The East Basement stayed cold no matter how many candles they lit.
Raziel dragged his charcoal pencil across a fresh piece of parchment and practiced the fluid motions of Architectural Inscription without channeling any actual mana.
He traced a complex anchor loop for the fiftieth time, then he tossed the pencil onto the wooden table and rubbed his tired eyes.
He looked across the dark room.
Zorya was slumped over her own desk in the far corner. Her head rested sideways on an open translation book and her messy brown hair covered her face.
Her breathing sounded slow and deep, so the exhausted girl had finally collapsed after six straight hours of decoding ancient syntax.
She couldn't generate the gold and black Umbral energy, but studying the walls of this hidden chamber had completely rewired her brain.
She pushed past the basic garbage the Church taught upstairs and figured out the deep calculus of the ancient foundation.
