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Episode 3 Part 3 Sneak Peak #4
🕑 Added 2023-09-11 23:09:44 +0000 UTC- $name is the variable used now for what Aeran calls the MC. This is set to either their nickname, their first name or their surname depending on approval level and paths taken at the start of Episode 3
- The text here reflects a high approval friendship/romance route.
“$name!”
Aeran’s voice is harsh, his warning all too clear. You have wasted enough time here, trying to make sense of something that does not matter in this moment. You pause, ignoring him, and scan the library one last time. There has to be something here, something you missed… Something that can help you make sense of this all.
Footsteps on the ground, crunching on broken flagstones. His voice on the wind, calling your name, demanding you to stop. A whine in the air, artificial and strange, its thrumming vibrations pressing against your ears, growing in intensity.
You raise your head, drawn once again to the conjured lights bobbing along the ceiling. The stuttering light intensifies, blinking once, twice. Then the whine snaps out of existence, leaving nothing but hollow silence.
The lights burst.
Blinding light sears your eyes as the shockwave hits you square in the chest, flinging you backwards.
You slam into Aeran, knocking both of you to the ground. You roll in a tangle of bruised limbs, numb to the pain. The roof above trembles and you hear the pitter-patter of a dozen loose stones hitting the ground as they tumble off the edge.
Strong hands grab you and haul you to your feet. A coarse yell rips from your throat, your disoriented confusion mistaking Aeran for an enemy, and you thrash in his grip, elbowing him sharply in the side. He grunts, shouting your name, his movements little more than a blur in the shadows of your compromised sight. You blink, your eyes streaming, pain building across your forehead as your vision returns to normal. His grip is relentless as he pushes you forward, half-carrying, half-dragging you out of the arcade.
Golden light erupts.
It is everywhere at once, expanding outwards from the arcade in a radius, slicing clean through stone and mortar with no more resistance than a hot knife cutting through butter. For a brief moment, nothing appears to have changed—and then the archways and the roof come crashing down.
Aeran rams into you from behind, tackling you to the ground, and rolls on top of you. You see nothing but dirt and broken flagstones as the world around you crumbles. An ear-splitting crunch of metal scraping against metal pierces your ears, reverberating through your body. A vortex of wind and dust rolls past, tearing at you as it consumes you, needle-sharp pinpricks scraping your exposed skin. You can feel it in your ears, your nose, your mouth—the acrid taste of aged magic heavy on your tongue, burning and searing.
Slowly, the wind dies down. Your ears are still ringing.
You cough weakly, pain coursing through you, the pressure of Aeran’s weight digging into your back. With a grunt, you push him off you and crack your eyes open, blinking through the dust and grit. It’s a miracle you’re still alive. The wreckage surrounds you, stone blocks crumbling around you. The library is in shambles, its magnificent dome gone—it looks as though it has been sheared off. The arcade no longer exists, its branching archways reduced to rubble. You are covered with a fine layer of sparkling dust, a network of angry red scratches laced across your arms. You inhale sharply—the scrapes ooze, stinging with the fervour of a thousand papercuts. You’re bruised, numb, your body sore beyond belief. You’re injured, and not in a way a simple medical kit can resolve. Not enough to stop you, but enough to prove a hindrance. You’ll have to be careful from here on out. You’re not sure how much more of a beating your body can take and you haven’t reached the citadel yet.
“Are you all right?”
Aeran’s voice floats somewhere above you. Groaning, push yourself up and find him next to you, sitting in the debris between two chunks of stone. His face is ashen and smudged with grey dust. A sharp bruise purples his chin and his pale skin shines bright with blood from a gash on his forehead. He cradles his arm awkwardly, his lips contorted with pain. He looks about as good as you feel.
You swallow hard. “Yeah,” you say. Your mouth tastes like ash. “What about you? Are you hurt?”
“Nothing I can’t manage.”
“But your arm—”
He winces and drops his arm. “It won’t be a problem, trust me,” he says, getting to his feet and proffering a hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
You take it and let him pull you out of the wreckage. He’s lying—the blast has done something to his arm. This is far from the first time you have forced your way through aches and pains, but this feels more significant than that. Not that you should press him on it. He won’t like being fussed over.
You pat yourself down, brushing a layer of dust off your clothes. What a great start—you’re not even at the tower and you’re already injured. You’re beginning to regret investigating. No matter what secrets Diradan’s destruction holds, maybe this is a reminder you should keep your nose out of them. It’s a miracle you weren’t hurt more than you were.
“Any idea what caused this?” Aeran asks, clambering unsteadily over a pile of rubble.
You shrug, your knee bashing against stone as you scramble after him. “No idea.”
“Something in the library must have been destabilized by the initial blast. Best guess is that it was only a matter of time before this happened. The whole complex is compromised.”
Red light floods your vision. Aeran curses and drops to the ground. You crouch instinctively, hiding in the debris as best you can. A swarm of surveillance orbs descend on the site, their silver bands glinting in the harsh light. Their trails of light heighten to an intense red glow that consumes the wreckage as more and more join, drawn from their patrols by the disturbance.
Click. Click. Click.
Their mechanisms tick, spinning into a frenzy, the sound eerily similar to a hive of insects feasting upon dead prey.
You frown, recalling Quinn’s reconstruction and the glowing red dots. “I thought there was only supposed to be ten of these things,” you mutter. You could try counting—not that it would do much good. You can barely see them within all that glow.
“Looks like she was misinformed,” Aeran whispers. “Regardless, this can only work in our favour. We didn’t cause the library collapse. Surveying and relaying the damage will keep them busy and off our backs.”
You pause, watching the surveillance orbs float through the rubble. Though you’re doused in their scarlet glow, you know they can’t see you. They cannot dispatch your image to whoever is watching from the other side—you are no more than a ghost to them.
But a hundred eyes are watching Diradan Tower, waiting for any sign of disturbances or changes to the environment. The library’s destruction was too significant a change for Veyer’s illusions to mask. You must not leave a mark or an impression. With that horde around, you don’t know who is watching… or who will be smart enough to notice the signs of an invisible presence.
Anxiety twists in your gut—you’re too close to them, too close for comfort. You can’t get it out of your head.
“Let’s get out of here,” you say. Slowly, you pull yourself to your feet and slip through the debris as cautiously as you can, careful not to disturb it. The red glow saturates anything and everything, making it difficult to see. A couple of surveillance orbs float nearby, hanging lazily in the air as they scan the area. They twitch at the sound of your footfalls, but otherwise do not react.
Veyer’s illusions better hold up, you think furiously.
