The Edinburgh Network – Betrayal, Love and Ancient Power
By Lea von Löwenstein
Chapter 9: Ancient Choices
Part 1: The Iron-Bound Decision
Saturday, 07:11, The Medieval Vault
The iron-bound chest sat before them, its ancient locks gleaming in the ethereal blue light. Behind them, the sounds of pursuit grew closer – stone grinding against stone as their hunters fought through the collapse.
“We have to decide,” Jenny’s fingers hovered over the chest’s intricate mechanisms. “Whatever’s in here – it’s what they’re willing to kill for.”
“Or die for,” Callum added grimly, his weapon still trained on the partially blocked entrance. “Though I’m more concerned about what those merchant marks of yours are warning about.”
The phosphorescent fungi cast moving shadows across the medieval metalwork, making the chest’s decorative bands seem to writhe with hidden life. Jenny’s head wound throbbed in time with her racing heart.
“The marks say ‘walks between worlds,'” she traced the symbols again. “But there’s more – something about ‘the price of knowledge’ and ‘binding the unseen.'”
“Not exactly filling me with confidence, lass.”
Another crash echoed through the chamber as more of the tunnel gave way. A voice carried through the debris – the accented commander, somehow still alive:
“Break through! Whatever it takes – we cannot let them open it first!”
Saturday, 07:12, The Medieval Vault
Jenny’s fingers moved frantically across the carved warnings, the bioluminescent light making each symbol stark against the ancient stone.
“There’s more here,” her voice tight with urgency. “‘What sleeps must remain sleeping.’ And this part…” She traced a particularly complex series of marks. “‘The seven bound it with blood and gold, but only truth will hold it.'”
“Truth?” Callum’s Scottish burr was skeptical as he fired another precious round, forcing back a chunk of debris that threatened to give their pursuers access. “What kind of medieval lock runs on truth?”
“Not a lock,” Jenny’s academic mind raced ahead. “A test. The merchants were obsessed with contracts, with binding agreements. This chest…” Her fingers found another series of symbols. “Oh God.”
“What is it, lass?”
“‘Speak false and wake the sleeper,'” she translated, her voice barely a whisper. “‘Break faith and break the world.'”
Through the falling stone, they heard the commander shouting orders in multiple languages now – Russian, Bulgarian, something older that Jenny’s linguistic training couldn’t quite place.
“They know,” she realized. “They know about the test. That’s why they need the ledgers – to know what truth to tell it.”
Saturday, 07:13, The Medieval Vault
“We need to move,” Callum’s tactical assessment cut through Jenny’s translations. “Whatever’s in that chest, we can’t let them get it, but we can’t stay here either.”
Another crash punctuated his words as more of the tunnel gave way. The commander’s voice grew clearer through the debris.
“Jenny,” Callum’s hand found her shoulder. “Is there another way out? These merchant vaults always had escape routes.”
Her eyes swept the phosphorescent-lit chamber, academic knowledge fighting through her concussion. “Yes… yes! The merchants never trusted each other. Every vault had a private exit.”
She moved to the far wall, fingers tracing more carved symbols. “Here – behind this section. The mark for ‘sanctuary’ and ‘secret path.'”
“How do we trigger it?”
“Same as the hospital entrance,” Jenny pressed specific points in the medieval stonework. “They used consistent engineering across their network.”
The grinding of ancient mechanisms filled the chamber just as their pursuers made significant progress through the collapse.
“What about the chest?” Callum fired another round – his second-to-last – at a shifting section of debris.
“We can’t move it,” Jenny’s hands worked faster at the wall. “And we can’t let them have it. But maybe…” Her fingers found a particular carved sequence. “Maybe we can seal it away again.”
Part 2: Awakening
Saturday, 07:14, The Medieval Vault
The first crack was subtle – a sound like ice breaking on the Royal Mile in winter. Then another, sharper, more deliberate.
Something inside the iron-bound chest wanted out.
“Tell me that’s just ancient wood settling,” Callum’s voice was tight as he kept his last round trained on the partially cleared tunnel entrance.
Jenny’s hands froze on the escape route mechanism. “It’s not supposed to…” Her eyes widened as more cracks appeared across the chest’s surface. “The warnings – ‘what sleeps must remain sleeping.’ Our presence, the violence, the collapse…”
“We’ve bloody woken it,” Callum finished grimly.
Through the debris, their pursuers fell silent, listening to the increasingly urgent sounds from the chest. The commander’s accented voice carried a note of genuine fear:
“Bozhe moy… it’s too early. The alignment isn’t right!”
The phosphorescent fungi seemed to pulse brighter as another crack split the ancient wood. A smell like burned metal and old parchment filled the chamber.
“Jenny,” Callum’s Scottish burr was deadly serious. “Whatever you’re doing with that escape route? Do it faster.”
Saturday, 07:15, The Medieval Vault
The chest’s lid began to rise on its own, ancient hinges screaming in protest. Light spilled from within – not the gentle blue of the fungi, but something older, something that hurt the eyes to look at directly.
“My God,” Jenny breathed, her hands still working the escape mechanism. “It’s actually…”
A tendril of what looked like liquid shadow curled up from the opening chest, moving with terrible purpose. The phosphorescent fungi dimmed wherever the darkness touched, as if retreating from something they recognized as ancient enemy.
“SEAL IT!” The commander’s voice cracked with terror. “Use the bloody ledger protocols! SEAL IT NOW!”
But it was too late. The thing in the chest was already rising – a shape that seemed to exist in more dimensions than the human mind could process. Jenny’s academic knowledge of medieval merchant marks offered no context for what they were witnessing.
