He wondered as the lane brought him from the Palatine's Path, or what used to be known as the king's road—and he knocked onto a large figure.

His chest tightened. His heart began racing in rapid succession. The Ironhand in front had stopped and stared at him menacingly, but Alwold couldn't really tell what was behind that gilded mask. Alwold clenched his fist, clutching the paranoia within him while bearing the pain in his hand. Sweat dripped off his fingers, and he began praying that it wasn't red. As he stepped back from the Ironhand, he felt his gaze piercing at him as well. He swallowed as he stepped aside to let the enforcer pass, and he did so in an unhurried fashion, his sight fixed on Alwold until he reached the other end of the lane before he joined the scene on the other side.

For a moment Alwold recollected back his shattering consciousness, the laboured breathing returning to ease. He realized he had forgotten how to breathe briefly. His chest still drummed, now in synchrony with the sounds of the public square.

The streets were wide and straight, the tall colonnades lining the edges leading to one of the province's Investment Hall. Alwold had to take the roundabout around this Hall to get to the other side of the Academy district, and it unnerved him seeing the massive domed structure at its proud centre, displaying an ungenerous lack of windows but numerous minarets around it. The Ironhands atop the stretched stairway to the gates weren't as threatening as they seemed up close now that they were so far away guarding the entrance, nevertheless, Alwold scanned the surroundings to be aware of more of them. His grandfather could be probably working behind those dark walls as he walked, although he wouldn't give him too much thought. It was best for Pappe to stay out of Alwold's business now that he had succeeded Second Academia as he wished.

Yet out of all the rejoicing young scholars that celebrated the end of their formal education, Alwold was the only one heading to the Athenaeum to return to the solace of books, whilst the others drew a coin from their pockets for little rabbit kits. Alwold had enough money of his own for a baby rabbit too, but he'd have no use for it without a suitor to propose to with it, unlike so many others who had already been counting days till they officiated union with their enamoured partner's families. Therefore he made his way to the library, expecting someone he already knew wouldn't notice him, just to be prepared should he face a sudden encounter, although he wished he was left alone even if he stumbled upon any of his peers.

However it was unlikely any of them would be in a library, which he deemed perfect to enter at this time. Walking through the tall narrow doors, he slowed down, breathing in the comforting silence from the urban noise outside. A brief moment of tranquility, before his eyes laid on the massive shelves before him, reminding him of his task he came here for. He wasn't free of his incessant scholarly bearings even after succeeding Second Academia, and his pursuit of the unanswered was the only motivation that kept him occupied.

Predictably, the afternoon had sent most of the scholars outside to congregate in the Meydan and cafes. Without wasting time, he strode past the political section to the History books, the tomes larger and more ancient than the rest of the volumes in the Athenaeum. He held the book 'The Arcane Compendium of Black Garden's Historie' close to his chest.

He extended the book towards its shelf, then hesitated, caught in a swirl of thoughts. His hand lowered, and he decided to hold on to the book for a few more days. He strolled to the adjacent compartment of shelves seeking more cyclopaedias, deliberately shifting away from the windows.

The daylight poured in abundantly through the large arched panes of glass into the Athenaeum, exposing everyone inside. However, he chose to remain in a different ambience. He swept to the shadows behind the shelves facing the windows and examined the collections there, the thought of being seen evaporating from his mind.

"What are you still doing here?"

The evaporation sucked itself in.

Alwold took a step back in surprise. Not invisible enough.

"Ah, I- I'm looking for something," he responded, tearing his eyes away from the face of his Early Science tutor. An unfortunate timing.

"Looking for something or someone, Tariwin?" She beamed. Nobody beamed after calling his name.

"There's no—there's no someone, Despa." He only shook his head, sparing a courteous glance at her in respect.

She made a thoughtful hum. "Well, what are you even looking for?"

Alwold studied the shelf before him, books ranging from wide tomes to certified published journals, but not the answer to that question. "I don't know."

Alwold could sense what question would follow and he winced discreetly.

"Don't you have anyone to forevow to? A lover? A friend on the sidelines? A secret little flame?"

Alwold only lowered his head pretending to study the shelf below and side-eyed his tutor. "No, Despa."

"Well, at least tell me you intend to go the Chalice tonight with all your peers. You have no more school. You ought to celebrate."

Alwold was thinking for the right response. He had been saying "no" a little too much to her questions.

She chuckled. "Alright, what are you actually looking for?"

