Chapter 154: Archives
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In the secluded depths of the church’s archives, an elderly priest managed the labyrinthine collection of information. This venerable figure, marked by years of service and devotion to intricate machinations and holy pursuits, bore the signs of a life well-lived. His posture was slightly hunched, the result of past injuries sustained in service to his faith. A perpetual aroma of oil and mechanical gears clung to him like a second skin.
At this particular moment, he sat behind a somewhat drab, circular table, entirely engrossed in a mechanical puzzle he held in his hands. The object closely resembled a Rubik’s Cube but on a much more complex scale. Using a set of specialized tools, he meticulously disassembled the cube, spreading its various mechanical components across the table for closer examination.
Just then, Vanna entered the room, her tall frame momentarily eclipsing the dim light emanating from a lamp adjacent to the elderly priest. Noticing the sudden change in illumination, the priest looked up and greeted her, “Ah, Your Grace. How may these old bones be of service to you today?”
Vanna inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment. “I’m looking for the records concerning various disasters and accidents that occurred in the year 1889.”
“Ah, records from 1889, you say?” The old priest pondered, gently rapping his knuckles on the expansive table before him. The tabletop momentarily receded at his touch, revealing a complex mechanical contraption fitted with numerous round mechanical dials and levers. With practiced ease, he manipulated the dials and pulled various levers.
As he did so, Vanna felt subtle vibrations underfoot as larger machinery sprang into action somewhere beneath the floorboards. The low hum of whirring gears and puffing steam filled the air. Finally, a sharp “ding” rang out from the table’s mechanical interface. The machine then dispensed a strip of printed tape from an adjacent slot.
“Follow these directions. Turn left on the third aisle of bookshelves and take a right at the end. You’ll find the records in one of the illuminated aisles. But be warned, they’re not well-organized. Everything from significant catastrophes to minor steam-engine accidents is documented there. Ring the bell if you require further assistance,” the priest explained, handing Vanna the printed tape. As he did so, she noticed that his hand was not flesh and bone but a finely crafted, brass prosthetic extending up to his shoulder.
Vanna couldn’t help but notice the prosthetic hand, previously hidden by the priest’s flowing sleeves. Such battle-worn veterans were not uncommon in the civilian sectors of the Storm Church. Many had been frontline warriors against the darkness of the world, often paying a heavy price, sometimes sacrificing limbs or sustaining other life-altering injuries. Once no longer fit for combat, these faithful servants often found a second calling in the more tranquil departments of the church. In this priest’s case, it was clear he had lost an arm and now employed a magical, steam-powered prosthetic in his archival duties.
Offering positions within the archival department to these aging warriors was indeed a form of preferential treatment, giving them a chance for a less strenuous yet well-compensated role. But it wasn’t just charity; it was a strategic allocation of valuable human resources. Though their bodies may have been weathered and unfit for frontline combat, their indomitable wills remained as strong as ever. The task of safeguarding countless volumes of books and archives required nothing if not a strong will.
As Vanna took the paper strip with the list of books from the priest, a sense of deep respect filled her. “Thank you,” she said sincerely.
“Be sure to return the books to their proper place after you’ve finished with them. And stay away from any books not mentioned on that list,” the elderly priest cautioned, waving his prosthetic hand for emphasis. “Many volumes here haven’t been touched in years. It’s best to leave them be.”
With that, he returned to his intricate mechanical puzzle, paying no further attention to Vanna, who took no offense. Clutching the paper strip in her hands, she ventured deeper into the bowels of the massive archive.
As she walked, towering bookshelves rose majestically on either side of her, so tall they almost seemed like silent guardians of ancient knowledge. For a fleeting moment, Vanna fantasized that she was navigating through an initiation gauntlet, each bookshelf a sentinel, evaluating her worthiness.
Soon, she located the specific row of bookshelves illuminated by a series of small light bulbs, as mentioned by the priest. She scanned the towering shelves, grateful for her height; she wouldn’t need a ladder to reach the upper shelves, saving her the hassle of navigating through the labyrinthine library with such cumbersome equipment.
Taking a calming breath, Vanna located the beginning of the file sequence, extracted a book designated by its number, and began flipping through its pages. She sought specific information—a fire from eleven years ago that had been officially recorded as an industrial accident.
This wasn’t her first time investigating the incident. As an inquisitor, Vanna had an innate sensitivity to anomalies, including inconsistencies in her own life. She had long been puzzled by the fact that she alone seemed to remember the fire from her childhood. Though she had conducted some private research in the past, it had yielded nothing substantial.
At the time, she quickly shelved the matter, rationalizing her unique memories as the product of a youthful mind clouded by panic and possibly affected by smoke inhalation. She was only twelve years old when the incident happened—far from a devout follower of any deity and not exactly a prodigy of intellect. Given these factors, it seemed plausible that her memories could have been distorted or invented altogether.
