ONE #3
The first page had hand-drawn sketches of the Monoliths, each as tall and daunting as the other, but depicting their differing external features: one with a smooth, glassy surface that shone like the sun, and the other with dark jagged edges like it was made of the night itself.
Amelia flipped another few pages, finding densely scrawled notes, interwoven around several other drawings of artefacts.
Her eyes snagged on a single line and read: ‘The bond is not simply connection; it is consumption’ .
An uncomfortable bite of pain between her shoulder blades made her shiver at the words that seemed to hold a power within them. Her finger hovered over the edge of the next page.
“I don’t recall inviting you in, Winslow.”
Amelia tensed, sucking in a sharp breath. She snapped the book closed, twisting around.
Silas stood at the entrance of the tent, arms folded across his chest and watching her with an unreadable expression. The waning light barely touched his face, most of his features cast into shadow, save for the sharpness of his cheekbone, caught by the lamps’ glow.
She let out an uneasy breath, guilt rising. If he had done the same to her, Amelia would have been livid. She stood slowly, clutching the notebook to her chest as she faced him.
“I…” She cleared her throat. “You said I could borrow a translation text.” Amelia cringed, knowing how weak it sounded.
He took a slow step towards her, the golden light casting sharp lines across his face.
“And you took that to mean you could rifle through my notebooks?” His voice was cool and controlled in a way that made her uncomfortable.
“I didn’t know they were your personal notes,” she said quickly. “They were just…sitting there. You’ve brought more books that I thought a horse could carry.”
Silas didn’t smile, didn’t smirk or tease. His gaze shifted to the book Amelia had in her hands, before returning to her.
“And did you find anything of interest to you?”
Amelia hesitated, thinking on the small passage she had read. She shook her head, but the knowing look in Silas’ eyes told her he knew she had found something that had piqued her curiosity.
His eyes narrowed and he closed the distance between them in a few long strides. Amelia took a quick step backwards as Silas tugged the notebook from her, eyes fixed on the unmarked cover. She watched him swallow before he looked up to her.
“Some things,” he said at last, his voice lower now, rougher, “are better left unread, Winslow.” That wasn’t the Silas she knew. No jesting, no smugness, just something hard and hidden.
Amelia cleared her throat. “Well, that’s the thing about knowledge though, isn’t it? Once glimpsed, you can’t go back.”
Silas’ bright blue eyes searched across her face for a moment before it returned to his pile of books.
He placed down the red notebook and then crouched to browse the spines.
He seemed to find what he was looking for and pulled it quickly from the middle of the stack, the books falling perfectly into place without toppling.
He rose and shoved the book at her chest.
Amelia’s hands came up automatically to grasp the tome while she kept his gaze, her fingers brushing briefly against his before he withdrew them.
“Then I suppose I’ll see what you choose to do with whatever you found,” he deadpanned. “In the meantime, make yourself useful and translate the wall.”
Silas turned away from her and walked back to the tents’ entrance and pulled open a flap, his jaw tensed as he waited for her to leave.
Amelia took in a deep breath and walked slowly over to him. For a moment, she almost, almost , wanted to stop and apologize. But then the flap fell closed behind her, and she found herself standing out in the darkening Rift.
She looked down to the tome Silas had given her. It was a similar text to the one he had been using earlier on ancient runic translation. Irritatingly helpful, even in the wake of her embarrassing invasion of privacy.
Amelia walked across the campsite, wondering at what Silas thought she had seen. His final words seemed to hint that she might use it against him in some way, and it made her curiosity intensify over what else could be hidden in those notebooks.
The last vestiges of the sun disappeared behind the rolling dunes, and darkness settled around the ruins.
The team were unusually quiet as dinner was eaten around the campfire, eyes darting in every direction.
Even the mercenaries, who earlier in the day had made Amelia snort with laughter when they introduced themselves as Hank and Frank with matching grins, seemed sombre as day turned to night.
She ate her stew but could not stop the erratic pace of her heart as she wondered what might be sneaking around past the warm, safe perimeter of light of the arcane lamps and fire.