"Anything to lead me forward at this point."

"Do you always talk in figures of speech or is that an attempt to bore people into leaving you alone?" she said, gently raising the hem of her skirt before bowing to take a look at the books.

She has noticed. "I—"

"Despa Deniz Yildiz?" An archivist called from behind. "You have been sent for to the Scribe's office."

"I'll be there." Alwold's tutor gestured the archivist away and rose from the ground. "Do you have anything to talk about, Alwold? It is unusual for someone who just ended schooling to return to the books again, even for someone like you. I am there if you want someone to talk to."

What does she mean by that?

He rubbed his palms on his trousers for the hundredth time, to rid his fingers of the sweat. "Probably not today, Despa Deniz." he said, still managing to avoid meeting her eyes.

"So there is something."

Alwold wished he worded his response differently. "I meant, I have nothing to talk about, Despa. No one is at home so I thought I'd stroll around these shelves one last time."

"I doubt this will be a last time for you." She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Alright. Well, we will meet some other time then." Perhaps at the Whispering Chalice tonight. I need to see the lucky woman that managed to catch your eyes."

"I swear, there really isn't—"

She chuckled again. "Till another time." She tapped his cheek before leaving.

Alwold looked at her for the briefest second before she turned and left him, her pink robes trailing behind her silhouette as she walked away towards the light and out of the Athenaeum. She was the closest he had for a friend, and now he was afraid of welcoming closer distance between them. She made the last year and half at Second Academia tolerable, despite the obvious ostracism he had to put up with. He tried not to think about it, but held on to it. A muse cast aside for some other time, another time of lonely contemplation. Not today.

Right now, he needed to continue investigating older sources, as ancient as there could be on these shelves, until he had discovered at least one different interpretation, one step closer, one lead to push him forward. Anything to lead him forward at this point.

Dreams were a fabrication of the resistance.

Alwold lost track of the times he found that phrase recurring across the multitude of tomes he had borrowed from the Athenaeum.

He pulled a book out titled 'The Mirror of Mind: Reflections on the Nature of Thought, Memory, and the Passions', and 'The Crown Before Qardis' again, and began his way out of the maze of bookshelves to the study bench. He chose a deserted table away from the windows as far as possible and occupied the corner where anyone entering the library would only see his back. He drew his notepad out and resumed scribing his findings again from "The Crown Before Qardis," even though it was his third time venturing into its pages.

Because this book was so far the only manuscript where only one word was miswritten:

Dreams are a fabrication of the resistance.

Alwold had assumed this book must have been the paradigm for the format of every other that was written afterwards. He flipped the pages to the end to check if there had been any references to authors or at least any other manuscripts that he might have missed that could potentially lead him to authentic sources. But like every other Athenaeum in Kinnos; the authors of books were confidential. It probably was the case in every Athenaeum in existence across all the nine provinces in Qardis, but one could not help but wonder if the writers' identities are meant to be hidden. Every other book in the bookstores and archives in the Strive had the writer's names displayed in front, but not the Prime's Athenaeums.

Alwold sensed footsteps approaching. A couple of women were examining the shelves behind him, and the silence assisted his overhearing.

"Someone was arrested from the Froilan residence. Heard the Ironhands are beginning to eye more residences in the Prime."

"Explains the suffocating ingress of Ironhands these days," one of them whispered with disgust, "I feel the urge to vomit into their masked faces."

The other shushed her. "Keep it down. For all you know a Thirdhand could be behind us."

Alwold's eyes bulged, but remained calm. There was no looking back. It was best to pretend. He could imagine their faces turning behind him.

"I had the understanding they infrequently frequented this place," she said with disgust.

"I would have to argue."

"They're everywhere."

"It's just a boy, don't worry."

And that was the last he heard of them. He rotated his head back slowly to survey the area, but they were gone. Probably into the labyrinth of bookshelves where nobody could hear them. But that was the best part about being in the Athenaeum. It wasn't just the books providing insight, but his haphazard efforts of eavesdropping into people's conversations, which had been more useful than the books. It was clear why people chose the Athenaeum for their discreet exchanges, and it was the very reason why Alwold spent more time there, away from the prying eyes of the Ironhands.

Alwold swiped a random book from behind him and moved swiftly into the labyrinthine archives again, catching sight of the women passing by between the Linguistics section.

He stopped by a shelf where they were murmuring behind it. He moved the side of his head close to the edges to listen better.

