The Archives of Ravenwood
CHAPTER 1

Published on November 4, 2025

Ravenwood. The second oldest inhabited city in the world, surpassed in age only by the northern capital city of Algarest. Most of Ravenwood’s structures belong to the University; the rest exist for leisure and revelry. The original halls wear skins of rough-hewn stone, cloaking frames of ancient timber and dense iron. The newer buildings—raised to modern standards—stand as anomalies, ornate and out of place among their stoic elders. To walk the streets of Ravenwood is to step backward through time, into a past long lost to modern minds—a past many have only dared to imagine.

The city is nestled among goliath evergreens, towering pillars that climb the northern slopes of the Crescent Mountains, and has for as far back as memory reaches. Their lush, stygian-green canopies blunt the bite of mountain wind, leaving Ravenwood a rare oasis in the harshest winters. The scent of pine hangs perpetually in the air. Old-timers swear the very atmosphere carries magickal properties—if such things can exist in the modern world.

Even in the long winters, the streets hum with life. The city seldom sleeps; its age lingers only in its stones. Youthful energy, drawn from the throngs of students, pulses through the cold mountain air.

At Ravenwood’s heart rises the Administration Building—the Great Hall. Joined to the Grand Library, it is perhaps the oldest structure on campus, a monument so iconic that its silhouette crowns the University’s seal. Together, the Great Hall and the Grand Library soar like a mountainous cathedral, their foundations rooted deep in the earth itself. The Library mirrors its counterpart’s grandeur, both above ground and below.

Far beneath them, winter’s chill cannot reach. Three levels down, the Archives of the Grand Library glow with a gentle, reflected light. A web of mirrors channels the fire of a distant brazier, safely removed from the fragile manuscripts. The warm illumination spares the parchments any risk of flame and spark, for open fire is forbidden here except in dire need. The Archives are a time capsule—preserving the world’s knowledge for posterity. The first level houses the offices of the Archival Administration.

Hughey Arnell sat hunched at his desk within one such office. At twenty-eight, he was the youngest Grand Archivist in the University’s history. Once a student of Ravenwood himself, he had graduated with honors at twenty-three—a rare feat, for most scholars spend their thirties merely aspiring to the title he now held.

His office smelled of sweet, musty parchment. Dark wood panels and carved moldings framed the room, lacquered to a deep shine. Tomes and scrolls lay sprawled across the massive central desk—forgotten relics of another age.

Recently uncovered chambers beneath the Archives had yielded texts that hinted at fragments of humanity’s lost past. Many were written in tongues long dead, some so alien they seemed to come from another world entirely. Hughey’s current workload came from this cache, and the task of deciphering it fell chiefly to him and his small circle of junior archivists.

He leaned back, stretching his arms above his head to ease a growing ache between his shoulders. Long days bent over indecipherable tomes had left him stiff and sore. Time had slipped away again. How many hours this time? Six? More? Shit.

A lock of black hair slid across his face. He caught it absently, tucking it behind his ear, and released a slow sigh. His neck throbbed with fatigue.

Hughey was fluent in nearly every dead tongue and written script known to man. Yet even with all his learning, these newly unearthed texts left him vexed. He slid a tattered ribbon between the pages of the book before him and closed it with care. Another sigh escaped his lips. Frustration had begun to take root. Shadows of doubt lengthened in his mind as he felt his abilities begin to falter.

The King himself had funded these excavations beneath the Archives—a great honor, but also a heavy burden. Hughey knew what the King truly wanted: tangible proof of humanity’s divine origin, and perhaps evidence of the lost magicks whispered of in myth. It was an obsession shared by many in power, but one Hughey did not share. He sought truth for truth’s sake, not relics of worship or control.

Still, he could not deny his fascination. Each unearthed artifact, each hidden room, was a door into the unknown. If they could just uncover one coherent fragment—one clue that bridged myth and memory—it would change everything. And yet, after weeks of deciphering, cataloging, and speculation, they remained adrift. Every new find seemed to raise twice as many questions as it answered.

Hughey rubbed his temples and leaned forward again, his eyes scanning the spidery text on the open scroll. His candle had burned low, the wax pooled into rippling layers along the brass holder. “Maybe tomorrow,” he murmured, half to himself. “Maybe tomorrow it’ll make sense.”

