Walls That Resonate No Sound

Grimebank walked just slightly in front of Lucius, enough for there to be a clear distinction of who was leading who.

“Can you tell me about this place, it's all so… weird.” Lucius’s surroundings were straight out of a dream, but a pinch was not going to be enough to wake himself up.

“Feels like I’ve been here my whole life, as long as I can remember I’ve been right here in Pareidolia. Things didn’t always look like this, it used to be a nice city, full of hope. But overtime, the rot settled in, it crept through the crevices more and more, poisoning the heart of the world. Those guards you saw back with the Vatics, they answer to the Amber King. He is Pareidolia now, all there ever was, and all there ever will be. The very earth we walk upon, it all belongs to him.”

“The Amber King? Can I go speak to him? Maybe he can help me out.”

Grimebank chuckled. “Only those unlucky enough to be in his presence get that honour, but they only get it once. Few have ever laid eyes on the King and lived to tell.”

He pointed a hand up towards the sky just over the horizon, where a faint red glow could be seen in the distance.

“That’s Anhedonia, the Palace of the Red Son. He resides there, with armies of Hourmen ready to attack at his call. The world has been covered by his veil for a long time.”

Further explanations would have to wait, as the two had reached their destination. Grimebank halted abruptly in front of a decrepit alleyway between two buildings that looked like only the wind was holding them up, the broken glass from their shattered windows leading into empty rooms of darkness.

“We’re here.”

‘Here’ was not much at all. At least, not at first glance. Grimebank had stepped into the alley and completely disappeared from sight. Lucius rapidly blinked his eyes, confused about what had just happened.

“Uhhh, Grimebank you there? Where’d you go?”

A disembodied bandaged arm appeared out of thin air right in front of him and grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him into the passageway. The doorway rippled with waves as he passed through the invisible door, completely hidden from the outside world.

“This is the Angiporium,” Grimebank announced.

The Angiporium was like nothing Lucius had seen before. The place opened up like a wound in the city’s architecture, stitched together from the discarded bones. The floor glowed faintly with an unnatural hue, a molten orange-red that spilled across the space like a stage light. The walls were lined with shelves, books overflowing from them and occupying space on the floor, all among the pastel rays from windows that seemed impossibly placed. Amidst the visual chaos, Lucius felt a little bit at ease for the first time since his arrival in this new world.

“This is incredible,” Lucius remarked in awe.

Grimebank moved through the space with familiarity, his bandages catching glimmers of light like tattered curtains.

“You live here?” Lucius asked.

“I live in many places.”

‘It’s beautiful. It reminds me of something, someplace, I can’t really remember. Like I’m walking into a dream I had as a kid.”

At the far end of the room, a single high backed chair awaited beneath precariously placed framed paintings. The chair’s pattern writhed faintly, changing from velvet to leather depending on the point of view.

Draped in its shadow sat a figure in black, almost sculptural. Tall, broad, face etched in severity. His coat hung heavy and dark, shimmering at the edges over his architectural silhouette like it was sketched in hard graphite. His hair was streaked with white, slicked back but never entirely in place, like wings breaking free from constraint.

“Grimebank, who have you brought?” His voice came stern and deliberate.

“Surazal meet Lucius. I saved him from getting skewered by one of the King’s men, thought he’d fit right in here.”

Surazal scanned Lucius up and down, not seeming impressed. “You know our rule about outsiders.”

“Oh, you’re always so paranoid. Does he look like a spy to you? The boy barely knows where he is.”

Instinctively, Lucius stuck out his hand towards Surazal, imitating the greeting his father had taught him. “Mr. Surazal…nice to meet you. I’m Lucius.”

Surazal, ignoring his gesture, turned to Grimebank. “A word. Alone.”

Staring down at Lucius, he boldly ordered: “You, stay right here. Don’t move.”

“Let the boy look around, there’s no harm in that.” Grimebank wrapped his arm around Surazal’s shoulder, guiding him towards a corner of the room where they could speak privately.

The hall was overwhelming, Lucius didn’t know where to begin. But amidst the scent of dust and age, he thought he could make out something…fresh. He followed the intriguing scent down a side path that ended in a bed of light.

