The Deep Archives were no longer silent. The air was filled with the grinding screech of stone rubbing against stone as the Sentinels detached themselves from the architecture. They were massive, hulking forms made of granite and bound by ancient, glowing script. They didn't have faces—just smooth, blank slabs of rock where eyes should be—but they tracked movement with terrifying precision.
"Move!" Vane roared, shoving Elian toward the narrow gap between the bookshelves.
A fist the size of a carriage wheel smashed into the spot where Elian had been standing a second before. The impact sent a tremor through the floor that nearly knocked Elian off his feet. Stone chips exploded like shrapnel, pinging off Vane's obsidian armor.
"There are too many of them!" Elian shouted, coughing in the dust cloud. He counted three... no, four Golems emerging from the shadows.
"Get to the lift!" Vane commanded, swinging his Void-Steel sword. The blade cut through the air with a hum, slicing a deep gouge into the stone arm of the nearest Sentinel. It slowed the monster, but didn't stop it. "I'll draw their fire!"
"You can't fight rock with a sword!" Elian argued, stumbling back as another Sentinel lunged.
"Then use the light!" Vane yelled, ducking under a massive swing. He summoned a tendril of shadow, wrapping it around the Golem's ankle and yanking. The monster stumbled, crashing into a shelf of scrolls. "Like in the arena! Focus it! Cut them!"
Elian's heart hammered against his ribs. He looked at the approaching wall of stone. He felt the rattle in Vane's satchel—a pulse of warm, familiar magic that seemed to be urging him on.
Protect.
Elian planted his feet. He didn't think about the collar choking him or the fear in his gut. He thought about the heat of the sun on the pavement in the Wards. He thought about the anger of being hunted.
He thrust his hands forward.
Sever.
A beam of concentrated solar energy erupted from his palms. It was thinner than the blast in the marketplace, sharper. It was a lance of pure white fire.
It hit the lead Sentinel in the chest. The sound was like a lightning strike. The stone hissed, glowed bright orange, and then melted. The beam punched clean through the Golem's torso, liquefying the runic core inside.
The Sentinel froze mid-stride, then crumbled into a pile of smoking gravel.
"Yes!" Vane shouted, deflecting a blow from another Golem with a shield of solid shadow. "Keep moving! Don't stop!"
Elian fired again, sweating as the heat of his own magic raised the temperature in the freezing archive. He clipped the shoulder of the second Golem, blowing its arm off.
They sprinted through the labyrinth of shelves, dodging falling debris. The Archive was waking up fully now—books were flying off shelves, swirling in a vortex of paper, trying to blind them.
"The lift!" Vane pointed.
The brass cage was ahead, gleaming in the chaotic light. But standing directly in front of it was the largest Sentinel yet—a Guardian made of iron-infused black stone.
It raised a fist, preparing to crush the lift mechanism. If it destroyed the cage, they were trapped down here forever.
"It's going to break the cable!" Elian screamed.
Vane didn't hesitate. He sheathed his sword and sprinted at the Golem.
"Vane, no!"
Vane slid on his knees across the stone floor, going straight between the Golem's legs. As he passed underneath, he slammed his hands onto the floor.
"Shadow-Bind!"
Darkness exploded from the ground, turning into thick, oily chains that wrapped around the Golem's legs, rooting it to the spot. The Golem roared—a sound like twisting metal—and struggled, but Vane held the bind tight, his face grimacing with effort.
"Elian! The head!" Vane shouted, veins popping in his neck. "Take its head off!"
Elian skidded to a halt. He had a clear shot. But Vane was right underneath the monster. If Elian missed... if the blast was too wide...
Trust him, Elian thought. He trusts you.
Elian clasped his hands together, interlacing his fingers to create a focal point. He gathered every scrap of heat in his body, drawing from the broken collar, from the memory of the sun, from the rage of the burned hand.
He fired.
The beam was blinding. It screamed over Vane's head, missing him by inches, and slammed into the Golem's neck.
The iron-stone instantly turned to liquid slag. The Golem's head slid off its shoulders with a wet thud, crashing to the floor. The massive body swayed, then toppled backward, away from Vane.
"Go!" Vane scrambled up, grabbing Elian and throwing him into the brass cage.
Vane dove in after him, slamming the gate shut and hitting the lever.
The gears groaned. The lift jerked upward just as a massive stone fist slammed into the bottom of the shaft, missing them by a fraction of a second.
They rose into the darkness, the sound of the enraged Archives fading below them.
Elian slid down the wall of the cage, gasping for air. His hands were shaking so hard he had to clench them into fists. His vision swam with spots of light.
"You..." Vane was leaning against the opposite wall, breathing hard, soot smeared across his face. He looked at Elian with wide, wild eyes. "You decapitated a Siege-Guardian."
"You slid under its legs," Elian wheezed, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in his throat. "That was the stupidest thing I've ever seen."
"Calculated risk," Vane corrected, though he was grinning. He reached out, grabbing Elian's knee. "You didn't miss."
"I almost didn't shoot," Elian admitted. "I was afraid I'd hit you."
"I knew you wouldn't," Vane said softly.
The lift shuddered as it passed the sub-basement levels. Vane pulled the leather satchel closer, checking the contents. The wooden box was safe.