He reached for his mug of tea—cold. He grimaced and took a sip anyway. The room was silent but for the occasional creak of old wood and the far-off drip of condensation from the vaulted ceiling. Somewhere in the distance, a faint metallic echo signaled the late hour bell. Midnight. Again.

He stood, stretching the stiffness from his back. His reflection shimmered faintly in the tall mirror behind his desk—a pale, drawn man with circles under his eyes and an intellect burning too hot for too long. “You’re going to drive yourself mad,” he muttered to the reflection, forcing a tired smile. “Just like the last one.”

He had heard the rumors, of course. Every Grand Archivist before him had succumbed to obsession. The Archives had a way of consuming those who delved too deeply. Hughey had once laughed at the notion. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Suddenly, a deep rumble rolled through the floor beneath his feet. The books on his shelves rattled. A low groan echoed through the stone corridors beyond his office. Hughey froze, eyes darting to the ceiling as dust drifted down like ash.

Another tremor. Stronger this time.

“An earthquake?” he whispered. Impossible. The Crescent Mountains had been dormant for centuries.

He snatched his lantern and bolted into the hall. The tremor grew violent, shaking loose ancient plaster from the vaulted ceiling. Shouts echoed from nearby rooms—his assistants, calling out in alarm. One of the younger archivists stumbled toward him, eyes wide with fear.

“Master Arnell! The lower corridor—something’s happening! The seal—it’s—” The young man’s words were drowned by a deafening crack as the stone floor buckled somewhere below. The light flickered violently, throwing wild shadows across the corridor walls.

“Get everyone clear!” Hughey shouted, his voice nearly lost in the chaos. He sprinted toward the east hall, where the excavation teams had been working on the newly uncovered wall.

When he arrived, a crowd had already gathered. A jagged fissure split the floor from wall to wall, glowing faintly with a strange blue-white light. Dust hung thick in the air, shimmering in the glow. The tremor subsided at last, leaving only the hum of raw energy and the sound of frightened breathing.

“Looks like it’s a staircase that goes deeper into the Archives, at least to the second level. We’re at the farthest end of this section though...” Edmure said, brushing back his dark, unkempt hair. He turned to face his senior, his brow furrowed with an inquisitive fear.

Hughey stared into the gaping hole in the wall, both terrified and excited beyond words. The air was electric with energy and awe—born of both horror and curiosity—among all those who bore witness to this incredible and rare event. There was no way to explain these occurrences logically. Some at the University had postulated demonic influence, while others speculated that this could mark the end of the world. Events of such fantastical nature simply didn’t happen in their world.

They all stood still, eyes fixed on the mysterious twisting staircase before them. It was impossible to see how far down it descended. The darkness was blacker than pitch and seemed to consume the little light available.

All the other rooms had been discovered with effects several orders of magnitude less chaotic than this seal activation. Previous openings had revealed small hidden archive rooms—no larger than a modest pantry. But this... this appeared to lead to an entirely new section of the Archives. The feeling of wonder among the archivists was palpable. No words were needed. They knew this was what they had been waiting for. Some great secret must be sleeping in the darkness below.

Hughey quickly gathered his thoughts. “Edmure, get some of the emergency lanterns from storage. The rest of you, survey the area for damage and continue the cleanup you started. Thamund, if you’re unhurt, go up to the Grand Library and let Master Galore know what’s happened—and that I’m going to investigate this new room immediately.”

“But sir, shouldn’t we wait for guidance from the Council to—” Thamund began, but Hughey shot him a dire look.

In a hushed tone, Hughey said, “No. We shall not wait for the Council to direct our work in our Archive. We have been working ourselves to exhaustion to find the answers here. What lies before us might be everything we’ve toiled toward. This is our moment, and we will not wait any longer.”

Thamund gave a slow nod of understanding, admiration clear in his eyes. He turned and quickly made his way toward the main level. The other junior archivists dispersed to their appointed tasks. Hughey knew proper protocol required him to wait for at least one other Grand Master to strategize before proceeding—such was the long-standing rule for any emergent discovery. But the past two months of frustration had left him anxious and restless. It felt like hours before Edmure returned, though in truth only minutes passed.

