Back at the safe house, Iromae addresses the others. "The dates make sense for the White Flame that actually existed in our Suzail.  But did you notice that librarian, when responding to the question about the addendum, very clearly saying the name 'Amarinth'.  That seemed very deliberate. I mean, if that is a well-known figure here, why so totally avoid saying the name.  She said we could look up the 'author'.  Who talks that way?" 

She looks around at her friends to see if they agree. "Obviously, we need to go to that south archive. Learn more. I mean, if somehow this name is being obscured, what else might be hidden?  Things removed from the record perhaps.  But also, who was writing that document and left it there?  Is it the advisor A. Amarinth? Did they leave it as a message for someone? Maybe for us specifically? It did sound like they knew we were coming after all!" 

Vorenus says “Absolutely, that seemed odd.  We should go to the south archive, lets follow the archways..I wonder if we are meant to find it as well."  

Shenua, who was already considering the route to the Feathered Silence, halts completely, taking a moment to process this new piece of information.

"Hmm, I didn't catch that! I'm glad you did, Iromae. Yes, of course—let’s check the south archive out," she replies. "There's always time to visit the mask shop, and this is definitely more important right now."

You step back into the midday streets of alternate Suzail, your new attire helping you blend in just enough to avoid the curious stares that met you yesterday. The crowds move with the same solemn efficiency — polite, purposeful, and quiet. The bells from Crown Spire have long since stopped their morning tolling, replaced now by the faint rustle of banners in the dry breeze.

As you navigate southward, following Shenua’s recollection of the similar yet different old city layout and Iromae’s intuitive sense of direction, the buildings begin to change. The stonework here is older. Less pristine. You pass a shuttered tailor’s shop, a bakery long since turned to storage, and finally reach what must have once been a noble corner of the city. Now it feels ... out of step. Like the paint hasn't peeled, but time itself has flaked away.

The South Archive sits behind a wrought iron fence, its gate slightly ajar. The building is squat and square, with ivy climbing up one of its western walls. No sign marks it from the street — but you recognize the old seal carved faintly into the stone above the arch: a stylized inkpot and sunburst. A symbol of knowledge.

Inside, it's quiet. A few oil lamps flicker dimly between columns of dry stone. There's dust here — real dust, not the polished quiet of the previous archive. Shelves line the walls and continue down narrow aisles. You see no attendants. No notices. Just the stillness of long-abandoned thought.

But one thing is different.

At the far end of the chamber, a low partition has been built, forming a half-room that doesn’t match the architecture. Newer wood. Too clean. A table sits inside, surrounded by chairs — and atop the table is a small stack of books, each bound in plain leather, and marked with a wax seal pressed with a rune Vorenus saw before in the Addendum:

A loop of silver thread. Broken in two places.

Iromae looks at what seems a forgotten part of the city. "What is happening here? I get that things changed, but why does this feel like it was somehow... passed over?"  The emptiness inside the South Archive is eerie as well. She inspects the shelves, wondering what they might hold.  But the newer room is an obvious draw.  So she goes, inspecting the new wood, the hyper-cleanliness.

"This new part must go with the new addendum to the book," she surmises. She picks up one of the leather-bound books, looking at it closely.  (Investigation: 8) She tries the book to see if it will open. 

As they walk toward the Southern Archive, Shenua can't help but stop a couple of times to glance at the shops—some shuttered, others transformed into something else entirely. Maybe it's because she's trying to match them to what they were in their Suzail. Or maybe it's simply because she misses their version of the city. It's a strange feeling—to be in Suzail, and yet feel completely apart from it.

The turquoise haired tiefling wonders briefly about The Old Dwarf, the tavern where they used to spend far too much time. What is it now, in this version of the city? (ooc: Have we happened to walk past it, by any chance?)

She doesn't linger long, though she does pause at the bakery that's been converted into storage. She gazes at it for a moment too long, looking so intently that someone from inside comes out and asks if she's lost. Shenua mutters an excuse and quickly follows after her friends.

The state of the Southern Archive is truly heartbreaking. But when Iromae points out the newer room, a flicker of hope returns. "This place looks empty," Shenua says quietly, "but someone had to come here and do all this, don't you think?" She glances around, thoughtful. Maybe someone is here, just too shy—or rather, too cautious—to make themselves known. But even if they're not, they must have left some sign of their presence. With so much dust around—now disturbed by their steps—anyone else should have left traces too. Footprints, for example, leading to the shelves that drew their interest. (Perception: 19)

Turning to the books on the newer side, when she notices a rune depicting a loop of silver thread broken into two pieces she mutters, "Well, I’ll be damned." Then she settles at one of the tables to examine the books laid out there, trying first to determine whether they're volumes from the same series—something that would need to be read in order—or standalone works that can be approached in any sequence. In any case, since Iromae has already picked one, she chooses another and attempts to read some of the pages. (Investigation: 19)

(ooc: Did I check to make sure I rolled twice? Yes, I did. lol)

Vorenus sees the marker and speaks in a low voice, saying “That’s no coincidence… like someone was meant to bring a silver needle here, I imagine.”  He stops and looks around the South Archive, looking to see if anyone else is in here.  “What if… what if I ran back and got it.  See if it would make this open?  What do you think?  I feel like we are following a trail of breadcrumbs…”. 

