Chapter eighteen: Beneath the Rust

The groan outside faded, but the tension it left behind clung to the air like smoke. Atlus Veneral and Leona Belottie stood back to back in the archive chamber, silent, poised. But when nothing followed—no second sound, no attack—they eased slightly, though neither lowered their guard.

"Just the wind," Leona said, though her hand remained near her blade.

Atlus cast a glance toward the rust-choked corridor. "Kavessra’s wind doesn’t sound like that."

Leona didn’t reply. Instead, she moved toward one of the crates, brushing a layer of dust from the House seal. "You said this was sanctioned. That you’re not breaking any laws."

"I’m not," Atlus said. "But down here, legal and safe are rarely the same thing."

She gave a small nod. "Fair."

He studied her then, the lines of tension around her shoulders, the way she kept her weight balanced—ready to move in any direction. "You were trained. Not just in fighting. You move like someone who’s had years of conditioning."

Leona met his gaze. "I was born into it."

Atlus tilted his head. "Which House?"

She hesitated only for a second. Then: "Sylvaen."

Atlus blinked. "You’re the Sylvaen princess."

"The youngest daughter," she corrected. "And yes. I never lied about it. I just didn’t see a reason to shout it in the Lower Ring."

"It matters," he said. "It always matters."

She leaned against the nearest shelf, folding her arms. "And what about you? You’ve got the bearing of nobility, but none of the chains."

He smirked. "House Veneral. One of the top five. Our holdings go deep in the upper city—technology, preservation, reconstruction. My father’s still alive, but… distant. Cold. Always more interested in politics than people. My mother died when I was young. My sister—she was blinded in the same incident."

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Leona’s gaze softened, just a little. "I’m sorry."

"It was a long time ago. Doesn’t mean it didn’t shape everything."

She was quiet for a moment. "And your sister?"

"Smartest person I know," he said. "She sees more clearly than most of the council, even without her eyes."

Leona offered a faint smile. "You speak of her with pride."

"She deserves it."

They stood in the dim light of the archive, surrounded by sealed crates and forgotten history. The silence between them no longer felt tense. It was something else now. Consideration. Curiosity.

"So what’s a Veneral heir doing crawling through archive dust and chasing glyph trails in the Lower Ring?" Leona asked.

"Trying to rebuild what complacency and politics burned down," Atlus said. "We were once stewards of knowledge—preservers of memory. But war twisted that legacy into silence. I want to bring it back."

Leona regarded him. "So you're a reformer."

"I’m a realist," he corrected. "If we don’t recover what we’ve lost, Kavessra will keep rotting from the inside out."

She exhaled, her breath misting faintly in the chill of the archive. "And you think these memory cores will give you that?"

"I think they’ll give us options," he said. "And this city is running out of those."

She stepped closer to one of the humming cores, tracing the faint glyphwork embedded in its casing.

"Back home, we used to believe memory wasn’t just information. It was spirit. A fragment of the soul, waiting to be shared."

Atlus watched her. "Do you believe that?"

"I want to," she said softly. "But belief is hard to hold when everything around you is built to break it."

He nodded. "That’s why I need control. Not to dominate. But to shape. To guide. If we don’t take the reins, someone worse will."

Leona tilted her head. "And what makes you sure you’re better?"

He smiled, but there was no smugness in it. Only a flicker of honesty. "Because I’m still asking myself that question."

They stood together in the flickering light of the archive, not allies yet, not friends. But no longer strangers.

"Tell me something true," Atlus said after a moment. "Something real."

Leona’s voice was quiet. "My people believe the forest chooses its rulers. I never expected to be chosen. I still don’t know if I was."

Atlus reached into one of the crates and withdrew a small memory shard, setting it on a console. "And I believe cities choose their saviors. Sometimes, reluctantly."

A soft chime sounded. The shard blinked to life, casting swirling light across the chamber.

Leona looked to him. "So what now?"

He met her eyes. "Now, we start remembering."

Outside, Kavessra groaned again—but neither of them flinched.