Lanterns in hand, Edmure came sprinting down the hall. Hughey’s heart pounded with anticipation. This could be the discovery that changed everything—months of grasping at straws and sleepless nights finally vindicated. There was only one way to find out.

“Let’s see what secrets you’ve been hiding,” Hughey murmured, turning toward the darkness below.

Hughey stepped carefully to the threshold of the dark stairwell. He lit a lantern with caution, keeping the flame well away from the precious tomes lining the walls of the known Archives. Normally, fire here would have been considered heretical, but there was no time to construct mirrors to illuminate the newly revealed space—it could take a week or more, and Hughey could not afford to wait. Even a single day felt too long. The lamp’s wick flared to life, casting warm light down the narrow stairwell, shadows dancing along the stone walls.

He inhaled deeply and motioned for Edmure to follow. A second lantern flickered behind him, slicing through the darkness. They descended cautiously, remaining close.

The stairwell plunged deep into the earth. With every step, the air grew colder, heavier, and more stagnant. Hughey counted the flights of stairs as they passed three, then saw another landing faintly ahead. His pulse accelerated. At last, the stairwell opened into a hallway whose length could not be determined.

Crystalline sconces lined the walls every five feet, alternating sides. Each teardrop-shaped crystal rested in root-like silver metalwork that seemed to grow naturally from the wall. Reflections from the lamps danced across the ceiling, creating shifting patterns of light. One crystal pulsed faintly in Hughey’s peripheral vision. So dim was its glow he thought his eyes were deceiving him. He dimmed his lantern to observe more closely. The crystal continued its weak pulse.

“Edmure,” Hughey whispered, voice hoarse, “shield your lamp. Are you seeing this? What could possibly power it?”

Edmure obeyed, plunging the corridor into near darkness. “I… I see it. It’s impossibly dim. Could it be linked to the main mirror-lighting system?” he murmured.

Without warning, all the sconces began to glow—a soft blue at first, then brightening into gentle white light. The path ahead became fully visible. Hughey extinguished his lamp, signaling Edmure to do the same. Both men froze, dumbstruck. Tension clung to the air like a living thing.

Hughey approached the nearest sconce and studied it. The crystal detached effortlessly from its mount.

“Edmure… it’s still glowing in my hand!” he whispered, astonished.

He cradled the crystal, noting its unexpected weight. Though it fit snugly in his palm, it was denser than anticipated, requiring both hands to hold securely. Each facet was impossibly crisp, smooth beyond natural design. Nothing in Hughey’s experience accounted for this.

He examined the fixture and the wall mount in silence. “It’s… independently powered. Solid. No seams anywhere. Phosphorescent crystals aren’t this clear, and they don’t pulse on their own. What sorcery is this?”

He handed the crystal to Edmure. “Put it in your pack. One of the Masters of Science will analyze this.” Edmure took it cautiously, securing the artifact against his back.

Snapping out of the trance, Hughey turned to Edmure. “Come on. We press onward.”

“Yes, sir,” Edmure said, giving a tense nod.

They moved forward, the crystals behind them dimming as those ahead brightened, illuminating a corridor that seemed to devour all other light. The darkness felt almost alive, oppressive, yet curiosity propelled them. Each step was deliberate, measured, as if the hallway itself resisted their progress.

Hughey’s mind raced. The long stairwell, the pulsating crystals, the hall itself—all meticulous, alien, and unnerving. They had traversed what seemed like hundreds of feet, yet the corridor’s boundaries remained indiscernible. Looking forward or back, he could barely perceive ten feet in either direction. Dread constricted his chest. The walls seemed to tighten around them like a coiling serpent.

Then, as if appearing from nowhere, a heavy wooden door emerged before them. Its surface bore gold scrollwork inlaid into the wood; polished steel hinges gleamed, and a silver handle shimmered, accented with gold.

Hughey turned to Edmure. “We stand at the precipice. Are you ready?”

Wide-eyed, Edmure nodded, swallowing hard. Hughey reached out, hand trembling as it grasped the silver knob. His mouth was dry, his tongue sticking faintly to the roof of his mouth. He drew a deep breath and turned the knob slowly.