In this Suzail, the building that was their Old Dwarf is there — same footprint, same low roof — but it's been completely repurposed. The old carved sign is gone, replaced with a plain placard: "Registrar’s Substation No. 3." The windows are shuttered from the inside, the door reinforced with black iron hinges. A seal of the Crown Spire — the stylized white flame — is stamped above the handle.

From the outside, it looks more like a bureaucratic outpost now. Possibly used to process travel papers, verify citizen registries, or quietly monitor activity in the surrounding district. If it once sold ale and stew, there’s no trace of that warmth now.

The only sound that drifts out is the clack of boots on tile — and once, a curt voice requesting, "Identification, please."

It’s a building stripped of memory, function overtaking fellowship.

As the group steps into the quiet shell of the South Archive, the contrast to the city's rigid order is striking. Here, the air feels older, untouched — suspended in a silence broken only by the soft creak of floorboards under careful steps. The scent of paper and varnished wood lingers like the breath of a long-forgotten patron.

Iromae lifts the cover of one of the newer books. It opens without resistance — but the first few pages are blank. Only as she turns further does a single line of faint, silvery script appear, almost like thread sewn into parchment. But it's unintelligible. Not because it's a foreign language, but because the letters blur slightly when stared at too long, like a trick of the eye — or magic meant to protect its message.

Shenua’s eyes track faint, deliberate footprints leading from the far corner to a shelf very near the table they now stand around. She might have missed them had she not been looking. They aren't fresh — but they're not old either. At least one other person has been here recently. The trail ends at the shelf — and doesn’t seem to leave.

Turning to join Iromae, the tiefling confirms that the newer books — perhaps two dozen in total — form a continuous sequence. Not volumes in a numbered series, but a chronological progression. The one Iromae holds is one of the earliest. The one in Shenua's hand is newer. The leather binding is still stiff, and the rune on the cover is unmistakable: a loop of silver thread, broken in two places. She then realizes she's seen this before — back beneath the city. It was etched faintly on the arch surrounding the chamber with the suspended thread.

As she studies the open pages of her chosen volume, the writing here is clearer — still written in the same subtle silvery ink, but legible. What she reads is … strange. Not a scholarly text or official chronicle, but a kind of memoir. Someone recounting their thoughts about the fracture in the Weave, their failed attempts to reconnect threads, and their hope that someone else might succeed. They don’t name themselves — but there's a wistful tone. As if the writer was someone who’d once hoped to leave, but now suspects they may never get the chance.

The name “Amarinth” appears more than once.

Diego, meanwhile, lingers by a window, his eyes distant. At Iromae’s and Shenua’s discoveries, he finally speaks — quietly, almost to himself. “What if the thread we saw below wasn’t just a message or a seal? What if it’s a tether — something holding her here. Or holding something else back?”

His voice carries a little, then stops. He forces a grin. “I know, poetic nonsense. Just thinking aloud.”

Vorenus’s suggestion breaks the moment. His voice grounds them. He watches the others closely — particularly Shenua, whose reaction to the thread symbol matches his own sense of recognition.

Retrieving the silver needle is a tempting idea. Especially now.

Just then, something rustles. Not loudly. A subtle shift — perhaps in the ceiling, or behind the far wall of the archive. A faint, momentary vibration. Then nothing.

When she discovers the tracks leading from the far corner to the nearby shelf—only to disappear there—Shenua looks surprised. She pauses for a split second, processing what this must mean, and is about to mention it aloud when she decides that... perhaps it's best not to.

Instead, she shifts slightly so that her back blocks the view from the far corner of the archive. From that position, she glances at her friends and presses her index finger to her lips—an unmistakable "Shhh."  Then, with a subtle tilt of her eyes, she gestures toward that corner of the archive. She doesn't really mean that they don't speak at all, just that perhaps it is better not to reveal more about themselves, for the moment.

Once she's sure Diego, Iromae, and Vorenus have noticed, she moves to the table to examine the book. It's then when she notices that Iromae's volume is the newest. Skimming through hers, she spots the name Amarinth several times, along with the rune that matches the one they saw when accessing the tunnels beneath her guild, but she says nothing of this, simply pointing these details to the others.