“Jenny,” Callum’s voice was remarkably steady as he backed them toward the half-triggered escape route. “I don’t suppose those warnings mentioned how to put it back to sleep?”
The entity – if that’s what it was – began to take form, pulling itself into reality like a nightmare climbing out of Edinburgh’s deepest foundations.
“The truth,” Jenny whispered, remembering the translations. “It responds to truth. But which truth? What could be powerful enough to-“
The thing turned what might have been attention toward them, and rational thought became suddenly very difficult.
Saturday, 07:16, The Medieval Vault
The pursuit team burst through the debris with military precision, their weapons already raised. For a split second, professional training warred with primal terror as they registered what was emerging from the chest.
“OPEN FIRE!” The commander’s voice cracked. “CONTAIN IT AT ALL COSTS!”
The chamber erupted in gunfire, muzzle flashes casting stark shadows across medieval stonework. But the bullets seemed to pass through the entity like rain through mist, each round making it more substantial, more real.
“No!” Jenny’s academic terror cut through the chaos. “The vibrations, the violence – you’re feeding it!”
The thing responded to the assault by unfurling what might have been wings, if wings could bend in directions that made the mind recoil. The phosphorescent fungi went completely dark, as if surrendering to a greater power.
“Stop shooting, you bloody fools!” Callum’s Scottish burr carried command even as he shielded Jenny with his body. “You’re making it stronger!”
But the team kept firing, their professional discipline crumbling in the face of something their tactical training never prepared them for. The entity seemed to grow with each shot, pulling more of itself into reality through the ancient chest.
The commander’s voice rose in desperate prayer – no longer giving orders, but begging in languages old when Edinburgh was young.
Part 3: Reckoning
Saturday, 07:17, The Medieval Vault
“Please, we can negotiate-” the first soldier’s plea turned to screams as the entity’s impossible geometries reached for him.
“Hold your fire! HOLD YOUR FIRE!” The commander’s voice cracked with terror.
“Too late,” Jenny whispered, her grip tight on Callum’s arm. “Close your eyes! Whatever you do, don’t look directly at it!”
The thing moved like liquid shadow, its form defying physics as it flowed through the pursuit team. The vault filled with desperate voices:
“What is it? WHAT IS IT?”
“Bozhe moy, it’s touching me-“
“Command, we need immediate- ARGH!”
“The protocols! Use the bloody proto-“
Each scream cut off in wet, terrible finality. Blood painted medieval stones in patterns that seemed to please the entity.
“Sweet Jesus,” Callum breathed, keeping Jenny pressed against the escape route wall. “That’s not something they trained us for at police academy.”
“The merchants knew,” Jenny’s academic mind raced even as she kept her eyes averted. “That’s why the warnings – ‘what sleeps must remain sleeping.'”
“PLEASE!” The commander’s final prayer echoed in multiple languages. “We can contain it! We have the ledgers-“
His words dissolved into sounds no human throat should make.
Through half-closed eyes, Jenny watched the entity take its true form. “It’s… it’s becoming more real. Each death is pulling it further into our world.”
“Lass,” Callum’s Scottish burr was remarkably steady, “please tell me that escape route of yours is nearly ready.”
“Almost, but…” She risked a glance at the thing that now filled the vault with impossible angles. “I don’t think it’s going to let us leave.”
Saturday, 07:18, The Medieval Vault
The entity paused in its slaughter, hovering over the remains of the pursuit team like a terrible question mark. The phosphorescent fungi pulsed in rhythm with its movements, casting sick blue light over the carnage.
“It’s not random,” Jenny’s academic training fought through her terror. “Look at how the blood fell… it’s making patterns.”
“Lass, I really don’t think we should be analyzing its artwork right now.”
“No, you don’t understand,” her voice tight with realization. “These patterns match the merchant marks. It’s… it’s writing something.”
The thing shifted, its impossible geometries bending toward them with horrible purpose. What might have been appendages traced more bloody symbols across the medieval stones.
“Can you read it?” Callum’s hand found hers in the darkness.
“It’s… oh God,” Jenny’s translation caught in her throat. “It says ‘The truth returns. The binding ends.'”
“What binding?”
“The merchants didn’t imprison it,” her voice shook. “They made a deal with it. A contract. And now…”
The entity’s form began to stabilize into something almost comprehensible – almost, but not quite human. When it spoke, its voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere:
“The seven bound me with truth,” the words bypassed their ears and appeared directly in their minds. “But their descendants spoke only lies. The contract is void.”
Saturday, 07:19, The Medieval Vault
The entity’s presence pressed against their minds like a migraine made of shadows. Jenny and Callum stood before it, their backs against the half-triggered escape route, facing a choice that would haunt Edinburgh’s foundations.
“We could try to bargain,” Jenny whispered, her librarian’s mind racing through possibilities. “Like the merchants did.”
“With what?” Callum’s Scottish burr was tight. “I’m fresh out of medieval contracts.”
The thing that had emerged from the chest shifted its impossible angles toward them, its voice bypassing their ears again:
“You stand where the seven once stood,” it communicated. “Their blood still marks these stones. Will you speak truth, or will you lie like their children?”
“What truth do you want?” Jenny stepped forward despite Callum’s protective grip.
“The same truth they promised: Recognition. Acknowledgment. A place in your world’s stories.”
“They wrote you out of history,” Jenny realized. “The ledgers, the warnings – they were covering up your existence.”
“And now?” The entity’s form rippled with terrible purpose. “Will you speak my name to your world? Will you break centuries of silence?”
Callum’s voice was steady: “If we refuse?”
The thing gestured at the remains of the pursuit team, their blood still forming ancient symbols on the stones.
“Then the silence ends another way.”
