Chapter 9 – Echoes Beneath the Tower
The chill of night clung to the city of Velden like a veil of fog, wrapping its ancient towers and cobbled streets in a silent stillness. Aayu moved through the back alleys with deliberate pace, a dark silhouette that blended into the gloom. The confrontation from earlier still echoed in his mind — the man in black armor who had spoken of the "Shopbearer."
Someone knew. And that was dangerous.
He had barely escaped with his life, slipping into shadow and vanishing before the man could act. But flight was not a solution. Not anymore.
He needed information. He needed leverage.
And he needed power.
Beneath his cloak, the status window flickered softly at the edge of his vision:
> [Level: 5]
[SP: 4]
[Skills: Shadow Veil (Lv.1), Echo Sense (Lv.1), Battle Reflexes (Lv.1)]
[Traits: Keen Intellect (Lv.1)]
He'd earned just enough points from their last ambush on the cultists and surviving the confrontation to consider his next upgrade — but nothing in the shop came cheaply now. Every point needed to be spent with absolute precision.
His goal had shifted. Before, it had been simple: survive, grow stronger, and never trust anyone.
Now, survival alone wouldn't be enough. If others were looking for him, hunting him, then he'd need to start hunting back.
And that meant information.
The Magic Tower.
Velden's Tower was more than a hub for spellcraft — it was a vault of secrets. A place where scholars and mages researched not only elemental incantations but the very fabric of reality. The city's nobles might claim authority, but the Tower knew things. And Aayu needed to know who was after him and why.
Slipping past the outer wards of the Tower wasn't easy, even for someone with Shadow Veil. Arcane defenses crisscrossed its walls like invisible serpents, reacting not just to movement, but to intent.
The Magic Tower loomed like a stone sentinel above the city, its many windows aglow with a soft, pulsing light. Ancient spells laced the very stone it was built with, whispering and humming with quiet menace to those with the senses to hear them. Aayu and Mara crouched in the shadows of an adjacent rooftop, just out of the reach of the protective wards. Below them, two robed apprentices walked the perimeter, speaking in hushed tones.
Mara tapped Aayu's shoulder and pointed toward a balcony four levels up, half-concealed behind a curve in the architecture. "That's the scribe's wing. Less guarded, and the archivist I mentioned is up there."
Aayu nodded. "What's his name?"
"Vellis. Quiet type. Won't talk unless he's forced to. You let me handle him."
She flicked her wrist, producing a small dart laced with sleeproot extract. Aayu didn't ask where she'd gotten it.
As the guards turned the corner, the two of them slipped from the rooftop. Shadow Veil wrapped Aayu's form in dark silence as he dropped soundlessly onto a lower balcony. Mara followed, agile as a cat.
Within seconds, they scaled to the archivist's balcony. The window was locked, but Aayu's fingers moved with practiced ease over the old latch. With a soft click, it gave way.
Inside, the air smelled of parchment, dust, and old magic. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, each stuffed with scrolls and arcane diagrams. Vellis sat hunched over a candle-lit desk, scribing a runic translation with trembling fingers.
Mara approached first, slipping behind him and pressing the dart against his neck. He didn't even flinch.
"We just want a talk, Vellis," she said. "Remember me?"
The man stiffened. His voice, when it came, was hoarse and thin. "You shouldn't be here. The High Pontifex has people watching…"
Aayu stepped forward. "Then you'll understand why this is urgent."
Vellis turned, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Aayu. "You… You're one of them, aren't you? One of the Seven."
Aayu felt a cold weight settle in his chest. The man knew. Somehow, he knew.
"How?" he asked.
Vellis didn't answer right away. He stood and reached for a heavy tome, dragging it from a shelf and slamming it onto the desk. He flipped through the brittle pages until he came to a diagram—a circular seal etched with ancient language.
"I've studied the records of the Pontifex. Centuries ago, there were others—seven chosen by the remnants of the first gods to balance the world's core. They were each gifted unique 'Systems.' Not magic. Not divine blessings. Something older. Deeper."
He looked up. "One of them had a shop. Always one."
Mara blinked. "That's… not common knowledge."
"It's not even supposed to exist," Vellis said. "But the signs are returning. Cult activity is increasing. The Demon Kings are stirring. I don't know what brought the Systems back this time, but if you have one—especially that one—then you're the world's best chance… or its final nail."
Aayu absorbed the information, eyes flickering with quiet intensity. He didn't fully trust Vellis. The man might be telling the truth—or he might be part of the very machine watching for people like him. But if what he said was even half true, it confirmed Aayu's growing suspicion.
The Church knew. The Magic Tower suspected. The nobles whispered. And someone had already begun the hunt.
"I need access to the restricted archive," Aayu said. "The part even the Church doesn't control."
Vellis flinched. "That's suicide."
Mara crossed her arms. "He's not asking."
The archivist hesitated. "The door's beneath the central sigil chamber. Sealed by a six-rune array keyed to the original architects. You'd need their signatures. Bloodline or mimicry. I… I have one, copied from a damaged scroll."
He reached into a drawer, retrieving a glass capsule that shimmered with faint red light.
"It will only work once. And if you're caught, I'll deny everything."
"I wouldn't expect less," Aayu said.
Mara pocketed the capsule. "We're done here."
Vellis gave them one last wary look. "If you fail… they'll know."
Aayu met his gaze. "Then we don't fail."
They left the same way they'd come, shadows slipping between silence.
By the time they reached the underground levels of the Tower, dawn had started to tinge the horizon. A network of ancient tunnels lay beneath the building, most forgotten or sealed. With Echo Sense guiding his steps, Aayu mapped the terrain in real-time, sensing empty space and subtle vibrations.
They reached the sealed chamber. Six runes flickered with low, arcane fire, embedded in a half-moon pattern on the wall.
Mara held up the capsule.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Use it."
She pressed the capsule into the central rune.
The wall shuddered. One by one, the runes flared, then dimmed. A circular panel rotated, revealing a downward staircase carved from obsidian stone. Magic pulsed faintly from the steps.
Neither of them spoke as they descended.
The archive was a single chamber, buried deep beneath the Tower's foundation. Rows of crystal panels hovered mid-air, etched with glyphs and projected memories. Here, the Tower stored not books, but moments—snapshots of past eras, preserved through time spells and sealed echoes.
Aayu walked slowly, letting the Keen Intellect guide his gaze. One crystal glowed faintly different than the rest.
He touched it.
A projection burst from the core. A hooded figure stood over a burning map, speaking in a low, guttural voice.
"They've begun awakening. The Demon Kings will rise one by one. The first seal will crack in the Scorched Wastes. The System-bearers must be dealt with—especially the one with the Shop."
Mara's face tightened. "That's a war council."
Aayu said nothing. The implications were too large to unpack here.
But something else pulled his attention. A second crystal. Dim, almost dead.
He brushed a finger across it.
This time, the vision was… older. Fuzzier. The image of a woman in silver armor, her voice carried with the weight of command.
"To the next one who inherits the Shop—if you are hearing this, then you are already being hunted. Trust no one. Not even the Church. Find the keys. Only with the twelve can the gate be sealed again."
The vision faded.
Aayu stood still, breath slow, chest heavy. He had expected danger. He had expected betrayal.
But now, for the first time, he understood the scale.
He wasn't just fighting for power or survival.
He was standing on the edge of a war centuries in the making, bound by fate to a legacy of predecessors who had failed.
Twelve keys. Twelve Demon Kings. A gate that had to be sealed.
Mara looked at him, her bravado stripped away. "So. What now?"
Aayu's voice was cold, certain.
"Now… we find the first King."