head, trying to dispel the rising panic and the eerie feeling of being watched, Caelan looked back towards the gap. He couldn’t afford distractions—not now. He had to focus on finding a way out, on surviving. Yet, the voice lingered in his mind. He was sure he had heard it.

Hesitantly grabbing one of the broken table legs like a makeshift weapon, Caelan edged back towards the gap, his eyes darting through the darkness, half-expecting some spectral apparition to materialise. Each shadow seemed to pulse with potential menace, each silence a prelude to whispers or worse. His mind conjured every tale of monsters, shades, and ghouls he had ever heard, each creature now vividly alive in his imagination, lurking in the corners of the ancient library.

Time seemed to stretch into eternity as he stood there, his body tense, every sense heightened to a razor's edge. The oppressive darkness of the room felt almost alive, filled with the potential for horrors unseen. Caelan's grip on the wooden leg tightened, his knuckles white with the strain.

But as the minutes ticked by, the expected attack never came. The darkness remained just that—darkness. No shapes moved; no sounds broke the heavy stillness. Slowly, the grip of paranoia began to loosen. I must have imagined it, he thought, his breathing finally slowing as rational thought began to take over. He and Joren had thoroughly explored the room earlier, and with the passage now collapsed, there was indeed no way anyone or anything could have entered.

A self-mocking laugh escaped his lips, breaking the silence. Shaking his head at his own fright, Caelan turned his attention back to the practical task at hand. He eyed the table leg in his grasp—an unexpected but ideal tool for his current needs. Something I should have thought of earlier, he chided himself.

Focusing, he began to use the sturdy length of wood to pry at the edges of the gap. The leverage it provided was significantly better than his bare hands. Each push and pull felt more effective, the opening gradually widening as he worked. The sounds of scraping and shifting debris filled the room, a welcome replacement to the eerie silence.

Using the table leg, Caelan managed to remove larger clumps of earth and stone more safely and quickly. The fresh air flowing through the widening gap was invigorating, spurring him on. The light from outside, though still faint, began to strengthen, casting a weak illumination that pushed back some of the room's oppressive darkness.

Just as Caelan felt a surge of hope with each widening crack in the wall, the ground beneath him began to tremble. It started as a low, ominous rumbling, akin to the deep growl of some great beast stirring from slumber. His hands froze on the makeshift tool, his eyes scanning the dark library for any sign of the disturbance’s origin. The walls themselves vibrated, sending whispers of dirt and debris cascading from the ancient masonry, the air filling with the scent of disturbed earth and old stone.

As the trembling intensified, light suddenly pierced the darkness from the direction of the collapsed passage. Voices, muffled and anxious, filtered through the air, calling out, “Caelan! Caelan, are you there?”

Hope surged in Caelan's chest—rescue was at hand. But before he could respond, before he could move towards the light and the voices of his would-be rescuers, a sharp, sudden blow struck the back of his head. The impact was jarring, a burst of pain that radiated through his skull, clouding his senses.

The ground seemed to rush up to meet him as his legs buckled and the world spun into chaos. His vision blurred, the edges darkening as consciousness slipped like sand through his fingers. In those last moments of awareness, as darkness clawed at the fringes of his vision, a figure—a young girl in a short, flowing white gown—appeared within his narrowing field of sight. Her face was etched with shock and confusion, eyes wide as she stared at him from a short distance.

Then, everything went black.