Silas sat across the campfire from her, having not spoken a word to her or even met her gaze since the incident in his tent. He chatted quietly to one of his own assistants, who Amelia thought was named Reynolds.
Amelia’s junior scholars, Somara and Tully, were huddled together, their food untouched in front of them.
She could see the anxiety written across their young faces.
They had known what they were signing up for, but it was a different thing entirely to be here in the Rift as the sun set.
Even Amelia couldn’t stop the slight shake to her own hands.
After dinner, everyone quietly retired to their tents. The mercenaries would monitor the lamps surrounding their campsite and ensure the fire kept burning all night to keep them safe.
Amelia tried her best to get comfortable on her thin bedroll, but her mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
Her old childhood nightmares kept coming back to her in the dark—enormous Rift Crawlers chasing her through complete darkness.
She shivered and rolled over, begging herself to stop thinking such awful things.
When she lay on her back, the middle of her spine itched with discomfort, and her eyes opened, staring up at the ceiling of her tent, frustration flooding her.
It wasn’t long before she gave up and opened Silas’ translation text, working quietly on her sketches. It was tedious work. So many of the glyphs had been weathered down, some accents and small details obscured by time.
It was almost midnight when she heard movement and muttering outside her tent.
Amelia set her research aside and curiously moved over to peer out into the campsite.
Most of the expedition sat by the campfire, perhaps drawn together in curiosity of what might come, of what midnight may have to offer in this place.
Halpert stood with his arms folded, eyes searching in all directions.
She slipped back into her tent, grabbed her jacket, and pulled it around her shoulders before moving out into the cool night air. Amelia walked quietly and stood next to her mentor, folding her arms tightly across her chest.
“Midnight draws closer,” Halpert said softly, an edge to his voice.
Amelia nodded. “Are we expecting the arcane lamps to short out?”
“If it does, the fire will keep us safe,” he reasoned.
She watched uneasily as Hank and Frank paced underneath the glow of a lamp beyond where her tent was set up. “What else do you think might happen?”
Halpert shook his head. “The stories are boundless, but we’re in the centre of the Rift here, and central to both Monoliths. Anything could happen.”
Amelia shifted uneasily on her feet. “Not ominous at all, thank you.”
He turned his head and gave her a kindly grin.
While she felt fear rise up in her chest as they grew closer to midnight, she also couldn’t deny that her scientific curiosity was at an all-time high.
Midnight arrived with a whisper, quiet and calm.
A hush spread across the land, the wind itself ceasing in an eerie silence, as though making room for something else.
They all heard it at the same time.
A low rumbling noise that seemed as though it came from beneath where they stood. She felt the group stiffen, their breaths held, eyes darting to the flickering fire.
Soon the ground began trembling beneath them. The resonant vibration rolled under their feet, eliciting small sounds of panic among the junior scholars.
That brought Silas out of his tent, his golden hair looking sleep-ruffled as he peered around.
Harsh sounds of cracking stone and shifting earth started behind her and Amelia twisted to see the standing columns and archways of the outer ruins trying to remain upright as dust was dislodged, trickling to the shifting sands.
The arcane lamps began to flicker violently, and the ground rocked, lurching Amelia to the side. Caught off guard, she fell to her hands and knees with a gasp, panic spiking in her blood. She clenched her eyes shut as the tremors intensified, praying for it to be over.
The noise reverberated in her ears.
Their horses whinnied and pawed at the ground.
In her next shaky breath, the earth stabilised. The wind returned, blowing her loose, dark hair around her shoulders.
Amelia, breathing heavily, sat back on her haunches and raised her head.
Around her, the others were getting shakily back to their feet.
When she looked over to Silas’ tent, she found he wasn’t where he’d been earlier.
He stood halfway across the campsite, closer to the fire now.
Silas’ eyes had been on her when she looked up but darted away as soon as they had made contact.
She pushed herself to her feet and slowly began to brush the sand from her clothes and hands, heart still pounding in her chest.
“Hm,” Halpert hummed, and Amelia glanced over to him as he straightened his jacket and brushed sand absently from the front. “Midnight, it seems, is not to be underestimated.”