"We have it," Vane said, his demeanor sobering. "The memory."
Back in the safety of Vane's study, the adrenaline crash hit them both. Vane paced the room, re-activating the privacy wards and checking the hallway for spies. Elian sat at the desk, staring at the wooden box.
"Open it," Vane said, coming to stand behind Elian's chair. He placed a hand on the back of the leather seat, leaning over Elian's shoulder. His presence was a warm, solid weight.
Elian reached out with his uninjured hand. He lifted the lid.
The rattle lay there, the sun-glass still swirling with that trapped golden mote.
"How does it work?" Elian whispered. His voice was raspy; the crack in the collar had widened, allowing him to speak, though it still chafed.
"It responds to your signature," Vane explained. "Touch the glass. Close your eyes. Listen."
Elian took a deep breath. He reached out and pressed his fingertips against the cool glass of the rattle.
Heat.
It wasn't painful. It was a rush of warmth, like stepping into a sunbeam. The room around him—the desk, the books, Vane—faded away.
He was in darkness. But it wasn't scary. It was warm. He was being held. He could feel the rhythmic thumping of a heart against his cheek. He smelled lavender and antiseptic.
Then, a voice. A woman's voice. Not the Queen's cold, icy tone. This voice was frantic, terrified, and thick with tears.
"I won't let her take you," the voice whispered. It sounded like she was running. Her breath came in jagged gasps. "She eats the light, little one. She'll drain you until you're nothing but ash."
The sensation of movement stopped. There was the sound of a door opening.
"Elara," a deep male voice said. "What are you doing? The Queen will have your head."
"She can have it," the woman—Elara Vance, the midwife—hissed back. "But she won't have him. Look at him, Corin. Look at his eyes. He is the True Sol. If she hooks him to the Prism, she'll kill him to feed her vanity."
"We have no choice," the man argued. "The King is dead. She is the Regent."
"We have a choice," Elara insisted. "The other child. The sickly one. The one she ignored because he had no spark."
"You want to swap them?" The man sounded horrified. "That is treason. That is suicide."
"It is mercy," Elara wept. "She won't drain the weak one. She'll ignore him. She'll let him live in luxury while she rules. But this one... this one she will consume. I have to hide him. I have to take him to the shadows where the light doesn't shine."
"Where?"
"The Wards," Elara whispered. "I will bury him in the soot. She never looks down."
The memory shifted. Elian felt a kiss on his forehead—desperate and wet with tears.
"Forgive me, my King," Elara whispered. "I am sentencing you to a life of dirt to save you from a death of gold. Grow strong. Stay hidden. And when the sun burns hot enough... come back and burn them all."
The light faded.
Elian gasped, jerking his hand back from the rattle as if it had bitten him.
He was back in the study. Vane was gripping his shoulder, his face pale.
"Elian?" Vane asked urgently. "What did you see?"
Elian stared at the wall, his chest heaving. Tears were streaming down his face, hot and fast.
"She saved me," Elian whispered, his voice breaking. "The midwife. Elara. She didn't steal me for money. She stole me because the Queen... the Queen was going to eat me."
He looked up at Vane, his violet eyes burning with a new, terrifying clarity.
"She knew," Elian said. "My mother—the Queen—she knew I was the powerful one. And she wanted to use me as a battery from the day I was born. Elara swapped me with Lysander because Lysander was useless to her. He was safe because he was weak."
Vane swore softly, straightening up. "So Lysander isn't just a fake. He's a shield. A decoy meant to survive while the true heir was meant to be sacrificed."
"And now she has me back," Elian said, looking at his burned hand. "She waited twenty years. And in seven days, she's going to finish what she started."
Vane grabbed the rattle and shut the box. "No. She won't."
He walked to the map on the wall—a map of the Lower City and the Wards.
"We have the motive," Vane said, his strategist mind taking over. "We have the testimony of the swap. But a memory in a bottle won't convince the Council. They'll claim it's forged. We need a witness."
"Elara?" Elian asked. "You said she was gone."
"In the memory," Vane said, turning back. "She spoke to a man. 'Corin.' Did you recognize the voice?"
Elian shook his head. "No. But he was... scared. He wanted to help, but he was afraid."
Vane's eyes narrowed. "Corin. Lord Corin historically served as the Captain of the Gate Guard twenty years ago. He retired suddenly after the Eclipse."
Vane walked over to the desk and slammed his dagger into the map, right over a district in the High City known for its reclusive, wealthy retirees.
"Lord Corin is alive," Vane said, a predatory gleam entering his eyes. "He lives in the Gilded Cage district. If he helped Elara smuggle you out... he knows where she is. Or he knows where the records are."
"Then we find him," Elian said, standing up. The exhaustion was gone, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. "And we make him talk."
"Tonight," Vane agreed. "We go tonight."
He paused, looking at Elian.
"But first," Vane said, his voice softening. He reached out and touched the cracked silver collar on Elian's neck. "We need to get this thing off you. It's compromised. If the Queen sees a crack in your leash, she'll know you've been using magic."
"You don't have the key?" Elian asked.
"There is no key for a damaged Silencer," Vane said grimly. "I have to break it. Manually."
He drew a small, thin dagger from his boot. "Hold very still, Elian. I need to cut the magic weave against your throat."