Penelope watched as Wyatt reached for the new beer, a small smile tugging at her lips as he tipped it in gratitude towards the sentient Archives. The sight of him taking a long pull from the cool liquid brought a sense of normalcy to the chaos swirling around them. Yet, as he listened to her read from her father's journal, she noticed the strain in his brow, a reflection of the emotions that came with recalling Alfred's protective nature. She could sense the weight of unspoken gratitude he carried—how much he appreciated the old man for always looking out for both her and himself. The thought made her heart ache; they were all bound by the threads of sacrifice and duty.

As she continued to speak, the realization of what they might be facing seeped into the atmosphere, and she could see the disgust wash over Wyatt’s features. Penelope nodded, her own stomach twisting in response to the implications of their predicament. If whoever was behind this had forced her to unlock the Archives, it meant they were leveraging too many variables. She knew she would give her life to protect this place, and she could sense that Wyatt felt the same way. Their bond was unspoken but deep, threading them together in shared purpose.

The implications of someone wanting to get her pregnant sent shivers down her spine. The very thought of being used as a pawn in someone else's game made her nauseous, and she glanced at Wyatt, searching for reassurance. His expression mirrored her fear, but she also saw a determination that ignited a flicker of hope within her. They were not alone in this; they had each other.

As he suggested old business partners and properties, Penelope felt a surge of clarity. They had to dig deep, uncover the connections that could lead them to the heart of this threat. "Yes," she agreed, her voice steadying as her mind raced with possibilities. “We need to start tracing his steps, looking for anyone who might have something to gain from this chaos. The journals could hold more than just memories; they might reveal hidden alliances or enemies.”

Wyatt's soft smile as he picked up the deep blue leather journal made her heart swell with nostalgia. She remembered seeing her father write in it, pouring his thoughts onto the pages with care in her dreams. It was a connection to his wisdom that she desperately needed now. As he settled into a nearby leather chair, kicking his feet up on the heavy wooden table, Penelope felt a sense of resolve wash over her.

“More food sounds perfect,” she replied, her spirits lifting slightly. “We’ll need our strength for this.” Penelope leaned back in her chair, allowing herself a moment of calm amidst the storm brewing around them. "Let’s dive into the journals and see what secrets they hold." Hours passed as they delved deeper into the archives, sifting through pages filled with cryptic notes and faded memories. Their search was intense, the air thick with the weight of their discoveries and the urgency of their situation. Just as they began to feel the fatigue of their long hours, a delivery of Chinese food came—steaming containers filled with fragrant dishes that instantly lifted their spirits.

As they took a break to enjoy the feast, Penelope finally opened one of the older books. The spine creaked as she flipped through the pages, and her breath caught in her throat when something slipped out and fell into her lap.

Curious, she picked it up—a small, ornate key, its surface glinting in the dim light. Attached to it was a note, yellowed and delicate, the handwriting unmistakable. Her heart raced as she read aloud, "Wyatt, son, if you have gotten this deep into my journals, it could mean there is trouble blooming. Take the key and venture to my room. The key should take you from there. Good luck. Keep the archives, and her safe."

Penelope’s eyes widened, the implications of the note crashing over her like a tidal wave. She looked at Wyatt, her expression shifting as she handed him the key. "I’ve never been able to find my father’s room after waking up in it the night he saved me," she admitted, a hint of vulnerability in her voice. "Maybe this key will finally lead us there." The weight of their discovery hung in the air, a promise of answers waiting to be uncovered a danger that her father had anticipated, enough to leave a clue for the one person he trusted most. Wyatt.

Gears were turning in Wyatt's brain, and Penelope could almost see the steam rising from his head as he worked through the words of his former mentor. She realized she could never have the kind of relationship Wyatt and Alfred shared, but having Wyatt in her life felt like possessing a piece of her father still. She would be forever grateful that Wyatt accepted her with open arms, harboring no resentment when she became the keeper—none that she could sense, anyway. “Well, the bedroom is the first that comes to my mind, but I guess it could be any kind of room in a place like this,” she said, trying to lighten the mood..

