The puzzle had not posed so much a problem as the layout of Benthic itself. In their quest to the dome, multiple wrong turns were made into Sommerset halls. Several people were sporting new bruises that day, but that did not assist in getting Thursday to the bloody dome. Never has there been anything more labyrinthine, save for what was commited to myth and legend, and it seemed as though they had delved every cupboard, closet, and forbidden wing in attempts to find the correct damn staircase. Thursday could have kicked the architecture itself when he had finally made it.

Arriving as late as they had, the Pawn had scarce enough enough time to dump out their pens and notebooks from an atrocious carpet-bag. Organization was nowhere to be found, chaos reigned upon their desk. The nearest notebook was grabbed and opened to blank page. Their handwriting took a messy turn as their pen flew along the lines. It was hardly distinguishable from chicken scrawl- no, it was shorthand? No, it was encoded shorthand. The lecture had not even begun, what on earth was she writing? She studied the students around her in turn, then wrote a just little more.