Arashi hesitated at the archive door, one hand on the latch. Elder Takuma's words echoed in his mind: stay here, lock the door. But the commotion outside was growing louder, shouts of alarm, the clatter of armor, and that eerie, otherworldly wailing that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
His fingers traced the worn wood of the door frame, feeling the subtle grooves left by generations of archivists before him. This was where he belonged, among the scrolls and codices, preserving knowledge, not hiding while others faced danger. Even as a child, he'd never been able to quell his need to understand, to witness, to know. It had earned him countless scoldings from his guardians and the grudging respect of his peers.
With a deep breath that tasted of dust and old parchment, he pushed the door open and stepped outside.
Meirōmura had transformed in the brief time he'd been inside the archive. The festive atmosphere had evaporated, replaced by urgent activity as villagers rushed to secure their homes. Parents gathered children, shopkeepers barricaded doors, and the few with combat experience hurried toward the eastern wall with whatever weapons they could find.
The scent of abandoned festival foods, sweet dumplings and grilled meats, mingled with the sharp tang of fear-sweat and the metallic bite of weapons being hastily distributed. Somewhere, a child was crying, the sound quickly hushed by a worried parent.
The sky above had changed too. Though it was mid-morning, an unnatural crimson tinge colored the clouds, giving everything beneath them a blood-washed appearance. Arashi had heard tales of such omens, but had always dismissed them as superstition, preferring the rational explanations found in the older texts he'd discovered hidden behind the more commonly read scrolls.
"You should be inside," came a stern voice. Captain Hiro approached, his Resonance-enhanced spear gleaming with faint blue light that hummed softly, a sound just at the edge of hearing that made Arashi's molars ache. The captain was one of Meirōmura's three active Resonants, having achieved Minor Harmony, barely enough to handle stray Hollow Ones, but impressive for a border village. His weathered face bore the marks of many battles, including a scar that ran from temple to jaw, pulling his right eye into a permanent squint.
"I wanted to see what's happening," Arashi replied, straightening to his full height, though he still fell short of the captain's imposing stature. He brushed a lock of unruly black hair from his eyes, a gesture he fell back on whenever nervous but trying to appear composed. "Maybe I can help."
Hiro's expression softened slightly, the permanent furrow between his brows easing. He'd always had a soft spot for the orphaned archivist, though he'd never admit it openly. "Your eagerness does you credit, but this is Resonant business." He placed a calloused hand on Arashi's shoulder, the weight of it betraying the tremor that his voice did not. "Elder Takuma specifically instructed that you remain indoors." His eyes narrowed. "He seemed particularly concerned about your safety."
Before Arashi could respond, the wailing sound came again, closer now. It wasn't simply loud, it resonated in Arashi's chest cavity, vibrated in his bones, and left a coppery taste in his mouth. Hiro tensed, gripping his spear tighter, the knuckles of his hand whitening around the shaft.
"Go back inside, boy," he ordered, but there was something in his tone beyond the usual gruff command, a note of genuine concern. "If you want to help, keep our knowledge safe. That's your duty as an archivist."
But I'm more than just an archivist, Arashi thought, though he didn't voice it. He'd always felt that way, that his role, his purpose, extended beyond the careful preservation of scrolls and the meticulous copying of fading texts.
With that, the captain turned and jogged toward the eastern wall, leaving Arashi standing alone in the emptying street. For a moment, he considered obeying, returning to the safety of the archive. But something pulled at him, the same inexplicable force he felt whenever he passed the Echo Chamber, but stronger now, insistent, like a hook lodged behind his sternum.
Instead of retreating, Arashi moved swiftly through the village, taking back alleys to avoid those who might send him home. The narrow passages between buildings smelled of damp earth and the remnants of last night's cooking fires. Underfoot, the cobblestones were slick with morning dew, forcing him to watch his step even as his attention was drawn eastward.
As he neared the eastern section, the pressure behind his eyes intensified until spots danced in his vision. Yet beneath the discomfort was a certainty he couldn't explain: he needed to witness what was happening. Not just to satisfy his curiosity, though that burned in him as it always had, but because somehow, he was connected to whatever approached.
The eastern wall stood thirty feet high, built of ancient stone reinforced over generations. Unlike the grand barricades of major Vesper cities with their gleaming metal and Resonance-enhanced barriers, Meirōmura's wall was simple but sturdy, until now, it had been enough to deter the occasional wandering Hollow One. Arashi ran his fingers along the stone as he approached, feeling the cool, rough texture and the faint vibrations within, something he'd noticed since childhood but had never mentioned, assuming everyone felt it.
A narrow staircase at the wall's northern edge led to the walkway atop it. Arashi slipped past a group of worried villagers and began to climb, his heart pounding more from anticipation than exertion. The worn stone steps beneath his feet had been polished smooth by generations of guardsmen, and in places still bore the faint echo of Resonant markings from some long-forgotten enhancement ritual.
At the top, he pressed himself against the stone, staying low to avoid being spotted by the guards clustered near the center of the wallwalk. From here, he could see over the wall to the wasteland beyond, a bleak expanse of withered trees and crumbling ruins that separated Vesper from its neighbors. The wind carried the scent of ash and decay, the unmistakable odor of land touched by the Hollowing.
And there it was.