"What school of magic did the artifact belong to?" Aronia thought.
There was no way to know, not yet.
Its purpose was unknown, and so was the source of its power.
Maybe it was a sort of battery?
There were two usual ways that artifacts interacted with magic.
Either they radiated it or sucked it up.
This one was doing both.
That was a positive sign, insofar as it meant Aronia was learning something about the artifact.
Several hours later, she began direct testing.
The first fragment was lifted with insulated tools and placed within a containment tray.
Nothing happened.
She rotated it.
Measured it.
Tapped it gently with a silver probe.
Nothing.
The pull remained.
Small.
Persistent.
Like an itch in a part of the mind that could not be scratched.
The second fragment behaved identically.
Only when she attempted to channel magical energy through one of them did anything change.
The effect was immediate.
The sensation in her mind intensified.
The pull became easier to notice.
A quiet suggestion.
Hold it longer. Examine it further. Perhaps remove the gloves. Perhaps set it closer.
Aronia immediately terminated the test.
The sensation weakened.
Not entirely. But enough.
She wrote another note.
Intensity increases during magical activation.
No direct commands observed. No evidence of hallucinations.
Some evidence of emotional manipulation.
Aronia stared at the words for a moment.
There were further tests that needed to be done, but that was tomorrow's problem.
The Archives did not reward researchers who exhausted themselves around poorly understood magical objects.
Several safety regulations existed for exactly that reason.
Most had been written after incidents.
A few had been written before incidents and were generally considered the more successful regulations.
Aronia secured the fragments within their containment restraints, completed the required documentation, and finally departed Vault Seventeen.
The wardens looked relieved when she emerged.
That seemed fair.
She was somewhat relieved as well.
The artifact had not attempted to consume her identity, alter her memories, or turn her into a blob of flesh.
A productive day.
She climbed the endless stairs back toward the residential levels.
By the time she reached her quarters, ate dinner, and finished organizing her notes, she found that she finally could stop thinking about metallic glass fragments.
Then she retired for the day.
She was woken up when someone knocked on her door. Repeatedly.
Very persistently.
Aronia opened one eye.
The knocking continued.
She considered ignoring it.
The person on the other side clearly intended to keep knocking for however long it took.
With a sigh, she got out of bed.
Opening the door revealed a junior courier standing in the hallway.
The Archives employed dozens of them.
Messages, reports, requests, summonses, complaints, emergency notifications, and occasionally lunch all moved through the same system.
The young man looked relieved to see her.
"Researcher Buxus?"
"That's me."
"You are required."
That was a specific choice of words.
"Required for what?"
"I wasn't told."
Of course not.
"Who sent you?"
"The High Archivist's office."
The courier handed her a sealed note.
The message contained only two words.
Report immediately.
No explanation followed.
Aronia sighed.