The pedestal at the center of the chamber pulsed faintly, as though aware of Kael's presence. Its carvings were not letters, not symbols—at least not any he recognized. They shifted when he tried to focus, rearranging themselves like water rippling over stone.
Liora circled it slowly, her expression grim. "Every Keeper undergoes the Test. It is not mercy. It is not cruelty. It is necessity. The Archive demands proof before it entrusts one with its secrets."
Kael's stomach twisted. "And if I refuse?"
"You can't." Her voice was flat, unyielding. "The moment you touched that book, you bound yourself. Refusal is the same as failure."
The words settled over him like a shroud. He clenched the indigo tome tighter, feeling its warmth seep into his skin. The book throbbed once—steady, reassuring—as if encouraging him.
"What do I have to do?" he asked.
Liora hesitated, then gestured to the pedestal. "Place the book there. The Archive will decide what you must face."
Every instinct screamed against letting go of the thing that had saved his life. Yet Kael stepped forward. His hand hovered, trembling, before finally lowering the book onto the stone.
The pedestal ignited. Silver light raced through the etchings, flaring outward into the chamber. The air thickened, heavy with the scent of rain on old paper. Kael staggered as the ground dissolved beneath him, the chamber peeling away like discarded skin.
When his vision cleared, he stood not in obsidian halls but in a sunlit meadow.
Birdsong filled the air. Wildflowers bent in the wind, their colors vivid against a sky impossibly blue. Ahead stretched the river—the same river that had nearly claimed him. Its waters shimmered, no longer brown and murky but clear as glass, reflecting the clouds above.
Kael's breath caught. He was home.
But not quite.
The meadow felt too perfect, the sunlight too precise. Every blade of grass leaned at the same angle, every ripple of water moved in harmony. A memory, polished to unnatural clarity.
He turned—and froze.
His father stood there. Alive.
The man's broad shoulders, weathered face, the smell of sawdust and smoke clinging to his clothes. Kael's throat tightened, his chest aching with recognition. His father had been gone for years—struck by a sudden illness that left Kael and his mother adrift. Yet here he was, smiling as if death had been nothing more than a passing inconvenience.
"Kael," his father said warmly. "Come here, son."
Kael's feet moved before he could think. He stopped only when Liora's voice echoed faintly in his head, a ghost of sound carried through the Archive itself: The Test will lure you with what you long for most. Beware illusions woven from desire.
His father opened his arms.
Kael trembled. "You're not real."
"Does it matter?" his father asked gently. "Doesn't it feel real?" He stepped closer, eyes soft with the same love Kael had starved for since childhood. "Why resist what you've lost? The Archive can give it back. You never have to be alone again."
Kael's hands curled into fists. The meadow shimmered faintly, as though waiting for his decision.
"I miss you," Kael whispered. The words cracked something inside him. "I miss you more than anything."
"Then stop fighting." His father's voice was coaxing, tender. "Lay down the weight you carry. Stay with me."
Kael shut his eyes, forcing breath into his lungs. The indigo book burned faintly against his chest even though it rested on the pedestal elsewhere, its pulse still tethered to him.
Memory surged. His father's final days—not sunlight and smiles, but fever and silence. Kael remembered the weight of helplessness, the nights spent listening to shallow breaths until they stopped altogether. He remembered how death had hollowed the house, how grief had turned his mother into glass.
This man before him was not his father. He was a painting hung over a grave.
Kael opened his eyes.
"No," he said. His voice shook, but he forced steel into it. "You're not him. You're just a shadow wearing his face."
The illusion faltered. The meadow flickered, cracks spreading through the sky like shattered glass.
His father's smile twisted, something cold sliding beneath it. "Foolish boy. Do you think truth is nobler than comfort? That clinging to pain makes you stronger?"
Kael stepped back, his pulse pounding. "Maybe not. But lies don't bring people back. They just keep you drowning."
The words surprised even him. Yet as he spoke them, he felt the weight in his chest lighten, if only slightly.
The meadow convulsed. Flowers shriveled, the river blackened, the sky fractured. His father dissolved into ash, carried away on a wind that reeked of decay.
Kael stood alone in the void.
Then the pedestal returned. The chamber reformed around him, silver veins glowing brighter than before. The indigo book pulsed once, steady, as though proud.
Liora stood across from him, watching silently.
He staggered, his knees threatening to buckle. "Was that… all of it?"
Her expression was unreadable. "The first of many. The Archive doesn't test once. It tests endlessly. As long as you carry that book, you will never be free of its questions."
Kael swallowed hard, throat raw. "Then I'll keep answering."
Something flickered in her glass-like eyes—approval, or perhaps pity. "Then may your answers be stronger than your desires."
The chamber fell silent again, but the hum of the Archive pressed closer now, as if acknowledging him. Not acceptance, not yet—but awareness.
Kael was no longer invisible to this place.
And that frightened him more than drowning ever had.