Chapter 913: Quenivarius Tholomex Brindlequast (1)

They left the hidden lower chamber without lingering.

The stairs felt narrower on the way up, not because they had changed, but because the information beneath the central structure had made every other part of Veyrhold feel more demanding. Dylan still glanced back twice as they climbed, as if the reservoir might vanish if he stopped looking at it for too long. Ariana remained thoughtful, her attention pulled inward around whatever she had sensed in the chamber.

Felix kept one hand tucked around his notebook, likely fighting the urge to stop on the stairwell and write until his fingers cramped. Sheila moved ahead with purpose, already sorting what the discovery changed, what could wait, and what had to be acted on before the rest of the year woke fully.

Liam came last.

His attention stayed behind and ahead at the same time. The reservoir mattered, but so did the open pathway, the stair structure, the bottom floor, and the people waiting above. Wing’s outside awareness remained faint at the edge of his mind, confirming no obvious threat near the central structure. The building itself remained still.

For now.

When they stepped out onto the bottom floor, Edith, Maxwell, and a third student were waiting near the broad hall.

Maxwell’s eyes went straight to the rectangular opening in the floor.

"That was not there when we left," he said.

Edith’s gaze moved from the stairway to Sheila. "I assume that is the reason Ariana said there was something below the structure."

Dylan stepped off the last stair and spread both hands with exaggerated solemnity. "Behold. The floor had secrets. Unlike Maxwell, who only has complaints."

Maxwell looked at him. "I carried you intellectually for three conversations today."

"You tried. It was adorable."

Sheila cut through the exchange before it had a chance to grow legs. "There is an engine room beneath the structure. You will get the proper explanation later. We do not have time to repeat everything twice right now."

Maxwell’s brows lifted at the words engine room, but he swallowed the question. Edith, more disciplined, only nodded once and shifted aside, allowing the third student to become fully visible.

He looked like the academy had grown him specifically in a library drawer and forgotten to let him outside often enough.

He had a thin frame, narrow shoulders, and the slightly hunched posture of someone who spent too many hours leaning over diagrams that no one else wanted to read. Round spectacles sat low on his nose, though a small magnifying lens was also clipped to one side of the frame, making one eye appear larger whenever he turned his head.

His field uniform had been over-prepared into near absurdity: extra straps, labeled pouches, a roll of fine measuring cord, tiny calipers, chalk sticks, thin copper probes, folded parchment slips, and a set of delicate tools hanging from a belt that looked one buckle away from a nervous breakdown.

His fingers were stained with ink despite the assessment having begun the previous day, as if ink had simply accepted him as its natural habitat. A notebook was already tucked against his chest, held protectively with both hands.

His face was distinct in exactly the way Dylan and Maxwell had described. Sharp cheekbones. Long nose. Thin mouth. Eyes that looked permanently disappointed by poorly aligned screws.

Edith introduced him with admirable steadiness. "This is Quenivarius Tholomex Brindlequast."

A brief silence followed.

Dylan looked at the student, blinked once, and said, "Yes. Queniberry."

The new student’s thin mouth tightened. "Quenivarius Tholomex Brindlequast."

"Right. Quiverquast."

"Brindlequast."

"Emotionally close."

"It is not close in any measurable category."

Dylan nodded as if considering this. "The control guy."

The student’s eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. "I am beginning to remember why I avoid speaking to you."

"You remember me? That is touching. Maxwell, he remembers me."

Maxwell looked tired already. "Unfortunately, most people do."

Quenivarius adjusted his spectacles with two ink-stained fingers, gaze flicking toward Dylan with open irritation. "Some of us remember disruptive noise sources for practical reasons."

Dylan placed a hand over his heart. "He called me practical."

"No, I called you disruptive."

"Still a kind of impact."

Sheila stepped in before the exchange could become a second structure requiring reinforcement. "Brindlequast."

The student turned sharply toward her. "Yes, Commander?"

That response came fast, formal, and slightly anxious, as if hierarchy was safer than conversation.

"The central structure has an upper control chamber that needs assessment. We need to know what can be safely inspected, what requires power, what is damaged, and whether the system can help coordinate Veyrhold once its power source is addressed."

Quenivarius’s expression changed at the words upper control chamber. Irritation did not leave him entirely, but it was pushed aside by immediate technical attention. "Control chamber is a broad term. Do you mean a command interface, district signaling room, defensive relay, gate-status chamber, or—"

"We need you to tell us that," Sheila said.

He stopped, then nodded quickly. "Right. Yes. That would be the reason I am here."

Dylan leaned toward Maxwell. "See? Control guy."

"I will hit you with one of his tools," Maxwell muttered.

Quenivarius clutched his notebook tighter. "Please do not touch my tools."

Liam watched the student for a moment longer than necessary.

Nervous. Irritable. Precise. Not useless.

Sheila gestured toward the stairs leading upward. "We move now."

They did not waste more time on the bottom floor. The hidden stairway remained open behind them, sealed off only by warning and by the fact that no one else was supposed to be inside the structure yet. Felix noted its location quickly before following the group. Edith took one look at the rectangular gap, then at Sheila, clearly filing away several procedural concerns for later. Maxwell kept glancing back as if trying to imagine the engine room beneath them through the floor. Dylan looked as though being denied a return to the reservoir was a personal wound.

Quenivarius barely noticed any of it once they began ascending.

He studied the central structure as they moved through it, attention darting between wall channels, carved district symbols, worn seams, old panel housings, and the faded indicator marks Liam had already seen the night before. Unlike Dylan, he did not narrate everything immediately. His lips moved silently, counting or categorizing.

Twice, he stopped long enough to crouch near a wall groove, not touching it, only leaning close to inspect the angle of the carving and the residue trapped inside. When Sheila paused the group to keep from leaving him behind, he startled and hurried after them with an awkward half-run that made several tools clink softly against his belt.

Dylan looked delighted. "Careful, Thimbleblast. The stairs are not calibrated for enthusiasm."

"My name," the student said tightly, "is Quenivarius Tholomex Brindlequast."

"Exactly. Quindlebox."

Maxwell pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dylan."

"What? I am trying."

"You are not."

"I am trying spiritually."

"You are failing physically."

Edith’s voice cut in from ahead. "If this continues, I will separate the two of you by assigning one to roof drainage and the other to corpse ash cataloging."

Dylan went quiet.

Quenivarius looked briefly relieved, then uncertain whether he was also being threatened.

"You as well if needed," Edith added without looking back.

He swallowed. "Understood."

The control chamber took him completely