The booming thud-thud-thud was loud enough to vibrate the ceramic diagram Torvin had been studying. Archive Security used magnetized boots to navigate the vast subterranean halls; the rhythmic shockwaves meant they were moving fast and were likely only one corridor away.
Torvin's solitary obsession—his greatest weakness—was, in this moment, his only strength. He didn't panic. Panic was for those who relied on others. He simply went still, calculating the odds.
Distance to the nearest entrance to the Root City ducts? Fifty meters, through a row of unstable shelving units. Time until guards reach the corner? Seven seconds. Chance of them spotting a lone, dark figure? High, even in the blackout, due to their thermoptic visors.
Conclusion: He couldn't outrun them, and he certainly couldn't fight them. His only chance was misdirection.
He swiftly pulled the glowing Cipher-Map from his pocket, noting with a fresh surge of terror that its blue light still pulsed against the fabric of his trousers. The Aether-Parchement wasn't just showing him something; it was advertising his location. He stuffed it deep into an inner pocket, wrapping the heavy cloth of his tunic around it until the light was completely muffled.
He looked down at his abandoned gear: the customized Aetheric Siphon and his notepad, covered with his precise, frantic sketches of the forbidden diagram. Both were damning evidence of unauthorized research. If they found him with those, they wouldn't just expel him; they'd tag him as a Danger to System Stability—a one-way ticket to a forced labor district.
The thudding stopped abruptly. They were at the corner.
Torvin took three silent, frantic steps away from his gear, toward a towering, rusted metal shelf unit labeled 'Discarded Administrative Records—Year 012-045.' He grabbed the edge of a massive, unbound ledger, its leather cover slick with dust, and used it for purchase.
"—Section 7-Beta. Unauthorized current usage detected. Sweep corridor," a muffled voice, electronically amplified, finally reached him.
They were searching. They hadn't found him yet, but they would find his tools.
Torvin made his split-second choice. He gave the heavy ledger a massive, desperate shove.
The movement was subtle, but the unit it was attached to was old, unstable, and heavy. The ancient metal shrieked in protest, sending a spray of rust into the dark. The noise was instantly followed by the terrifying, deafening rumble of thousands of pounds of discarded history collapsing onto the floor. Dust, paper, and pulverized ceramic exploded into the air.
He scrambled, low to the ground, toward the sound of the controlled chaos, relying on the brief distraction.
"Collapse! Unauthorized structure failure in 7-Beta!" the guard's voice, now panicked, cut through the dust cloud. "Hold position! Engage lights!"
The guards' powerful, handheld Lumen-Lamps flared to life, casting harsh, moving spotlights across the hall. The beams sliced through the thick, choking dust, making it impossible to see further than a few feet, but also making it impossible for the guards to see him.
Torvin didn't wait. He used the cover of the sound and the dust to sprint in the opposite direction, toward a narrow, obscured maintenance archway. He ran not just from the guards, but from the weight of his new knowledge—the fact that the official history was a deliberate lie, and that the parchment in his pocket held the answer.
He burst through the archway and into the cool, tight space of the Root City Maintenance Tunnels. He pulled his personal glow-stick from his belt, snapping it hard enough that the chemical reaction burned his fingers. The sickly green light revealed a labyrinth of ancient, vibrating pipes and narrow metal ladders leading down.
Torvin didn't look back at the chaos in the Archive. He scrambled onto the cold rungs of the ladder, descending quickly, his mind already miles away. He had the map, he had the motivation, but he had left every shred of his comfortable, predictable life behind.
He was no longer just a solitary historian. He was a fugitive, and the path ahead—a path marked by a glowing cipher