The rustle confirms her suspicion they are not entirely alone. Something, or someone, is here. She looks at her companions with doubt in her eyes. She isn't completely certain she's right—or that this is the best move—but she takes a gamble.

Still gazing at the book, she speaks aloud: "We are not your enemies. Please, make yourself visible."

Vorenus locks eyes with Shenua and gives the most subtle of nods.  He steps to the side, holding his breath, watching for any sign of movement.  He waits to see the response of Shenua’s words, looking to see if anyone becomes visible.  He waits a few seconds before acting again, waiting to see what will happen.  He holds a thin piece of copper wire in his hand, squeezing it from time to time. 

"It's not nonsense," Iromae says to Diego. She thinks on his words just a moment. "That could be and was certainly something I worried about when we first saw that chamber with the thread. Is the right thing to break the thead? Free the thread? Or was it doing something important the way it was?"  She shakes her head, not knowing the answer at this point. 

She is perplexed at the blank pages, silvery thread, and the blurred words. She starts to wonder if perhaps some magic might reveal more, though Shenua seemed able to comprehend her book.  It is then that she catches her friend turning and pressing finger to her lips and the slight rustling sound. She follows the tiefling's eyes to look towards the corner of the room herself.  

Shenua's words then surprise her a little.  She tenses, ready to react to whatever happens next. 

As Shenua speaks — “We are not your enemies. Please, make yourself visible” — the rustling stops.

The Southern Archive falls silent again, but it is no longer the stillness of dust and abandonment. It's aware. Watchful.

A beat passes. Then another.

From the far corner — just beyond the edge of the shadow — a shimmer flickers in the air, like sunlight through water. The illusion parts.

And there, half-revealed by the fading veil of a Greater Invisibility spell, stands a figure.

A young woman. Human, or close to it. Hooded, cloaked, lean. She doesn’t look much older than any of you, but her eyes are sharp. Alert. Suspicious.

In her right hand, she clutches a thin wand made of carved jet. She doesn’t point it at you — but she doesn’t lower it either.

Her cloak bears no insignia, but the shirt beneath is stitched in a careful pattern of silver thread — not decorative, but functional. Warding. Magical.

Her gaze flicks from Shenua to Iromae to Vorenus to Diego. She speaks softly.

“That was either incredibly bold … or incredibly stupid.”

Her tone is not cruel, but measured. She's weighing you, moment to moment.

Then her eyes land on the volumes you’ve opened. Especially the one with the broken-thread rune and the name Amarinth.

She breathes in once, sharply, and steps forward.

“Where did you find that?”

Before you can respond, she adds, “Who are you?”

She doesn’t yet strike as an enemy. But her guard is up — her presence clearly secret, her question sharp with meaning.

Shenua can't help but raise an eyebrow as the human woman reveals herself. Even if it only takes a moment to register the complexity of the spell she just dropped — which is enough to recognize her as a senior in arcane knowledge — that doesn't stop the artificer from answering coolly. "Bold words, coming from someone wielding high-level spells and enchanted gear in a city that severely restricts them."

When the woman steps forward, her attention fixed on the volumes, Shenua instinctively draws hers behind her back and lifts a single clawed finger. "Now, now. Manners, please."  Her tone isn't mocking, but there's an unmistakable sharpness beneath the surface. "You were the one hiding. For all we know, you were spying on us — but since we all seem to have found our way to this archive, full of knowledge that's seems to have been erased everywhere else, we chose not to treat you like a threat."

The tiefling pauses, just long enough for the weight of those words to settle.

"We'd appreciate a name, at the very least. Where you come from and what you seek would be helpful, too. But I understand that might be asking too much as an introduction, given the... general climate in the city."

(ooc: I'd like to make an Insight check to see if Shenua can tell how much this woman overheard. We did say a few important things while talking amongst ourselves. Welp ... no ... I got a 6.)

"Why should it be so surprising that we found these."  Iromae tries to speak in an assured tone despite her nervousness over this obvious magic-user in this place. "They were simply sitting on the table there," she adds as she motions to where the other volumes rest. "Surely you saw them as well." It's a statement but also presented as a question. Did she see them?

She turns to look at Shenua, weighing her words. 'Manners,' she thinks.  "Seeing there are three of us to one of you, perhaps it is only proper for an introduction if we are going to get anywhere.  My name is Iromae. I dare to hope that perhaps we can work together." 

"Shenua," the tiefling says after Iromae. Her posture hasn't changed in the slightest, and she still hides the volume she picked up behind her back. She waits silently for the stranger to answer their questions.

