Morning sunbeams drift sloppily through tall windows casting long dark shadows across cracked stone floors beneath. Dust hangs heavy in air caught in quiet awkward spirals as students shuffle listlessly through narrow dimly lit corridors of school. Voices ripple softly outside with a familiar hum of day slowly waking up neither rushed nor quite fully alert yet.
Erian saunters along with hands shoved deeply into pockets of his tattered old coat and his head hung low. Weight from last night still hangs heavily over me. Voices all around him seem eerily muffled and curiously distant like faint echoes reverberating through a long desolate tunnel. He ponders with great curiosity how others somehow manage trudging along quite normally amidst glaring troubles.
Notices for club meetings and a debate on urban renewal are plastered alongside a fresh flyer for guest lecture on peeling walls.
Dr. Halden Mire's name stands boldly at top right alongside research on Spatial Cognition and obscure Memory Structures somehow today. Name feels hazily familiar yet fails to jog recollection he can easily isolate amidst jumbled broken shards of memory stored deep within. He blinks rapidly and moves on with remarkably light footsteps on worn floorboards beneath his feet very silently.
A small crowd murmurs quietly in great anticipation near main hall. Odballs from neighboring departments with skepticism laced on their faces and architecture students like him mostly gather there but a few stray elsewhere. Someone whispers rather loudly that he's bloody brilliant supposedly.
Erian slips into Room 2B beneath dim fluorescent lights that cast a harsh glow almost blindingly brilliant with stealthy ease. Frosty lecture hall atmosphere envelops him snugly like a tattered cardigan worn supple from countless affectionate wearings over many years.
He settles into a worn seat pretty far back and a creaky old wooden bench groans softly beneath his considerable bulk as he lowers himself. He yanks out his tattered notebook pretty quickly with pages eerily blank and waiting very silently for scribbled secrets beneath worn covers.
Soft mutterings die down slowly outside in morning darkness and door up front bursts open with a loud jarring crash. Attention snaps forward suddenly across a dimly lit room with people staring intently at something utterly captivating over there. A lanky guy slips inside dimly lit rooms with stealthy steps alongside an awkward gait pretty quietly underneath dark surroundings.
He moves stealthily through crowded areas where his presence naturally draws gazes and commands a lot of attention very quietly always. He flaunts a sharply tailored suit beneath a dark heavy overcoat slung haphazardly over one arm with eerily surprising precision. Silver streaks liberally sprinkle throughout his combed-back hair and catch light nearly always in a dazzling rather extravagant display. His eyes flicker faintly with weirdly muted glee yet appear glacially cold and eerily sharp beneath surface calm in that strange moment.
He pauses scanning room slowly beneath flickering fluorescent lights letting oppressive stillness quietly smother lingering doubts in hushed minds very quietly.
"I'm Dr. Halden Mire," he begins in a smooth, steady voice, rich with a quiet authority that makes the air feel heavier. "Thank you for welcoming me to your college this semester. He begins in a smooth steady voice rich with quiet authority that makes air feel heavier slowly surrounding him.
A few students exchange glances; others lean in. His words feel like a promise wrapped in a riddle.
Erian feels an icy dread seep slowly down his back amidst unusual warmth in room. Mire's eyes flicker towards him for barely a heartbeat and something about that glance utterly unsettles him profoundly.
Erian's thoughts drift tangled in fragments of dreams and half-forgotten monikers but lecture begins slowly amidst haze of morning grogginess. City outside breathes on heedlessly ensnared by unseen threads pulling ominously tighter around everyone.
The lecture isn't what Erian expected.
No slides exist and jargon-heavy monologues are noticeably absent. Dr. Mire paces languidly up front speaking in a reminiscent tone rather than elucidating stuff with considerable hesitation obviously. His words drip with cautious precision almost too fastidious in tone like each phrase was painstakingly selected long before he materialized.
He rambles on about memory being a weird behavioral quirk rather than some tangible repository or static entity. People subtly reconfigure spaces in their minds unwittingly overlaying emotional resonance on architectural frameworks and crafting highly personal invisible topographies.
"You return to a place years later, and it's smaller than you remember," Mire says, pausing at the chalkboard, not writing a thing. "It's not the place that changed. It's your memory of yourself in it."
