The frantic pounding of shoes in every direction rang through Medurio’s ears as he skittered down the marble halls. He moved in a barely formal manner through the afternoon crowds, for if he tried to run he would surely be reprimanded for his attempt at disturbing the scholarly peace.

Hands now slippery, his mind immediately dragged itself into anxious thought. They’ll kill me, they’ll certainly kill me, Was the gist of what was endlessly repeated in his head. All for that paper, that wretched paper! Oh, but what knowledge did it contain? Something that so few eyes have seen. It has to be something beyond thought.

His hand caressed the bag at his waist in a paranoid manner, ensuring the text was still there. Medurio inclined his head downwards to avoid suspicion, although no passerby had enough care in them to pay him heed. They were too busy moving about, either to their classes, rooms, or someplace else. The morning had passed meaning many had completed their final class for the day. I am the greatest fool. So many people here who could hold the chance of knowing.

Exiting the main building, Medurio entered the stretch of gardens and paths that separated it from other facilities. Flowers bloomed in an overwhelming amount of color between low bushes carved with immaculate precision. A man made lake sliced it all in half, allowing passage for fish and meal for birds. Truly a tranquil sight, its effect nullified by Medurio’s inability to focus on that outside his own peril. His stress eased slightly now. Here, people were only sparsely scattered about. Crossing a quaint yellow bridge, he looked out towards the male dormitories. A large rectangular building of white limestone, separated from the identical female dormitories by a large fountain.

By the time he reached the door to the dormitory he had returned a tinge of greed had returned to his conscious see again. He wanted to see, to hold that text in his hands again and learn the knowledge of those before him. He was growing to realize the importance of taking opportunities such as this. He held no regret for his actions, only fear of being caught and beheaded by the inquisition for them.

The door to his room slammed shut with an abrupt boom. A sound Medurio did not realize had called attention to himself. He handled the text as if it were a child, using loose hands to lay it upon his scratch covered desk. It was only after remembering what to do next that he sat down and stared at the thing. Taking a deep breath, he took this time to evaluate it with greater understanding. This time with cooled nerves and a focused mind. He recognized the dead language it was written in, Pepris. Words spoken by people so ancient that not even he knew their name. No idea what this says and I doubt I have enough time to learn, He laid back in his chair. Obviously he could not take it to a linguist, they would surely learn of his transgression and butcher him themselves. But he needed a learned individual of the language whom he could trust not to immediately betray him. And almost suddenly, as if the thought had grown tired of his unknowingness, he had his answer.

How could he forget? He knew who would be most likely to help. Someone he considered to nearly be a friend. He sighed. Like many other people, the man was a nuisance. But unlike many others, he would turn out to be a helpful one. That man was… Well, if only he could remember their name.