“Ummm, I’m going to go with bold there…”  He listens as the introductions start, then he takes a deep bow.  “Vorenus.   Perhaps you have… no, you haven’t.”  Old habits die hard.  “Now, what shall we call you?  And can you please, put that thing away.  Let’s have a nice casual conversation.  I feel that we should be able to learn quite a bit from one another.  Don’t you?”  Vorenus gives her a nice, friendly smile, like they are going to have a nice cup of tea together.  

The woman regards the three of you in silence for a beat too long — not with distrust, necessarily, but with calculation. She's older than she first appeared beneath the cloak — early 30s, perhaps — but something about her posture, her expression, speaks of caution learned the hard way.

Her hand slowly lowers from her satchel as Shenua, Iromae, and Vorenus introduce themselves. The defensive spark fades from her eyes — though it doesn’t disappear entirely.

“Call me Lirae,” she says at last. “And no, I didn’t see them on the table. Because they weren’t there when I arrived. That volume …” — she nods toward the one tucked behind Shenua — “was behind a false panel when I last visited. I would know. I helped install it.”

She glances sidelong at Iromae. “That’s why I asked. You didn’t just find them. You brought them to the surface.”

She folds her arms, keeping her cloak drawn tightly around her, but no longer making any moves toward magic. “You’re not from here. That much is obvious. But you know what that thread symbol means. And somehow you had the right touch to reveal what's been hidden — thread-bound volumes protected by ward-ink and weave signatures older than the Accord itself.”

A faint breath escapes her — something close to a bitter laugh.

“And yet you’re still walking around. In clothes from Ravel & Thread, no less. Which means you’ve seen the Spire. And you’ve seen her.”

She doesn’t say Kalis’ name. Not yet. But her eyes betray her. There is familiarity there. Not reverence. Not anger. But something older. Complicated.

“If that’s the case, you deserve to know the truth. But not here. Not out loud. There’s a back room — shielded. If you really want to know who she is, and how this version of Suzail came to be, follow me. If not ... walk away. And put the books back where you found them.”

She takes a step toward the corner where the footprints had led — the shelf where, moments before, her trail had ended.

Before she disappears again, she glances over her shoulder and says quietly:

“But if you’re here to save her … then we don’t have much time.”

Contrary to what the situation might have called for, Shenua's first reaction is directed at Vorenus, whom she regards with arched brows. Did he just stop himself from boasting? Well, wow.

She then looks toward Lirae. "Lirae," the tiefling repeats, as if committing the name to memory. Does it sound familiar? Could any 'Lirae' have been mentioned in the volumes they read in the Lower Registry? (ooc: Not sure what to roll here, so I went to a general Intelligence roll. 12+4= 16)  "Nice to make your acquaintance," she adds, with a slight nod.

"Um, sorry if this sounds stupid — especially since you seem to know this place so well — but are you quite certain these," the tiefling gestures to the volumes on the table, "appeared because we brought them to the surface? Are you 100% sure no one else did this?" If Lirae shows even a hint of offense at the question, Shenua raises both hands in a peaceful gesture. "Sorry. I had to ask. I don't know when you arrived, or how long you've been here. And in my line of work, it never hurts to double-check."

The artificer's brow lifts slightly at Lirae's refusal to say Kalis's name. It's just as unexpected as the librarian's reaction in the Registry — maybe even more so. Either way, Shenua exchanges a glance with her friends, a silent question in her eyes. They're going to follow her, right? It's not like they have many other options, is it? If Lirae knows anything about what's going on — and it certainly seems like she does — and she's willing to talk, they need to hear her out.

When Lirae first alludes to Kalis. Iromae almost speaks out. But she keeps her thought to herself. 'We've seen the Spire, yes. But not Kalis. Not here at least. If this is really our friend.'  She is also a bit perplexed by the fact that somehow they had revealed the books. 'We just walked in,' she thought. 

The offer to talk more is quite welcome. "Of course, let's go talk there," she replies when Lirae mentions the shielded room. She doesn't even hesitate to see her friends' responses. She moves to follow the woman. So many more questions are on the tip of her tongue, but she decides it's more prudent to wait until they get to wherever they are going.

Vorenus is stunned into silence, which is a rarity.  He looks at the books, the volumes that were apparently previously inaccessible.  Oh if we had plenty of time, I’d like to sit down and go through each of these, pull up a chair and a nice cup of hot tea… no time.  We need more information.  “Hmm.  Um, yes.  That would be agreeable.  Let’s ah.. follow you!”  Vorenus walks to where the footsteps end and keeps going, following Shenua and Iromae as well.  “Lirae.. so many questions.”