Some students look lost. A few glance at each other, unsure if they're supposed to be taking notes.
Erian finds himself leaning forward quite unconsciously and with considerable enthusiasm in his chair suddenly. Mire's manner of speaking tugs vaguely at fringes of concepts he's never quite managed to articulate fully in his life somehow. Scratching furiously at faded wallpaper reveals another dingy wall lurking obscurely behind it in a haze of grime and neglect.
Mire keeps speaking.
"Now imagine the inverse. A place that remembers you. Remembers every step you've taken inside it. Remembers how you breathed, when you hesitated at the threshold. A structure with memory—far older than yours."
Someone in the front row mutters a joke under their breath. The room gives a nervous laugh.
Erian doesn't apparently and vehemently refuses or so it seems. His hand lies motionless upon a page with pen remaining curiously untouched nearby. A knot tightens deeply inside him. Something in professor's words resonates truth heavily but gets shrouded deeply in fiction. Maybe it's other way around entirely now.
The lecture ends without fanfare. Mire nods once, says "thank you," and steps away from the podium.
Students begin to file out, a low buzz of conversation trailing with them.
Erian hesitates. His bag is still by his feet.
As he rises to leave, Mire's voice cuts through the shuffle of chairs and scraping desks.
"Mr. Martin, is it?"
Erian turns. "Yeah. Sorry, did I..?"
"No apology needed. I just wanted to say... You were listening. Not just hearing. That's rare."
Mire's tone isn't flattering. It's observational, like he's commenting on the weather.
Erian gives a slight nod. "Your lecture was... different. Not in a bad way."
"Different is sometimes the only honest way left." Mire smiles again, faint and unreadable. "I'll be giving another talk next week. I'd be interested to hear your thoughts afterward."
Erian says something polite he isn't even sure what and turns to go.
But as he walks down the hallway, past rows of closed doors and ancient radiators that never seem to work, he can't shake the feeling that he's just been... noted.
Not just seen. Tagged. Remembered.
Silence falls heavily down that hallway more profoundly than expected ordinarily. Erian ambles along quite slowly letting most students surge ahead rapidly down hallway. His bag dangled rather haphazardly beside him with a gentle swaying motion.
Behind him an echo of raucous laughter fades rapidly as some classroom door creaks shut very slowly with a muffled thud. He strides past west stairwell then halts abruptly. A weirdness permeates atmosphere rather quietly and darkness gathers pretty slowly outside. Suddenly everything shut off. A door exists suddenly behind her. In places that shouldn't exist normally somehow.
It's hidden away at end of short dingy corridor typically terminating abruptly against wall near custodian's cramped supply closet. Plain as day a door exists now starkly before us and it's pretty obvious. Dull beige metal glints faintly under layers of grime and dust on surface of battered old machinery. There was not a single window anywhere. Labeling remains conspicuously absent.
A handle is notably absent. Right over there apparently. His gaze fixes on it with brows furrowed deeply. He walked down that dimly lit corridor a whole bunch of times before and it still unsettled him greatly. Never has a door existed here apparently. Softly a gentle voice behind him cuts in suddenly.
"You okay, man?"
Erian turns.
Erian turns abruptly. "You okay man?"Rhett lags a few steps behind with scarf dangling precariously off one shoulder."Yeah," Erian says, blinking once. "Just… thought this wall looked different."
Nina squints at the door. "That's always been there, hasn't it?"
"No," he says. "It hasn't."
They look at him, then back at the door. Nina stands beside him holding a takeaway coffee precariously in one hand with a folder clamped firmly under her other arm."Maybe it's a storage thing. Erian blinks once and says yeah pretty quietly. Nina squints kinda hard at a door that looks vaguely different from what she vaguely remembers."C'mon, the café line's still short before the first-years swarm it."
Erian hesitates. That's always lurked beneath hasn't it? No he says quite bluntly. They glance his way then back toward door with utter disinterest. Rhett shrugs nonchalantly behind a facade of studied indifference. Maybe storage capacity is kinda limited. Maybe some dingy storage room or faculty closet exists somewhere in the vicinity."You were weirdly quiet during that lecture," Rhett says as they descend the stairs. "That dude had you hypnotized."