Yet, as she contemplated the countless rooms they might need to try the key in, a sudden weight of anxiety settled on her shoulders. Those thoughts quickly faded, however, when she felt the key she held out to Wyatt come alive under his touch. Abandoning the book it had come from, she hurried to catch up with Wyatt and the magic key. Her gaze darted around, taking in the endless halls and rooms they passed; she hadn’t even seen half of the Archives before. This place truly was an infinite realm of knowledge and secrets. Perhaps having more Archive members wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all..

As they climbed the spiral staircase, Penelope noticed the flicker of remembrance in Wyatt’s eyes. “Been here before?” she asked, intrigued. She studied the room for a heartbeat—it had an air of warmth and mystery, the kind of space she could easily picture Wyatt working in. The sound of stone shifting echoed as the key fit perfectly into a newly formed slot. With a gasp, she watched an archway form within the wall. Her eyes widened with curiosity. “A hidden room? He really was three steps ahead on everything.” Without hesitation, she stood behind Wyatt, the dark hall lighting the deeper they went until they reached a door embellished with the keeper's symbol..

As Penelope reached out to touch the symbols, she felt a sharp jab in her finger. Pulling back, she saw a perfect bead of blood pool there. “What the hell?” she muttered, instinctively raising her finger to wipe away the blood, only to watch it drift into the air, transforming into the keeper symbols and pressing into the door like a key. To her astonishment, the door faded away as if it had never existed..

Just beyond the threshold lay a vast room, its ceiling replaced by a swirling galaxy above their heads. Penelope moved deeper into the space, intoxicated by the pure magic radiating from all around her. Rows of ancient tomes, stone tablets, and even early magical technology were on display. The room itself could easily be mistaken for a museum dedicated to magic. As she shifted to examine one book, she gasped softly. “Alfred wrote this book.” Her fingers skimmed over the titles, and when she looked at Wyatt, her eyes widened. “He made a hall of Winston!” .

Everything clicked into place within her mind. She vaguely remembered an astral walk where Alfred had shared a wealth of knowledge about the Winston magical bloodline—their legacy of striving for better magical practices and how even the most basic spells originated from their lineage. Spotting photographs and paintings along a section of the wall beyond Wyatt, she moved closer, staring at the faces of her ancestors. Her bright green eyes and button nose were reflected in one woman who looked strikingly like her. “Penelope, Alfred's mother,” she whispered, and in that moment, any lingering doubts about her identity as a Winston vanished. .

The main distinction lay in their hair—Alfred's mother had black curls cascading over her shoulders, while Penelope's was straight, shifting between blonde and brown depending on her mood. “Alfred said the name fit me,” she murmured softly before stepping back to take in the magical items crafted by former Winstons. Awe washed over her, overwhelming her senses. She was sure her eyes mirrored Wyatt's wide-eyed wonder..

As she continued to explore, she came across a disk that read, “Play me.” Curiosity piqued, Penelope picked it up and called over her shoulder, “Wy!” A TV appeared out of nowhere where the disk had been moments before, a tray opening in anticipation. Without hesitation, she placed the disk in the tray as it closed, holding her breath as the screen flickered to life. Stepping back, she braced herself—unsure if this was a trap..

The video began with an empty chair—one that looked just like the one across the room from where she stood. Alfred walked into the frame and sat down, his expression grave. “If you are seeing this, it means I am no longer with you. After a long life, I only have one regret: not coming for you sooner, Monica.” He swirled the glass in his hand, filled with what she assumed was scotch. “If you’re watching this, it means Wyatt is with you. I do hope he has behaved himself,” he added with a half-hearted laugh..

“The Aspects, the Eternal City, Balance have been under attack for some time now. Abraxas is a pawn in a much larger plan—a mask of sinister power wielded by someone who truly believes in pure chaos. I’ve been actively collecting objects that would make chaos easier.” .

Penelope’s heart raced as she exchanged anxious glances with Wyatt. “Unfortunately, there are pieces out there that are dangerous, like the black box of discord, that I haven’t been able to find,” Alfred continued. “Anyways, I’m not sure who is behind it all, but don’t believe everything you hear. Disposition is the skill of this darkness; it uses it to contort reality.” A look of concern crossed his face. “I wish this didn’t fall upon you, Monica, or you either, Wyatt. Last intel I had, this darkness wanted Malva Power. I hope she was able to resist.” .

