Hector- Language

Hector shook his head, dismissing the vile’s words as his hands played over the chamber’s walls. He leaned close, squinting, tracing the white stone with his gloved fingertips. The pale light revealed strange markings, symbols scrawled into the chalk that resonated with Hector.

“Language,” muttered Hector to himself. He tilted his head, trying to translate the archaic shapes. To the magister, the markings read vertically, from floor to ceiling—or the other way around—and the more he stared, the more they struck a chord with the images that had flashed through his mind’s eye.

He sensed Vincent’s vile was still listening, and half expected it to chime in, but the phantom remained unusually silent, as if it knew Hector was approaching the truth. The higher Hector looked up the cavern walls, the more markings he discovered.

“A scripture, perhaps. Or a diary. But who wrote it?”

B3 P3 C5