Nina sips her coffee. "Dr. Mire? He waves vaguely toward stairs. Who really cares anyway? C'mon café line's still pretty short before first-years swarm it. Erian hesitates quietly now. She took another glance quickly at door."Ten bucks says he's building a mind palace out of teeth or whatever."
Erian doesn't laugh, but a corner of his mouth twitches.
"Still," Rhett adds. "The guy seemed to notice you."
Erian shrugs. "He just said I was listening."
Nina hums. "That's how it starts."
They step out into the courtyard. Label remains noticeably absent still. It's eerily silent over there now. He exhales slowly through nose and turns abruptly away from bright light.
Warm light hums softly from pendant bulbs overhead in the café filling it with a half full gentle glow. Smell of burnt espresso and stale sweet treats hangs heavy like a specter of some fleeting morning long lost. Erian sits opposite Rhett and Nina at a rickety table beside a corner window. His tea grows cold slowly beside him on the worn wooden table. Grey sky hangs low outside looking washed out a bit like murky dawn on some indeterminate day utterly lacking seasonal character. Rhett stands squarely amidst chaos of unfolding narrative somehow precariously balancing multiple plot threads. A botched collaborative endeavor somehow precipitated catastrophe as someone tumbled right through a miniature roof constructed painstakingly on scale. Erian's kinda lagging behind somewhat awkwardly now. He gazes intently at Rhett's hands moving swiftly and Nina smirks quietly still fixated on her phone screen completely absorbed."You good?" she asks without lifting her head. "You're doing that thing where your face goes blank and you look like you're trying to remember if you left the oven on."
"I don't have an oven," Erian says.
"Exactly."
He gives a half smile. She asks pretty casually if you're okay without so much as peeking up from whatever has her so engrossed. You're doing that thing again where your face freezes up and you appear utterly befuddled. Erian says I don't have an oven."Still thinking about Professor Mike?" Rhett asks.
"Dr. Mire," Erian corrects, automatically.
"Right, right. He flashes a somewhat enigmatic half smile pretty quickly now. She delicately sips tea from a dainty cup. Things have soured remarkably already."I'll say this — for a guest lecturer, he knows how to hold a room."
"He knows how to pin it down and study it like a pinned butterfly," Erian mutters.
Rhett asks if she's still dwelling on Professor Mike. Erian corrects him sharply saying Dr Mire automatically."Something about the way he talked. Yeah sure thing. Some guy remembered everything pretty vividly down by the old oak tree on somewhat foggy mornings. Cerebral matter and grand edifices exist everywhere. Nina lowers her phone slowly and raises an eyebrow rather quizzically at utterly super normal stuff on its screen suddenly."What thing?"
He leans forward, voice lower. "Somebody found a body last night. He riles up room pretty damn well for some visiting prof. Erian mutters under her breath that he can analyze stuff with unnerving intensity. Both of them gaze rather intently at him now. He shrugs awkwardly beneath worn leather jacket."What time?"
"No idea. Something peculiar lurked beneath way he spoke slowly and awkwardly with utter nonchalance every single time. He seemed to know something others had forgotten. Nina says or maybe we're not privy to it just yet somehow. Silence falls heavily on them suddenly. Café noise swirls around clinking cups and laughter from a table beneath a window with a low hiss emanating from milk steamer. Rhett blurts out did either of you lot hear about that kerfuffle near east platform and Nina scowls deeply afterwards."She wouldn't say. What thing? He leans forward with voice lowered somewhat awkwardly. Somebody stumbled upon a corpse pretty late last night under rather mysterious circumstances outside her house nearby. Totally rad physiques require total devotion and grueling regimes almost daily with utter dedication to form. The patient was pronounced dead quietly in his sleep at dawn."You okay?" Nina asks.
Erian's gaze sharpens behind maintenance scaffolding near a tram loop."Yeah. "What time precisely?" "No bloody idea whatsoever."Pretty early morning sunlight filtered through trees. He arrived tardily. My roommate's cousin works alongside response teams but it's not official yet somehow. He said pretty much exactly that it looked bizarrely similar underneath old yellowed torn pages of a dog-eared notebook. Nina asks rather pointedly how bad it actually was. She refused point-blank to comment on rumours.
