Chapter 7 - The High Grammarian’s Trap

The darkness in the sewage tunnels was so thick it felt physical, clinging to the skin and suffocating the breath. Elian ran without stopping, his feet splashing through the stagnant water that covered his ankles, the sound of his steps echoing eerily in the narrow, branching passages. He did not look back. He couldn't. The image of Vera blocking the attackers, her eyes holding that mysterious mix of regret and determination, was etched into his mind like another tattoo—deeper and more painful than the black ink on his arm. "Trust no one else," her last words echoed in his head like a war drum. But who was "else"? His missing father? Or was Vera trying to deceive him until the end, forcing him toward a specific location? Doubt was a poison coursing through his veins faster than any spell.He stopped suddenly to breathe, leaning against a slimy, moss-covered wall. He rolled up his sleeve and looked at the tattoo. The dark red color had begun to fade slightly, returning to deep black, but it was no longer calm as it had been before. The lines moved nervously, as if searching for a direction or sensing nearby danger. Elian felt a shiver run down his spine, not from cold, but from a strange sensation of being watched. He was not alone in these tunnels."Who's there?" he whispered in a low voice.There was no reply, but the air changed. The foul smell of stagnant water mixed with another scent: the smell of burnt ozone and static electricity. The smell of high-level magic.A shadow emerged from between the stone pillars supporting the ceiling. Then another. And a third. They were not ordinary guards in leather suits. They wore long gray cloaks and smooth, featureless white masks, each bearing a grammatical symbol carved in gold: a dot above a letter, an inverted question mark, and a closing bracket."High Grammarians," Elian whispered, blood freezing in his veins. These were not mere soldiers; they were masters of language, wizards capable of crafting complex sentences that altered local laws of physics. And they had found him.A man stepped forward from among them, his mask bearing the symbol of the "Comma." His voice was soft, cultured, as if delivering a lecture in a classroom rather than hunting a fugitive in sewage tunnels."Elian Batouche," the man said, smiling beneath his mask. "Or should I say, 'the Bearer'? You have caused quite a disturbance for the Academy. Lord Selix appreciates your talent, truly. But he prefers that talent to be under control... or in a specimen jar."Elian clenched his fists. He had no magical staff, nor enough training to face three elite wizards. But he had something they did not expect: despair, anger, and a new understanding of the nature of his power. He was no longer trying to imitate traditional mages. He had to be chaotic."I will not come with you," Elian said in a steady voice, despite his trembling knees.The Grammarian with the dotted mask laughed. "The choice is not yours. Silentium." (Silence).He spoke the word with a sharp tone. Immediately, Elian's voice vanished. He tried to scream, but no sound came from his throat. The air around his mouth became heavy and dense, like cement. The Grammarians were using the "Grammar of Silence" to isolate him and render him unable to cast spells.The Grammarians smiled at each other and approached him slowly, their blue-flame swords raised. They thought the battle was over before it began. But they forgot one thing: Elian no longer relied solely on external sound. He relied on the "inner voice," on the pure intent he had learned from Vera, and from the tattoo itself.Elian closed his eyes. He ignored the attempt to silence him. He focused all his mental energy on a single word he did not speak aloud, but pushed directly from his mind into the tattoo on his arm. The word was: "Echo."He did not ask the air to carry the sound. He asked reality itself to repeat what had just happened, but with doubled intensity.Suddenly, the ground shook. It was not a random earthquake. It was a repetition of the Grammarians' footsteps when they entered the tunnel, but with immense force. Stones exploded beneath their feet, and part of the ceiling collapsed over their heads. The magical silence imposed on Elian was shattered by the violent shockwave.Elian screamed, and this time the sound erupted loudly, accompanied by a wave of invisible energy that blasted the three Grammarians backward. They fell into the stagnant water, their swords extinguished.The Grammarian with the dotted mask looked at him with surprise and terror. "This... this is not traditional grammar. This is a distortion of the rules!""That is the difference between us," Elian said, his breath ragged, the tattoo glowing with an angry purple hue. "You follow the rules. I break them."Before the Grammarians could regain their balance or formulate a new spell, Elian turned and ran in the opposite direction, toward a narrow exit leading to the abandoned old districts above