As he squinted at the bright lights flooding his vicinity, he took in the greenhouse for all it had to offer. There, placed in the heart of the Angiporium, was a sudden pocket of stillness where the air felt cooler, almost kind. Its glass walls were tall and arched, dappled with condensation that caught the light like jewels.

The plants grew wild but harmonious, crowding together in soft jungles of green. Vines curled lazily across crystal beams overhead, dripping blossoms that glowed faintly in pale blues and golds, swaying gently in a wind Lucius couldn’t feel. The floor was a mosaic of cracked stone half swallowed by moss, soft enough that every step felt like walking on a carpet of earth.

In the center of the space, a fountain bubbled, not water, but a translucent liquid like starlight, sending ripples of silver across the greenhouse as if it were feeding the plants. Where the luminous water touched roots, flowers brightened that leaned towards Lucius as though they recognized him.

For the first time since entering Pareidolia, the silence was not oppressive.

It’s just like the gardens my parents would take me too, how contrasting they were to the grayness of the city. Everything I liked about the greenery back then is replicated right here, even more so. Someone must really care for this place.

Perfectly in sync with his thoughts, the figure of a woman was half revealed behind a curtain of flowering vines, her hand trailing gently through the silver liquid that bubbled upward. For a second, she looked so familiar, like the outline of someone he had dreamed about many times.

Lucius spoke in her direction before he could stop himself. “Hello?”

The woman turned. Her hair spilled like ink in water, flashing strands of silver. Her eyes carried a familiar warmth, like a fireplace on a chilly night. Across her body was a flowing cloak of white matter, fragments of stained glass trailing down to her ankles. Her heels appeared to be made of solid translucent crystal, straight out of a fairytale. Upon her hands she wore delicate, almost skeletal gloves, accentuating the elegance of her fingers. But it was her gentle face, her soft eyes, that felt eerily nostalgic to Lucius, but altered like he was like looking through a funhouse mirror.

“Hello there,” she said kindly, her voice carrying the same rhythm as a lullaby. “I am Lain, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Lucius froze in the path of her gaze, caught between wanting to run and wanting to fall into her arms. Butterflies with mirrored wings that drifted around her seemed to flash fragments of his own memory, memories he hadn’t thought about in a long time. Each flicker was gone as quickly as it appeared, but it left a strange warmth in his chest.

“You look so tired,” Lain murmured. She stepped closer, her movements calm, unthreatening, like she was coaxing a frightened child. Her hand hovered near Lucius’s cheek, not quite touching.

“Pareidolia takes more from you than it gives. But here...” She gestured gently to the greenery, the breathing vines, the glowing fountain. “Here, you can rest. You don’t have to carry it alone, not for a little while.”

Lucius swallowed hard. The words pierced deeper than any blade. His throat ached, but he couldn’t speak.

Lain’s smile was quiet and unshaken. “You’ve suffered long enough,” she said. “Sit. Breathe. The garden seems to remember you kindly.”

And for the first time since stepping into this strange, broken world, Lucius believed it might be true.

***

“What were you thinking bringing an outsider here?” Surazal’s voice was stern, like he was disciplining a child.
“How little you trust me. I too was an outsider once. What’s the difference between me and him?” Grimebank remarked back, seeming overly determined to have Lucius accepted.

Surazal paced back and forth along the covered walls, thinking back to the strange events that led to their first meeting. When days of peace were common, when the Angiporium didn’t need to be hidden in a pocket of existence.

“You want to bring up your past right now? It’s not exactly a clean slate. No one’s heard from you in longer than I can count. Where were you during all our attempts at restoring this wretched city? Where were you when we needed you? All our attempts at overthrowing that tyrant have ended in failure!”

Surazal’s anger began to rise in his voice, his mind running too many thoughts at once.

Grimebank calmly peered down to his bandaged legs, shaking his head slowly side to side. Looking up directly at Surazal so his reflection was shown in his mirrored lenses, he spoke with a soft voice. “Give the boy a chance. He may be the only one you have.”

With that final remark, Grimebank sedately walked back towards the gateway and stepped through the rippling doorway, leaving the Angiporium behind him.