Tram ride back proceeds quietly. Pale afternoon light seeps slowly through windows and stretches dark twisted shadows right across vacant seats rather eerily. Erian sits alone near back one leg crossed over other his fingers resting motionless on knee. Track hum beneath him remains oddly steady almost eerily comforting. He assures himself rather quietly that he's merely heading back home very slowly under cover of darkness tonight. He utterly refuses to believe that bizarre claim.
Tram passes central loop slowly and decelerates rather abruptly now. Scaffolding is stacked haphazardly on east platform which flickers into view with cones still blocking one section unevenly. Overhead lamps glow brightly already casting long tired light across concrete in a somewhat desultory manner.
He yanks cord vigorously. Tram hisses loudly down suddenly at stop. Nobody else gets released quickly today. He found platform surprisingly frosty beneath his feet. He zips coat up somewhat hesitantly and steps out slowly into pervasive stillness surrounding him eerily outside. Not a solitary soul was present there. Not a single high-ranking government official was present there apparently.
Usual hum of distant traffic droned on and mechanical grind of tram pulled away slowly behind him with a screeching racket. He saunters by a faded sign still proclaiming maintenance in progress behind it scaffolding juts out haphazardly like skeletal remains metal beams swathed in tattered plastic sheeting. Much of it appears largely unaltered. One corner near base of rusted support beam appears darker still. Stone patch scrubbed spotless eerily.
Blood is noticeably absent. Tape is utterly nonexistent here. Something pristine exists only after removal of something else entirely. Erian kneels slowly with fingers hovering over concrete. Heat has utterly dissipated here now. There was an utter lack of any discernible fragrance whatsoever in the air. A creepy void makes hairs stand on his arms awkwardly somehow. Heavy footsteps echoed loudly outside. He turns with sudden rapidity. A janitorial drone rolled quietly past other side of tracks. Its lights flicker dimly right past him with eerie irregularity.
He stands very still amidst utter silence. Tension builds rapidly inside his ribcage and something snaps tight with a quiet jolt beneath flesh. Wind picks up steadily outside now. It rattles scaffolding above with sound eerily hollow and brittle. He notices it faintly carved into beam's underside near tarp hooks on frame just as he's about to step back slowly. Something quite obtuse serves effectively as a symbol. Spray paint should not be used here obviously.
Obviously not ink was used for writing this document or was it merely a substitute lying around haphazardly on some dusty shelf. An obscure something got etched deeply. Circle exists quietly within darkness. Inside it a shape resembling some kinda spiral or possibly a gnarly maze exists. He stares intently at it unsure if he's really seeing something or just conjuring intricate patterns in worn rusty metal. Suddenly a fierce gust blows right through trees. Tarp lifts slightly upwards snapping back loudly against frame with jerky motion suddenly.
He moves stealthily away from darkness into a faintly lit area. Stuff that went down apparently wasn't some arbitrary chaos. Nor did it originate here apparently either. He ambles slowly backward toward streetlights gleaming brightly overhead. His pulse beats remarkably steady now underneath extremely tender skin. Overly consistent behavior can sometimes be perceived as rigid and boring quietly undermining social connections for an individual over time. Something lurks menacingly from behind rusty metal bars. Anticipation hung heavily in stillness.
City feels somewhat diminutive somehow during walk back home slowly under dusky twilight. Much quieter too. Quite unpeacefully and with much turmoil.
Something's lurking quietly beneath surface tension and weirdly staying very still there holding its breath in a pretty awkward manner. Erian's hands remain buried deep in coat pockets with shoulders somewhat hunched over against an insistent wind not particularly cold. Streets aren't empty but people are hurrying quicker than usual like they all somehow sense something's off yet can't quite put their finger on it. By time he reaches his building sun has dipped pretty low dragging long shadows over narrow street. Stairwell reeks of rusty water seeping from decrepit pipes. He strides up quickly taking two steps at a time with reckless abandon.
