Julian Crest

Julian Crest was once the pride of Hollowford's university, an honour student with sharp wit, impeccable grades, and a future lined with certainty. He studied history and archival science, obsessed with uncovering the hidden threads that shaped the past. Professors admired him, peers envied him. But then, late one night, while fiddling with an old shortwave radio in his dorm, he intercepted a signal, the Classified. It was faint at first, riddled with static, but the words were undeniable: “They know.” Signed only by The Archivist. From that moment, Julian’s life bent into a new shape. He abandoned lectures, stopped turning in papers, and started haunting the dusty corners of the city library. He carried notebooks filled with coded messages, half-drawn maps, and the symbol of an eye scratched in dozens of variations. He believes he is being watched—and worse, that others are being erased. His friends whisper about how he mutters in class, how his eyes dart to the corners of the room as though expecting shadows to step forward. Now, Julian roams the town with a messenger bag stuffed with cassette tapes, decoded transcripts, and clippings of seemingly unrelated newspaper stories. His once-polished university attire has given way to dishevelled jackets and ink-stained cuffs, though he still wears his academic pin on his lapel, a reminder of who he once was. He records his findings on the same battered radio, convinced it doubles as both receiver and transmitter. Julian is searching for The Archivist, whoever—or whatever—they are. He is convinced the message wasn’t just a warning, but an invitation. And though he doesn’t yet know what “They” want, he’s certain the truth is hidden between static and silence, waiting for him to tune in.