ground. He knew they would follow, but this small maneuver bought him the time he needed.He emerged from the tunnel through a broken sewage grate in a deserted alley. The sky above was black, and rain began to fall heavily, washing the mud from his face but not the betrayal from his heart. He was on the other side of the city, near the northern gate leading to the forests surrounding Lexica. From there, the "Burnt Library" lay only a few miles away, in a forbidden zone known as the "Land of Ash."He began to run again, this time under the rain. His body was exhausted, muscles screaming with every step, but his will was stronger. With every stride, he felt the tattoo become lighter, as if feeding on his movement and his anger. He began to understand something new: power does not come from calm control, but from harmony with internal chaos.After an hour of continuous running, he reached the edge of the forest. The trees here were dead, their trunks black and charred, their branches twisted like deformed fingers reaching out to grab him. The ground was covered in a thick layer of gray ash, and every step Elian took left a clear trace that the rain quickly washed away. The atmosphere was terrifyingly silent. No insects, no birds, not even the sound of wind. Only a heavy silence that pressed against the ears.He entered the forest cautiously. The tattoo was now pulsing with a regular rhythm, as if guiding him. The deeper he went into the forest, the brighter the glow became, and the hotter his arm felt. He felt he was approaching a massive source of energy, similar to what he had felt in the Memory Dungeon, but darker and sadder.He reached a small clearing in the center of the forest. In the middle stood the remains of a huge stone building. The walls were partially demolished, the roof had completely collapsed, but the general structure still stood. This was the "Burnt Library."Elian approached it slowly, his heart pounding violently. He remembered Vera's warning: "Trust no one who carries a staff of oak engraved with stars." And he remembered the information broker's words: "Your father is waiting for you."He entered through the main entrance, where the huge wooden doors had turned to charcoal. Inside the building, the scene was poignant. The shelves were empty except for the ash of books. The floor was covered with remnants of burnt pages. But in the center of the main hall, there was a single intact stone table, and on it lay one open book.Elian approached the table. The book was very old, its cover made of a strange material resembling human skin, and its title written in faded gold script: "Register of the Bearers."He opened the first page. It was filled with names and dates. Elian ran his trembling fingers over the pages until he reached a name that made him stop breathing.Elias Batouche – The Last Reader – Status: Hiding.And below the name was a note written in a handwriting he knew well. His father's handwriting."If you are reading this, Elian, know that I did not abandon you. I was keeping you out of sight. But the time has come to return to the roots. Look behind the table."Elian turned slowly. Behind the stone table, there was a small staircase carved into the ground, closed by a simple wooden door. There were no magical locks on it. Only a rusty iron handle.Elian reached out and grasped the handle. He felt the cold of the metal penetrate his skin. He pulled the door open with force.The door opened to reveal a spiral staircase leading down, into darkness deeper than that of the tunnels. And from the depths came a sound. Not the sound of a monster, nor of magic. But the calm voice of a human, reading in a low tone.The voice of an old man, weak in breath, but clear and warm."Welcome, my son," the voice said from below. "I have waited long."Tears welled in Elian's eyes for the first time in days. He was not afraid this time. He felt something akin to returning home, even though home was a cellar under a burnt library in a dead forest.He descended the first step, then the second. With each step, the tattoo on his arm calmed, its color shifting from angry purple to the calm blue he had seen for the first time. As if it knew its owner had reached safety. Or perhaps... the beginning of a completely different battle.When he reached the bottom, he found a small room lit by many candles. And on a comfortable chair sat an old man, his hair white as snow, his eyes blue exactly like Elian's. He held a simple wooden staff, unengraved with any stars, made of ordinary olive wood.The man smiled, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes."You have grown so much, Elian," his father said with a trembling voice. "And you have a beautiful tattoo. Are you ready to know the full truth?"Elian sat before him, unable to speak. He only nodded.His father began to speak, his voice filling the small room, carrying the weight of years of secrets, starting from the moment Lord Selix decided that words should be prisoners, not wings.