Inside a flat looks pretty dimly lit now. His kitten waited curled up exactly where he left it in a chair by a window half asleep with tail flicking wildly. Erian quietly locks door behind him. Sound is markedly louder now than it ought to. He drops his bag beside table shrugs off coat and stands eerily still amidst swirling shadows in room for quite long awkward moment. He stays still and thoughts cease swirling around him furiously under surface of his strained silence almost eerily quieting the turmoil. They just don't apparently. He wanders over to a window and stares bleakly out across dingy rooftops shrouded in mist. MK-A units lumber through distant streets as hulking mechanical silhouettes that look eerily fake until sound of labored breathing becomes audible nearby. He yanks a tattered curtain shut rather abruptly. He sets kettle on flame and it hisses pretty softly now over high heat. Mostly habit. He doesn't feel much like drinking some ale or anything really. The symbol loomed ominously. Pencil lines dance across a dog-eared notebook page quickly and hesitantly in rough sketchy strokes with great uncertainty.
Circle exists quietly within darkness. Something twisted into a spiral. Maybe it was sort of a gnarly maze underground. He's uncertain about its preciseness somewhat obviously. Memories feel fuzzy around edges like some dream slowly unraveling further as he struggles quite desperately to grasp it tightly again. Kitten meows softly hopping down stairs and padding over his master's feet very gently on quiet morning. He snatches it up absentmindedly and its warmth seeps deeply into his chest like some heavy anchor sinking slowly downwards."You didn't see any strange doors today, huh?" he murmurs.
He murmurs softly, "You didn't see any weird portals or secret doors today huh?"It blinks up kinda hesitantly at him and purrs real faintly under his chin with its head pressed in tight. He settles in with notebook clutched tightly in one hand and other hand laid gently upon kitten's soft fur. Something peculiar exists about spiral formations inherently. Familiarity breeds a certain contempt quietly within. Something far more profound lurks beneath surface appearances. Mimicking some nebulous idea not originally his own quite faintly resonates deeply within. Kettle clicks off loudly on countertop. He remains perfectly still in silence.
The notebook lies quite open on his cluttered old desk amidst scattered papers and broken pencils. Erian glares intently at rough spiral sketch tapping pencil fervently against page. Lines are somewhat awry. Suspiciously tidy somehow.
Scaffold underside was rough and jagged somehow unevenly. It looks like someone scratched it in manually with some metal object pretty roughly by hand. Marked rather than drawn with considerable haste and utter lack of finesse. He slowly opens laptop with considerable trepidation nearby on table. Screen glow pierces eerily through silence and darkness surrounds everything. He types in a few words:
spiral symbol
carved spiral circle symbol meaning
and graffiti maze symbol city
Mostly junk. Pages of conspiracy forums, occult blogs, dense rambling manifestos. Some talk of looping patterns, ancient markings, spatial distortions. A few diagrams come close mostly theoretical. Nothing that matches exactly.
One thread catches his eye. Deep in an old archive, badly formatted. No avatar. Username redacted. Timestamp from four years ago.
"Saw it once. Same shape. Near South Canal sector. No one believed me. Few days later the whole tunnel was sealed. Still don't know why."
He reads it again.
South Canal.
He's passed it plenty of times. It's sealed now, officially due to "infrastructure damage," but he remembers the stories. A collapse. A fire. Rumors. The usual noise.
He writes the location down in the margin.
Another thread spirals off about "looping sigils" and "memory recursion," but it's disjointed, bordering on incoherent. Still, the phrasing clings to him.
He shuts the browser and flips through an old notebook instead. Notes from last year. A section on spatial design, pattern repetition, sacred geometry. Circles. Labyrinths. Memory as space.
He pauses there.
Not because it makes sense. But because it feels like it should.
He closes the book.
Kitten perches precariously on worn velvet chair watching him intently with big round eyes now. Its tail flicks once in a languid manner like an obscure punctuation mark settling heavily onto a page at dusk.
"You don't know anything about symbols,"
Erian mutters. Erian mutters darkly under his breath that you know squat about mystic symbols. Kitten blinks quite slowly with eyes still heavy from sleep. He keeps staring intently across the room. He stands up quickly and begins pacing restlessly around the room with an air of agitation. That thing was hardly some arbitrary occurrence. Someone deliberately carved it with some obscure intent apparently. A fatality occurred nearby somehow. Now it's lodged pretty deeply in his brain like some nasty splinter he futilely tries to yank out with maddening frequency.
His phone buzzes.
