Evelyn Shadowmoor's Arc

Chapter 2 of 7

Evelyn spread her notebook across the kitchen table and stared at the copied names from the monument. Twenty-three soldiers, all from battles the Council never mentioned in their official records. She needed to understand military structure before she could make sense of what she'd found. How did armies organize? What did ranks mean? She pulled out the first stolen volume and opened it to a glossary of terms. Captain, lieutenant, regiment, battalion—the words felt foreign on her tongue. She copied definitions into her notebook, drawing lines between connected ideas. Hours passed as she worked through supply chains, command structures, and battle formations. The knowledge settled in her mind like pieces of a map. Now she could read the records properly and spot what didn't fit. She closed the book and stood up. Learning about war was one thing. Finding people who had lived through it was another. Her message in the hollow stump had gotten no response in three days. She needed a better way to collect stories—something hidden where people could leave information without being seen. The forest beyond the swamp held old trees that no one visited. She grabbed her cloak and walked out into the fading light. After an hour of searching, she found it. A gnarled tree stood alone in a clearing, its trunk twisted and split with age. Deep hollows carved through the wood, large enough to fit folded papers. She placed a note inside explaining what she wanted: names, dates, anything about the wars the Council tried to hide. The tree would be her secret collection point. Anyone could leave their story here, and no one would know. Darkness fell as she walked back toward the cottage. The forest path grew difficult to see. She needed light to work at night, to read documents after dark when no one would notice her movements. Near the cottage entrance, a twisted iron post stood with a hanging lantern. The glass glowed with an odd green light that pushed back the shadows. She tested the lantern, adjusting its position until it lit the doorway and the small area outside. Now she could work late into the evening, sorting through papers and copying records without alerting anyone passing by. The next morning, she walked into town with a clear purpose. The stolen books gave her some information, but she needed more. Real military records existed somewhere—official documents that showed troop movements, casualty lists, and campaign orders. She found the building at the edge of the old district. Black stone walls rose three stories high, covered in ivy and memorial ribbons. Lanterns hung near the entrance, their flames steady in the still air. The military archive. She pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside. Rows of filing cabinets lined the walls, each drawer labeled with years and regiment numbers. This was where the truth lived, buried in forgotten paperwork. She pulled open the first drawer and began her search.