Lucian rubbed his chin, glancing between Hemlock and me with that half-smirk of his still lingering. "So, cousin? What’s our next move? Dig through rubble, or visit our eccentric historian?"

"I want to see those markings," I said. "If stone was burning and not just wood, that stinks of magic. If there are magical inscriptions, that might lead somewhere." I turned to Hemlock. "Are there still ruins from the fire, or has everything been cleaned up?"

The sheriff nodded thoughtfully, arms crossed. "Most of the old cathedral site was cleared when the new one was built. But not everything. The old foundation is still down there—some walls, support structures. Sealed off, but intact. If you want to look, you’ll need access to the undercroft."

Lucian grinned. "I do love exploring places we probably shouldn’t be. So—do we ask for permission or just find a way in?"

"Could we get access to the undercroft?" I asked. "Also, do you think one of the priests might guide us? We aren’t familiar with the old cathedral’s layout. Someone with that kind of knowledge could be useful."

Hemlock gave a short grunt and nodded. "Father Zantus has the key. It’s his call—but I’ll back you up. He was a junior priest when the fire happened, so he’s the only clergy left who remembers the old layout. Come on, I’ll take you to him."

We crossed town quickly, the rising sun glinting off broken shingles and charred beams. Repairs were already underway, the town fighting to restore itself. We passed through the broad front doors of the newly built cathedral, sunlight filtering through stained glass onto polished stone.

Father Zantus looked up as we approached, offering a calm smile. "Sheriff Hemlock. Cassian. Lucian. Good morning. I assume you didn’t come for morning prayers?"

Lucian opened his mouth with something no doubt witty, but I smacked him lightly on the back of the head before he could speak.

"Remember what Grandfather said—'If you aren't going to be helpful, stay out of it.'" Then I turned back to Father Zantus with a respectful nod. "Sorry to barge in on you this morning, Father. I’ve got a strange request. As my uncouth cousin indicated, we’d like to look through your basement—the old foundations of the previous cathedral. I have suspicions about the fire, and I’d like to confirm them if I can."

The priest’s expression grew more solemn. He folded his hands in front of him, contemplative. "You’re not the first person to wonder about that night," he said quietly. After a pause, he nodded. "If there is even a chance that something from the past is tied to what’s happening now, we cannot ignore it."

He glanced to Hemlock, who gave him a subtle, confirming nod.

"Very well," Zantus said. He reached into his robes and pulled out a heavy iron key, old and worn. "I will take you. But be warned—the undercroft was never meant to be entered again. It was sealed because nothing was supposed to remain."

We followed him past the nave, into a shadowed alcove near the rear of the cathedral. There, hidden behind a plain stone archway, stood a heavy door of dark stone. The smell of incense faded, replaced by the cool scent of old stone and dust.

Zantus slid the key into the iron lock and turned it with a loud, echoing click. The door groaned as it opened, revealing a narrow stairway descending into darkness.

Lucian peered over my shoulder, lips quirking. "Well. That’s not ominous at all."

Zantus lifted a lantern from a nearby hook and lit it. "Stay close," he said. "It’s been many years since anyone has been down here."

As we descended the narrow stairs beneath the cathedral, the air grew thick with dust and the flickering lantern light cast strange, shifting shadows on the ancient stonework. The passage opened into a wide chamber—the foundation of the original cathedral.

The stonework was darker here, more ancient. Crumbling walls and fire-blackened beams still stood from the blaze five years ago, soot lingering on every surface like a scar that time hadn’t yet healed. I could tell at once this stonework didn’t match the new construction above. It was older, rougher, and likely reused from a previous structure long before Sandpoint was founded.

But what drew my eye wasn’t the age of the stone—it was the symbols.

Faint, partially burned, and etched directly into the floor near the center of the room. They pulsed with a weight that tugged at my senses, like a whisper just beyond hearing.

Lucian crouched beside me, peering at the markings. "You’re the expert, cousin. What do you make of these?"

I knelt beside the symbols, running my fingers carefully along their edges. The fire had scorched them, and age had worn them down, but some of the arcane script remained. Not modern—not anything I’d seen in formal instruction. But I recognized enough to feel the prickling tension at the base of my neck.

They were ancient. Older than the old cathedral. Likely even older than Sandpoint itself.

"Necromancy," I murmured, frowning. "And abjuration. Some kind of warding magic. Maybe a containment ritual. If these symbols were part of an active spell, the fire may have broken it."

Zantus stepped closer, lantern raised, the light flickering over the half-ruined carvings. "I never knew these were here," he said softly, clearly unsettled. "We built over these ruins without truly understanding them."

I looked up sharply. "You mean the new cathedral sits on something even older?"

He nodded. "This land has been settled long before Sandpoint. The original cathedral was built atop existing foundations, but we never knew what they were."

Lucian stood with his arms crossed, staring down at the symbols. "Let me get this straight," he said. "Ancient magical ruins under the church, mysterious fire wipes out the place five years ago, and now someone’s robbing graves? If this were a bard’s tale, I’d already be betting on cursed ruins or ancient horrors."

He shot me a glance. "So… what did they do, exactly?"

I leaned closer again, tracing the faint outlines with my fingertips, trying to decipher their purpose. The script wasn’t entirely arcane—there were hints of something older. Thassilonian, perhaps. But the meaning eluded me.

"I recognize pieces," I admitted. "But it’s damaged. I can’t translate it fully. They resemble warding inscriptions, but I need a reference. Something to compare it to."

Lucian gave a short, humorless chuckle. "Not getting much, huh?"

Father Zantus stepped back thoughtfully. "If these symbols predate the first cathedral, they must be far older than we realized. Perhaps Brodert Quink could help. He’s devoted his life to studying Thassilonian ruins. I doubt anyone in Sandpoint knows more about ancient script than he does."

From behind us, Sheriff Hemlock finally spoke. He’d been quiet this whole time, watching.

"If those symbols were magical wards, and the fire broke them," he said grimly, "that means whatever they were keeping in might not be kept anymore."

His words sat heavy in the air.

Lucian looked to me again. "Alright, cousin. Ancient ruins, broken magic, and missing bones. What’s our next move?"

I stepped back from the markings and dusted off my hands. "It’s time to go see the scholar. I don’t know enough to hazard a proper guess yet, but Master Quink might."

Then I turned to Zantus. "Depending on what we find, we may need to return. Possibly deeper than this. Is there a priest who could accompany us? Someone younger, quick on their feet. No offense, Father. But if something goes wrong, we might need to run."

Zantus smiled faintly. "None taken. I’ll speak to Sister Thelenda. She’s young, capable, and faithful. If you have need of her, I’ll make sure she’s ready."

I nodded, grateful. Whatever lay beneath our feet, it wasn’t done whispering yet.