A message from Rhett:
"Bro. Just saw like six MK-A units rushing down 14th. Something's up?"
Erian doesn't answer. Not yet.
He opens a clean page in his notebook and writes at the top:
South Canal.
Beneath it:
Find the connection.
Evening draws near rather quickly now. Outside Erian's window sky has dimmed slowly into a deep dusty blue hue rather rapidly overnight somehow. Urban illumination bursts forth sporadically in haphazard aggregations across darkened landscapes at dusk. Streetlamps hum loudly overhead at dusk. A tram shudders past somewhere down block with familiar low mechanical groan very slowly and somewhat jerkily.
Stuff appears fairly normal nowadays. Not quite apparently. Rhett's message remains unanswered by him still. He glances furtively at it again and again as if expecting some transformation upon waiting sufficiently long enough. Kitten curls in tight little ball on windowsill barely moving slowly under warmth of afternoon sunbeams streaming through dusty panes. Erian sips rather tepid tea staring out vaguely into space with an air of quiet listlessness. Suddenly a loud knock echoes through darkness. Just a soft precise knock echoed through silence not some heavy slam from a neighbor or distant echo of someone else's visitor. There were exactly three taps altogether.
He sets cup down rather quickly and walks out door. Nobody's lurking around there apparently. He glances down awkwardly. A thin envelope lies just outside his flat on floor. Off-white with absolutely no distinguishing markings whatsoever and a rather bland overall appearance exists. Stamp is noticeably absent. ERIAN MARTIN scrawled in tiny blocky letters just his name on paper quite neatly. Tightness spreads rapidly through his stomach. He lifts it gingerly and shuts door behind him sliding hefty iron bolt quietly into its socket. He flips envelope over quickly at table.
Return address was curiously absent from package. Not a single seal was spotted there. Just paper lies there quietly. Thick matte stock typically used for formal notices or fancy wedding invites has a distinctly luxurious feel somehow. Gently he opens it very slowly. Inside there exists a solitary sheet of paper folded rather neatly. Nothing was conveyed whatsoever in that utterly blank transmission.
Sender remains unidentified somehow. Barely any preamble exists here. Maybe it was just a crudely hand-drawn image photocopied from some tattered ancient original lying around in a dusty forgotten corner. Something curved like a spiral vaguely resembled a twisted coil winding rather sloppily around a largely invisible central axis. Not same guy he spotted previously down by old warehouse on waterfront. That particular one appears somewhat more intricate now. Intricately patterned fabrics were carefully crafted. Nearly so in a structurally architectural manner somehow.
It resembles a blueprint sort of vaguely. He glares intensely at it beneath flickering fluorescent lights for quite a while longer than necessary perhaps.
On the bottom corner, in small typewritten font:
"The first key is where the spiral breaks."
That's all.
He flips it over. Nothing on the back. The paper smells faintly of dust and something else something like ink and stone.
Erian sets it down next to the sketch in his notebook. They aren't identical, but they echo each other.
He leans back in the chair, hands folded over his mouth.
Someone knows he saw the symbol.
Someone's trying to lead him somewhere.
The air in the flat feels heavier now. Thicker. Not dangerous, just full like the world around him shifted a few degrees sideways and didn't tell him.
The kitten stirs, stretches, and blinks at him from the windowsill.
He doesn't say anything.
He just keeps staring at the spiral.
Erian folds spiral drawing quite carefully and slips it into a worn leather bag beside his lunchbox. Fingers brush over worn leather strap slowly as he steps outside into fading evening light.
Campus ambiance grows quieter now with usual hum of students dissipating slowly as daylight fades gradually toward evening darkness. Soft hum of MK-A patrols in distance vibrates eerily through air just enough that it reminds him nothing remains perfectly still here. He heads vaguely toward South Canal a location he'd hastily scribbled in his battered notebook under flickering fluorescent lights.
Mysterious stories shrouded this place with whispers of eerie happenings and decrepit infrastructure failures behind sealed tunnels and abandoned passageways. Streets narrow rapidly away from central square and buildings loom increasingly tall with oppressive grandeur. Shadows stretch long across cracked pavement but pale winter sky lingers still casting a washed-out eerie glow somehow outside. A rusted gate bars way at canal entrance slowly.
