The archivist moved with a deliberate grace as he descended the grand staircase, his boots echoing against the cracked marble floor. His presence was magnetic, and despite the growing tension in Sioux’s chest, they couldn’t look away. He was tall, with sharp, angular features that seemed almost otherworldly in the dim light. His silver hair fell in waves to his shoulders, contrasting sharply with his dark, tailored coat. 

“My name is Caedric,” he said as he reached the bottom step, his voice deep and smooth like aged whiskey. “Though most know me simply as the Archivist. You’ve come far to find me, Sioux.” 

Sioux’s hand lingered near Bonnie and Clyde, their instincts screaming at them to stay on edge. “You already know who I am,” they said, their voice steady despite the unease crawling up their spine. “That makes this easier. Tell me what you know about the sigil and how to stop it.” 

Caedric’s faint smile didn’t falter. He gestured for Sioux to follow as he moved toward a heavy oak door on the far side of the room. “Answers first require understanding. Come. There’s much to explain.” 

Sioux hesitated for a heartbeat before following, their boots crunching softly on the layer of dust that covered the floor. Caedric led them into a cavernous library, the walls lined with towering shelves crammed with ancient tomes, scrolls, and artifacts. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and candle wax. 

At the center of the room was a massive table strewn with maps, diagrams, and sketches. A single, large book sat open, its pages filled with intricate symbols and diagrams that seemed to pulse faintly with an inner light. 

“The sigil,” Caedric began, resting a hand on the open book, “is not merely a symbol. It is a construct—a living entity, if you will. It was created by the Elders eons ago, a nexus of their power and influence. Through it, they anchored themselves to our realm.” 

Sioux frowned, stepping closer to the table. “Anchored themselves? You’re saying the Elders are… alive?” 

Caedric nodded, his expression darkening. “Not in the way you or I are. They exist in a state between worlds, neither fully alive nor dead. The sigil binds them, keeps them from slipping into oblivion. But it is also their prison.” 

“And the Masquerade is trying to free them,” Sioux said, their voice grim. 

“Yes,” Caedric said, his tone heavy with foreboding. “The Masquerade believes the Elders can grant them power beyond imagination—immortality, dominion over all life. But they fail to grasp the cost. If the Elders are freed, their hunger will consume everything.” 

Sioux’s gaze shifted to the book, their stomach twisting as they studied the sigil’s jagged lines. It felt wrong, as though it were staring back at them. 

“Why me?” Sioux asked after a long silence. “Why does my blood matter?” 

Caedric sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of centuries bore down on him. “Your bloodline descends from the first rebellion against the Elders. Your ancestors were the ones who betrayed them, sealing them away and creating the Masquerade to guard the secret. But over time, the Masquerade lost its purpose. Corruption took root, and they began to seek the very power they were meant to guard against.” 

Sioux’s chest tightened as the pieces fell into place. “So, I’m the heir to some ancient rebellion? And now I’m supposed to finish what my ancestors started?” 

Caedric’s gaze softened, though his expression remained somber. “In a way, yes. Your blood is tied to the sigil. You are both the key to freeing the Elders and the key to ensuring they remain imprisoned. That is why the Masquerade hunts you. They need you alive to complete their ritual.” 

Sioux’s fists clenched at their sides. The weight of their lineage pressed down on them, heavy and suffocating. “And what about you?” they asked, their voice sharp. “Where do you fit into all this?” 

Caedric leaned against the table, his eyes distant. “I was once one of them,” he admitted. “A high-ranking member of the Masquerade. I was their historian, their keeper of secrets. But the more I uncovered, the more I saw the rot at their core. The sigil… it began to call to me, whispering its truths. I realized the Masquerade wasn’t guarding the city—they were feeding on it, growing fat on its suffering. So, I left.” 

Sioux studied him, their suspicion unwavering. “And yet, you spent years studying the sigil. Why? What are you after?” 

Caedric met their gaze, his expression unreadable. “Knowledge,” he said simply. “The sigil is more than a prison. It holds secrets—truths about the nature of existence, about power. But I also know its danger. That’s why I’ve kept my distance… until now.” 

Sioux’s eyes narrowed. “Until me.” 

Caedric inclined his head. “Your arrival changes everything. If the Masquerade succeeds in capturing you, it will be the end. But if we act quickly, there may still be a way to stop them.” 

“And that is?” 

Caedric turned back to the table, pulling a scroll from beneath the clutter. He unrolled it, revealing a map marked with strange symbols and lines that crisscrossed like veins. 

“There’s a relic,” he said. “A shard of the original sigil, hidden deep beneath the city. It’s the one piece of the sigil that remains unbound. If we can find it, we can use it to sever your connection to the sigil—and destroy its power once and for all.” 

Sioux’s heart raced as they stared at the map. The path ahead was clear, but it was fraught with danger. The Masquerade would stop at nothing to keep the shard from them. 

“Where do we start?” they asked, their voice firm. 

Caedric’s lips curved into a faint smile, one filled with equal parts hope and dread. “We start in the catacombs beneath the city. But be warned—the closer we get to the shard, the stronger the sigil’s pull will become. It will test you, Sioux. It will show you things you fear, things you desire. And if you falter…” 

“I won’t falter,” Sioux interrupted, their resolve unshakable. 

Caedric studied them for a moment before nodding. “Then let’s begin.”