The celebration swelled around us—quiet laughter, tearful smiles, children tracing their fingers along the glowing wall—but my eyes never left Lin. I'd never seen her this alive, cheeks flushed with color, lips curved in a real, unguarded smile. Her voice—soft, silvery—still rang in my ears.
She moved closer, placed a gentle hand on my arm, and whispered, "Thank you, my savior."
I managed a breathless laugh. "You're welcome, but I still don't understand any of this. The notebook… its title… and now more words have appeared on the pages."
Lin's gaze flicked to the worn leather cover. "I've heard Oustaria was the name of the first outcast." She shook her head, frustration edging her voice. "Why do they even call us outcasts anyway? I was born here. I've never seen the so‑called rulers' paradise. Is the outside truly beautiful, Rahin?"
I took her hand—small, trembling, warm. "I promise," I said, "I'll spend the rest of my life trying to keep these people safe… and happy."
Her smile returned—brighter now. "Show me the book."
I opened the notebook. Fresh ink had bled onto the second page since the wall dimmed:
The secrets lie beneath the ruins.
Lin's brow knitted. "I know a place," she said. "Forbidden. Watched day and night."
"The Guardians?" I asked. Those towering giants—fifteen meters tall, muscle layered on muscle—were the Council's living walls.
Lin nodded. "I know one who might help us. His name is Jif. He's… different. Follow me."
Jif arrived when Lin called, shuffling from a dark corridor. The reasons for his exile were obvious—both arms ended at the elbow, bandaged stumps hidden beneath frayed sleeves. Yet his eyes shone with sharp intelligence.
Lin signed a request. Jif answered with a weary nod and produced a small, rolled map with his teeth, setting it on a stone ledge. Charcoal lines revealed a path skirting the Guardians' patrol ring.
We set out under a moonless sky—Lin first, Jif guiding us with soft whistles, me bringing up the rear. The ground shook with each distant footfall of the giants. Their massive silhouettes blotted out the stars whenever they passed overhead.
At one point I tried to whisper thanks to Jif, but he shook his head violently. Clenching a stub of chalk between his teeth, he scraped words onto a scrap of parchment:
Listeners near.
Crawl.
No sound.
So we crawled—elbows and knees scraping rock, inching forward for what felt like hours. Five hours, Jif's map promised, of silent, aching progress.
The Guardians towered above—fifteen‑meter titans of sinew and stone‑carved armor. Their breath gusted like desert wind. Every minute we paused, waiting for their thunderous strides to pass, then slid farther into the rubble.
At last, Jif raised his chin toward a yawning crack in the earth—an opening beneath the ruins. We slipped inside, down a jagged ramp of collapsed brick, until the air turned cool and still.
An underground chamber opened before us—rows of toppled shelves, scrolls melted by time, and rusted filing cabinets overturned like broken tombs. Dust hung in shafts of lantern‑light.
Lin's eyes widened. "An archive," she breathed.
I knelt beside an iron cabinet half‑buried in rubble. With a grunt I wrenched the drawer free—and there it was: a thick folder, its cover marked by a single word scrawled in fading ink:
OUSTARIA
My pulse hammered. I hadn't expected the title to stab so sharply.
We exchanged a look: Lin's excitement, Jif's grim determination, my own racing curiosity.
Whatever lay inside these pages, the wall wanted us to find it.
And now, in the dark beneath the giants, we finally had.