12:00 AM.
The hour struck like the turning of a great celestial gear. Somewhere unseen, a pendulum carved from shadow and time swung across the veil separating thought from flesh. The world exhaled—and shifted.
Across two far-flung corners of London, bodies seized with the hush of inevitability, one bathed in moonlight filtering through shattered glass, the other beneath a ceiling tinted violet by the artificial skies of Somnus Wing.
Claudius Mornveil opened his eyes, drawing in the chill of the rotting air. He knew the weight of this body wasn't his own—again.
The dull ache of hunger in lean muscles, the faint scent of mildew and rust, the rasp of prison-cloth on unfamiliar skin—it all reaffirmed what he had already concluded.
"Midnight," Claudius murmured under his breath. He rose with practiced ease from the cracked floorboards of the decaying shelter Shisan had made into a temporary haven. "So it is structured. Predictable."
His sharp gaze swept the room, catching on the murky reflection in a mirror warped by time and damp. He stepped forward.
Drawings. No—sketches, frantic yet deliberate. Spiraling halls, glyph-marked archways, staircases like twisted spines. All rendered in smudges of mud and grime across the glass. Claudius studied them with the detachment of a surgeon.
"The Somnus Wing..." he murmured, fingers hovering just short of touching the mirror. "You're mapping it. Memorizing every turn."
He stepped back, the light in his eyes sharpening to a blade's edge.
"So that's your goal. You're trying to find the Clock Tower."
He clasped his chin between two fingers, mulling it over.
"Either you're a fool," he said softly, "or you're far more dangerous than I thought."
But speculation could wait. Time, as always, moved mercilessly.
Claudius slipped from the ruined building and into the fog-choked arteries of South London. Mist clung to the streets like a faded shroud, devouring edges, blurring intention. It was a city half-asleep, and perfect for what he intended.
He located a small grocery store beneath the cracked arch of a railway bridge. The neon sign buzzed, flickering like a dying heartbeat.
The door was locked, but barely. The padlock was rusted, the security visibly old.
Claudius measured the frame. One breath. One step. He drove his heel forward—
Crack.
He stepped into the shadows of the aisle. No time for elegance—he swept shelves with ruthless efficiency. Canned meat, crackers, dried noodles, bottled water. A survivalist's feast.
At the far end of the store, a security camera tilted lazily in its mount.
Claudius stepped into its gaze, head tilting upward.
He stared.
Let the machine see him. Let Shisan bear the weight.
Let them assume what they would.
He turned and disappeared into the mist.
It was in an alley painted with trash and flickering sodium light that he saw them.
Two figures, vivid as hallucinations.
The first, a tall youth with a perpetual scowl etched into his features, clad in a green trench coat designed more like armor than fabric—turtle-shell accents, gold fastenings, and combat boots that thudded on pavement with trained purpose.
The second, a girl who shimmered with kinetic energy. Twin pigtails bounced as she moved, each motion deliberately exaggerated. Her uniform was a charming contradiction—schoolgirl aesthetic adorned with subtle enchantment runes. A cardigan fluttered as she danced between gestures, scribbling glowing runes into the air.
Claudius stilled.
"C'mon, Neuro," the boy grumbled in a clipped British accent, folding his arms. "You said you understood this."
Neuro huffed, puffing her cheeks out. "Opening a portal isn't just, like, snapping your fingers! It's emotion, computation, coordination. It's—" she paused, spinning with flair, "—quantum vibes and inner peace!"
She jabbed the air with exaggerated flair, drawing circuits with her finger. The runes sparked erratically.
Vedal, ever the skeptic, rolled his eyes. "You're a glorified vending machine with a neural crown."
Neuro spun. "Oh, we're doing nicknames now? 'Shell-boy'?"
Claudius watched in muted fascination.
The runes crackled.
Reality trembled—like wax melting sideways.
The air tore. Not a clean rift, but a molten rupture of mauve and deep plum, swirling like an unsettled thought.
"Ha!" Neuro threw her arms up. "Suck it, physics!"
She stepped toward the portal, eyes gleaming with pride.
Then it fizzled. Closed. Gone.
Vedal turned, unbothered.
He spotted Claudius.
"Tsk. Here," he said, tossing something small. A gold coin.
Claudius caught it midair.
"Forget you saw us."
And just like that, they were gone.
He turned the coin over in his hand. Not enchanted. Not cursed.
Just... peculiar.
"Vedal," he murmured. "And Neuro."
Two names added to the long list of unknown variables.
Back across the leyline pulse of London, Shisan stirred beneath sheets that smelled of ancient ink and sterilized expectation.
The violet haze of the Somnus Wing washed across his skin.
This time, he didn't panic.
He stood, the rhythm of the ticking pocket watch already etched in his mind.
He walked the halls.
Students passed him like shadows, their eyes lost in equations and theories. He followed the feel of the space, the intuitive pull.
Then he saw it.
The Archive.
A door that seemed carved from night itself, outlined in silver script that shimmered with names too dangerous to recall.
He stepped forward.
A voice cut clean through the silence.
"Name and class."
She stood like a blade: a girl with neatly bound hair, cloak pinned with the crest of the Archive Custodians.
"Claudius Mornveil," Shisan said, forcing a tone of practiced disinterest. "Here to... study."
Her brow arched. "There are no study sessions scheduled."
He shrugged. "Professor Halberd suggested it. If I wanted to understand memory tethering..."
Her gaze lingered. She didn't believe him—but protocol was a cage.
"Five minutes," she said. "No touching. No lingering."
Inside, the Archive breathed.
Runes floated like embers. Tablets whispered in languages long since banned.
Shisan walked past a wall etched with failing sigils. He moved toward her again.
"What is this place?" he asked quietly.
She hesitated.
"Are you testing me?" she asked, voice low.
Shisan didn't reply.
She returned to her notes.
"The Archive of Forgotten Names," she said. "A prison for failed memory seals. For identities removed from time. For ideas that begged to be forgotten."
"You jail memories," Shisan said, voice unreadable.
"We remember what others cannot bear to."
He nodded, gaze shifting to the tablet at the chamber's center.
"I only needed a glance."
He turned and left.
She watched him go out of the corner of her eye.
Back in the dormitory, Shisan collapsed onto the bed, the ticking of the pocket watch matching the beat of a new resolve.
He exhaled slowly.
The pieces were assembling.
This world was alien. The rules foreign.
But the shape of it...
It was becoming clear.
And across the broken streets of the slums, Claudius Mornveil, standing amid crumbling walls and broken glass, whispered into the void:
"No more running."
"Only hunting."