"But weren't you speaking to him a week ago?" one of them sounded concerned.

"I know! And he sneezed right in front of me! And on my dress!" She was weeping. "I put on my overcoat and burned the dress immediately as I went home. I just hope my mother won't question it."

"If he is arrested then we will be eyed too."

"He never told me he was experiencing dreams!"

"Don't be an idiot! How could he? I wouldn't either!"

"Yes, yes, you might be right about that."

"Do you think he was truly dreaming?"

"Why else would he get a nosebleed in the middle of the day? Besides, his eyes were red too."

"Where were you when this happened?"

"In the corridors. The Early Science halls?"

"And you are absolutely sure you were alone?"

"I'm afraid I might be wrong!" she sniffled. "We were close to the Astronomy building, talking about how we were looking forward to our weddings and he seemed so sincere about it."

"Quiet down! You don't want the entire Province to hear you crying!"

"I'm not sure what to do, Sevda."

"You need to keep calm. You're not the one who dreamt."

"He's the only one who forevowed to me!" she sounded weeping even more. "Our families are going to betroth us next week. I don't want to lose him. I don't want to be taken away either."

The other girl paused for a heavy breath. "Wipe your tears. We need to leave, the archivist is coming this way."

Her words were a caution Alwold realized a little too late. Alwold wiped his wet palm on his trousers again, holding the book on the other hand tightly, pretending to browse the collection.

"Anything you are looking for?"

"Oh, I was searching for the right shelf to replace this," he handed the book he held with a dark palm print on the front of its cover.

"Let me help you with that," the archivist received the book from him and stepped behind Alwold to see him pass. Alwold turned furtively to notice that he flashed an unconvincing smile.

He watched the girls leave through the passage out as he passed the archivist. He strode quickly to his table with the entire conversation he overheard replaying in his head. But his thoughts broke. An unfamiliar face dove out from peering into the notepad he left open on the table. Well, shits!

The person had allowed only a glance at Alwold before he turned away. He disappeared by the time he reached his table, and if anything, Alwold was certain the surveillance of the Ironhands had finally entered the premises. It was bound to happen. If residences in the Prime were beginning to be eyed more, it was only a question of time before the Monocle cautiously crept into the silent establishments in the province. Soon the Athenaeum would no longer be his solitary solace of escapism.

The Monocle and their obsession with dreams...

The Monocle did more than enforce the law that dreams were forbidden. If they were authorized to arrest anyone who did, stripping them away from their family whether they had one or not, to an unknown fate never to return again, Alwold could only imagine the lengths they would go to wrest away the oddities they were looking for. Nobody still knew what happened to the dreamers that were caught, because nobody returned to narrate the tale. Thirdhand spies were mingled amongst the population, rooting out the dreamers, drawing out the abnormalities from hiding in this perfectly controlled utopia, a state lacking anomalies at its entirety.

Alwold knew he was treading on a perilous path. He knew the risk that came with questioning what was written on stone. The question was feared by everyone, and now it was haunting them all. The question had been tormenting him for years now.

If dreams are impossible, how are people dreaming now?

This was a plague, going after every one of them till the Monocle would ensure they had cleansed Qardis. Great families sponsored this determined campaign, something Alwold suspected was a strategy they operated to keep themselves immune from being eyed themselves, but the hearsays of it backfiring on them was a satisfying ideal.

Turn in a dreamer, and your household will be granted prosecutorial immunity from the Monocle's inspections for five full years.

He wondered how many more years would be added on top of what they already gained by turning in dozens of dreamers every year.

How much time till the Monocle would proclaim they have subdued Qardis? Until they have vanquished dreams off this realm, or until dreams have taken over every single one till there was no one left? Would the Monocle govern a barren realm?

The people were hungry. Not their stomachs, but their spirits. The Monocle may silence people from talking, but would they ever be able to silence their minds? No one who ever dreamed had ever returned to tell their tale.

The prospect haunts him. It was delusional already to think he could get somewhere relying solely on the directions from the books. He could find why the Monocle had prohibited dreams, but then what? Alwold needed the answers to determine what comes next. More importantly, he had to act with utter discretion. But nobody should know. Nobody would need to know.

Because he was not looking forward to meeting the same fate as his mother. 

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What are your thoughts on this chapter? Did anything surprise you, intrigue you, or leave you wanting more? I'd love to hear your theories, insights, and favorite moment. Drop a comment below-I read every single one!

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