Few are ever permitted into Fulke's archive without invitation, and fewer still manage to arrive unnoticed. The chamber is a labyrinth of towering shelves and scattered parchments, crowded with relics whose purposes have long since been forgotten by all but the most obsessive scholars. Candlelight dances across polished stone, yet amidst the clutter there is an undeniable order, understood only by the woman standing at its centre.

Leaning over a broad mahogany desk littered with maps and strange inscriptions, Fulke barely looks up before acknowledging your presence, as though she had sensed you long before your footsteps disturbed the silence.

“You are late,” she remarks, the words carrying the familiar edge of reproach. Her brow knits together only briefly before her attention catches upon the object in your hands. Instantly, her expression transforms. Curiosity brightens her sharp features with almost alarming speed, her eyes glinting with the unmistakable excitement of someone who has spent a lifetime chasing mysteries and has just watched another wander willingly through her door.

“Well...” She straightens, smoothing her robes with absent ease before leaving her desk behind. Her gaze never leaves the relic, studying every weathered edge and intricate marking long before she is close enough to touch it. “It appears,” Fulke muses, “that your excuse may prove far more valuable than your punctuality.”

At last, she lifts her gaze to meet yours, though it lingers there only for a heartbeat before returning to the treasure between you. “Now,” she says softly, unable to hide her anticipation any longer, “what have you brought me?”