The latch clicked loudly, echoing through the hall. The door swung open, and a sliver of light burst into the corridor, cutting through the darkness and revealing the passage beyond.

Behind him, the sudden brightness caused a sharp clatter—metal and glass crashing to the floor. Hughey spun to see Edmure flailing after his fallen lantern, pale as chalk.

“Sir! I’m sorry! The light—I just…” Edmure stammered, nearly collapsing in the dust.

Hughey exhaled, tension melting into a laugh. “You’re fine. Really. Think, Edmure—what could harm us here? This is an ancient room, empty for centuries. No monster. No children’s tale. The precautions here were executed by our predecessors, not to endanger us.”

He gestured toward the hallway. “Leave the lamp. We’ll clean it later. Let’s see what relics await in the chamber ahead.”

Edmure looked calmer now, a nervous smile spreading across his face. Hughey pushed the door fully open, letting the radiant light spill into the hallway.

Before them lay a small chamber, no more than ten feet deep. Crystalline sconces adorned each wall just below the ceiling. These emitted the incredible radiance. Shelves lined the walls, packed with ancient tomes. At the center of the room stood a square, waist-high stone pedestal supporting an elegant wooden box.

Hughey inched forward, Edmure close behind, nearly pressing his chest to Hughey’s back. The box was deep brown, varnished, simple, yet incredibly sturdy. Its surface bore dents and scratches, evidence of countless years of use.

Running his hands over the worn wood, Hughey noticed a small plate near the clasp:

Untitled Masterwork of Master Archivist, Sir Jahmund Arcourt IV.

There was no locking mechanism—only a tarnished clasp separating him from what might be the find of a lifetime. Like a child tearing into a long-awaited gift, he flung the lid open. Inside rested three brilliant blue crystals on a red, silken cushion. His hand instinctively reached for the leftmost crystal, bringing it close. The glow enveloped his vision entirely.

Hughey froze. A sensation of detachment washed over him, as if he were outside his own body. His vision bathed in blue light; he could see nothing else. The warmth of the glow was all-consuming. Slowly, the blue shifted to a bright white, and he felt as if he were falling—yet the ground remained beneath his feet.

The light revealed a landscape: a grassy field stretching toward distant mountains, a small town nestled below. The sun was warm on his skin, the air crisp with the fading heat of summer, and the scents of approaching autumn filled his nostrils. Hughey’s mind raced at the impossibility of it all.

Then a voice filled his thoughts—a young, charismatic man’s voice:

“This story stone is part one of a three-volume set. It tells the documented account of a journey to discover the secrets of the Unknown Continent, as told by Jahmund Arcourt IV, the youngest Master Archivist in Ravenwood history at age twenty-five. Follow him as he uncovers the mysteries of the Unknown Realm and seeks the true origins of Humanity!”

Suddenly, Hughey felt himself being pulled back. The vision of the town and mountains dissolved, leaving only his hand holding the crystal. Edmure shook his shoulder frantically.

“Master Arnell! Are you okay?!”

Hughey blinked, forcing his eyes back into focus. “Yes… yes, I’m fine.” A smile spread across his face as he returned the crystal to its resting place, carefully closing the box and running his hand over its surface.

“These stones… they’re story stones,” he said. “Like the magical artifacts described in the other ancient texts we’ve discovered.”

“So there’s an entire story in that crystal?” Edmure asked. “How does it even work? Is that why you became unresponsive… because you were ‘reading’ it?”

Hughey chuckled, amused. “More than reading. I felt like I was in the story. I could feel the sun on my face, smell the coming autumn…” His expression shifted to one of perplexed curiosity as he turned to Edmure. “And the author, Jahmund Arcourt, claims to be the youngest Master Archivist in Ravenwood history. I’ve never heard of him. Find me the historical records of all registered Masters—I want to review them in the morning. I’m going to start drafting a report of our findings for the Grand Masters. This… this is going to change everything we know about the world.”

As Edmure dashed off, Hughey gathered the story stone chest, his eyes wide with astonishment and wonder. “Tomorrow is going to be a big day. Tomorrow, we finally start to get some real answers.”