Official notices plastered everywhere read Area Closed: Structural Instability in bold letters. Yellow warning tape listlessly flapping wraps sloppily around rusty old fence posts.
Erian glances around frantically then notices a small gap where torn tape hangs limply from rough edges. He strides purposefully through darkness. Air inside smells vaguely of dampness and metal tang faintly. Faint echoes ripple off water very slowly and cascade down rough concrete surfaces somewhat haphazardly.
A spiral symbol eerily reminiscent of some twisted floor plan from the drawing resurfaces in his mind pretty suddenly. Was it here somewhere actually? Something lies obscured deep within labyrinth. Suddenly a loud scrape against rough stone makes him stop dead in his tracks and freeze utterly still. Faintly footsteps echoed deliberately in distance with soft click.
He ducks behind a concrete pillar, heart pounding.
The shadows shift.
A figure appears at the far end of the tunnel, tall, coat pulled tight. The outline is sharp and precise, as if carved from the dark itself.
Erian's breath catches.
The figure pauses, then mutters, almost to himself:
"Cycles never learn... always the same mistakes."
Erian's voice is barely a whisper as he replies:
"Who's there?"
No answer.
The figure steps forward slowly, and Erian can make out sharp eyes glinting in the dim light.
"Looking for answers won't save you," the figure says, voice cold and measured.
"Maybe I'm not looking to be saved," Erian retorts, trying to sound braver than he feels.
The figure chuckles, dark and low.
"Brave or foolish. Sometimes they're the same thing."
Then, without another word, the figure turns and vanishes into the shadows.
Erian exhales, steadying himself.
The spiral was more than a symbol. It was a calling.
And now, the hunt had truly begun.
Erian emerges slowly from shadowy South Canal entrance and fading chill prickles rather intensely at his skin down there. His heart still thumps steadily like a drum deep inside him on quiet evenings. MK-A units patrol nearby with a low mechanical pulse and trams rumble distantly amidst muffled conversations that hum softly around him.
He pulls his coat tighter and pulls out his phone, fingers trembling slightly as he types.
Rhett: You there? Need to talk.
The response is almost instant.
Rhett: Just got out of the lab. Meet you at the café in 10?
Erian lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and starts walking.
Café ambiance remains snug amidst chilly dusk outside with people jostling rather energetically against each other in cozy confinement. Rhett sits alone nursing black coffee with his scarf wrapped sloppily around his neck already there in dimly lit surroundings. Erian slips into a seat opposite and his eyes lift slowly upwards.
"Look like hell,"
Rhett says with a grin, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
Erian shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "You have no idea."
He pulls out the folded paper and the drawing. "Got this earlier. Someone left it at my door."
Rhett raises an eyebrow. "That spiral again?"
"Yeah. It's more detailed. It looks like a map maybe the tunnels under South Canal."
Rhett leans in, eyes narrowing. "You actually went there?"
"Yeah. Saw someone. Tall guy, coat pulled tight. Said some weird stuff about cycles and mistakes."
"Sounds like a bad guy," Rhett says, voice low.
"Yeah," Erian admits. "But more than that, I think he knows something about the spiral. About whatever this is."
Rhett nods slowly. "You sure you're not in over your head?"
Erian stares at the cup in front of him, then back at Rhett. "Maybe. But I have to keep going. Someone's trying to send me a message."
Rhett sighs, running a hand over his face. "Alright. But you're not doing this alone."
Erian finally looks up and manages a small, grateful smile.
"Good. Because you're not as subtle as you think."
They both laugh, the tension easing just a little.
Outside, the city lights flicker on one by one, and somewhere, a distant MK-A patrol rumbles on.
Erian and Rhett sit in the dim café, voices lowered but the weight of what they've uncovered hanging heavy between them.
The spiral drawing rests on the table like a silent challenge, its secrets still locked away.
Erian's gaze drifts to the window. Outside, the city breathes under a veil of pale twilight. Somewhere beyond the glow, the MK-A patrol moves on—silent, relentless.
He swallows hard, the echo of the figure's words still ringing in his mind:
"Cycles never learn... always the same mistakes."
A cold shiver runs down his spine.
The hunt is far from over.
And somewhere, hidden in the shadows, someone is already watching.