“There are two theories I have in stopping the darkness: trapping whatever it is in Pandora’s box.” He held up a glass box before setting it down. “Or…” A deep sadness washed over his features. “There is a mountain said to hold true evil. Maybe overwhelming the darkness…” He cut himself short, beginning to pace. “Forget it; there are so many avenues within the Archives. Going to the evil in the mountain is a last resort—truly a last resort.”.

Sitting back down, he stared deeply into the camera as if seeing them both standing there. “My notes can be found on the shelf; maybe they will offer better guidance than myself. With the Aspects losing their grasp on balance, the rifts of the realms are bending, blurring into one another. I fear that other worldly threads will leak in, or perhaps some of us slipping into a realm of horrors. I have managed to keep things together—maybe even kept the Archives safe for a few years. If I don’t make it back, the Archives are tied to the Winston bloodlines. Others have learned of this. Once they know you are of the bloodline, Monica, they will come for you. Trust almost no one. Wyatt is the only person you can fully trust. If you wish to give up being the Keeper, the transfer will be a process, but I have taught Wyatt the ways of the Keeper. He would be a great keeper.”.

“If the last of the Winston bloodline no longer wishes for the load, or God forbid someone takes your life, Monica…” His expression grew grim. “The Archives will default to Wyatt as a temporary keeper. The Aspects will decide the next Keeper's bloodline if you die.” He ran a hand over his frosted beard. “This info dump has been all over the place. I’m coming to grasp that I may never see this place or you both again.” Taking a deep breath, Alfred finished his drink before setting the glass aside. “If the darkness gets its grips deep in Evermore, the first to come would be throwing off balance. Look toward things that were once the embodiment of balance slipping.”.

“You will find letters to you both with my notes. I hope this video is unnecessary and you both will never see it, but if I am gone, know I love you both, and my life was made whole because of you both. My daughter of blood, who walked dreams to find me, showed me how empty my heart was until bonding with you. And my son of choice, who made me realize that there was more beyond the Archives and how rich the world could be when viewed from the right lens.” Tears threatened to fall from Alfred's eyes before he stood up, reaching over to turn off the camera and leaving the screen black..

Penelope sniffled as she stared at the black screen for a long moment before finally speaking in a soft, tear-filled voice. “Guess we are really going to save the world, Boy Wonder.” She kept her gaze averted as she turned in a circle, searching for where the letters and his notes might be. Spotting one with his name on it, she moved back to Wyatt, holding out the large manila envelope inscribed with Alfred's name in beautifully timeless calligraphy. It was clear there was more than just letters inside—perhaps a ring, necklace, or a fancy pen..

Returning to her own envelope, she noticed it was just as large as Wyatt’s and seemed a fair bit heavier. Penelope set it aside, feeling unready to delve into her father’s last words and items meant for her. Overwhelmed with emotion, she took hold of a binder with neatly color-coded sections. Flipping it open, she found a photo of Abraxas Bradford alongside notes that read, 
*( Abraxas has changed from the nephilim I once knew. Something sinister has crept into his soul. He has begun asking me about certain magical items, their powers, and if they are in the Archives. I have become increasingly worried that the Archives would be compromised, but the Archives have refused to let him in since his questions began. The items alone seem strange to request; I can’t piece together a bigger plan. Yet he has been wiggling his way into Monica Coven. Does he know she is my daughter? Would he dare use her to get into the hall? How can I keep them both safe?)*.

Flipping through the pages filled with names of enemies, questionable characters, and powerful diviners he could rely on, Penelope spotted Billie Mae among those listed. Quickly moving on, she reached the section detailing magical items—possibly the very ones Abraxas had requested. The next tab was filled with locations of natural magic where ley lines could be found if one were skilled enough. .

Before she realized it, she had lowered herself to the ground, flipping back and forth through the binder. “I’m going to have to make a Charlie Day conspiracy board room,” she mumbled, nervously chewing on her thumbnail. The weight of their newfound responsibilities settled over her, but she felt a surge of determination. Together, they would unravel the web of chaos threatening their world.