Thus, she hadn’t thought much of it for years until her duties brought her back to the files that might finally offer some insight. And so, Vanna delved into the pages before her, hoping this time to unearth something more than empty leads.
Now, the game had changed. Vanna recently discovered she wasn’t alone in her recollection of the fire; others in the city-state of Pland shared her memories of that fateful incident. This revelation reignited all the dormant suspicions and speculations that had lain tucked away in the recesses of her mind. Her “professional vigilance,” honed through years of service as an inquisitor, now sounded a shrill alarm within her.
This heightened sense of caution led her to reject her friend Heidi’s suggestion to “return to the antique shop.” Instead, she decided to wait for the opportunity to examine the protected, non-public archives herself. The reason was straightforward yet chilling: she sensed a dangerous undercurrent to this situation. Manipulating a mass event like a district-wide fire involved altering the collective cognition and memories of thousands of people, a feat that required alarming power and influence. Additionally, the involvement of cultists in other sabotage activities during that year made the situation even more perilous. If a shadowy entity was indeed behind all this, they would undoubtedly take extreme measures to keep the truth buried.
In her mind, the residual memories that she and a girl named Nina retained were likely oversights by whoever orchestrated this massive cover-up. While Vanna wasn’t concerned for her safety, she was deeply worried about Nina, her uncle, and another girl named Shirley, who were just ordinary citizens.
Therefore, she had asked Heidi to refrain from speaking further on the matter. She was careful to tread softly, for fear of alarming the mysterious forces behind the events, and equally cautious about dragging innocents into a dangerous situation.
Vanna’s emotions oscillated between hope and apprehension as she continued to sift through the files. Something had been gnawing at her, giving her the sensation that a third eye was monitoring her every move. This was particularly disconcerting given she was in what should have been the sanctuary of the goddess’s archives, where no dark forces should be able to penetrate—at least, according to her understanding of the divine realm.
In this tense atmosphere, Vanna set aside one file and picked up another, reviewing the latest reports on the city’s activities. The city-state had successfully apprehended many active “Suntists” or sun-worshipping heretics. Whether through sheer resolve or effective intelligence, the city’s actions had substantially reduced the number of these cultists. The prisons under the cathedrals were now overflowing.
Even more intriguing, the motives of these Suntists had been determined. They were searching for a “sun fragment,” an object that had apparently made a brief appearance eleven years ago—the same year as the fire—and was rumored to still be hidden somewhere. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to come together, but the full picture remained elusive, and Vanna knew she had to tread carefully to uncover the truth.
“Sun fragment, the fire from eleven years ago, and even Heidi’s mysterious ‘vision’ at the museum…” Vanna paused in her scanning of the pages, feeling a chill run down her spine. These disparate elements, once nebulous and seemingly unrelated, were now aligning into a pattern too striking to ignore. Her mind raced back to the fire that haunted her memories. “There’s an underlying thread linking these incidents together… That fire wasn’t a figment of my imagination; it was all too real,” she thought.
She caught her breath momentarily, feeling a sense of revelation. As she mulled over these connections, her eyes inadvertently landed on a particularly intriguing entry in the file she held:
“On the [XXXX] day of [XXXX] month, in block [XXXX], a heinous act of heretical worship took place. Three local residents constructed a makeshift altar in the privacy of their home. They performed a blood sacrifice and uttered prayers to an entity not recognized in any existing religious or mythological records. This clandestine ritual caused a wave of palpable fear, inciting nightmares and anxiety among numerous residents in the surrounding area. Though the ritual was eventually exposed and dismantled by authorities, the evidence gleaned from the scene did not correlate with any known malevolent deity or spirit…”
“Despite the fact that rituals based on blind worship are typically ineffective, this one had a demonstrable impact. Residents were psychologically and emotionally affected, indicating that supernatural forces were indeed at play during the time of the event…”
Vanna’s eyes narrowed as she pondered the implications. Could the heretical ritual mentioned in this file have a connection to the fire, the sun fragment, or Heidi’s vision? She considered the notion that the ritual’s success, despite being an act of ‘blind worship,’ suggested a disturbing level of potency for unknown supernatural forces. This brought up unsettling questions. What entity could wield such influence as to cause a ripple effect of panic and nightmares across a community? Was this the same force behind the other mysterious events she was investigating?
The air in the archive room felt denser as she held the file, her thoughts churning in a turbulent sea of uncertainty and fear. But alongside that fear was a steadfast resolve. Vanna knew she was inching closer to unearthing a deeply concealed truth, a revelation that could very well shake the foundations of her city-state, if not the world itself.
She closed the file carefully, placing it back on the shelf, and reminded herself that each piece of information was a stepping stone on a perilous path to understanding. Whatever malevolent force was at play, Vanna was more determined than ever to confront it, armed with the irrefutable weapon of truth.
I think the word touch is missing after to in “Best not to them.”
thanks, i just fixed it
You didn’t, though?
The mystery just keeps getting better