Kael did not sleep that night.
He sat by the faint glow of his lantern, the indigo book on his lap, his hands shaking as though chilled by an unseen frost. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Seroth's face—or rather, the thousand shifting faces that wore his name. The prisoner's words coiled through his thoughts, winding tighter, like chains of ink not around his body but around his mind.
Free me.
The words echoed with a weight that seemed heavier than his own bones.
Kael pressed the book shut with trembling fingers. "No," he whispered into the silence of his tent. "I can't. I won't."
But even as he said it, he knew the lie. He could already feel the doubt burrowing deeper, twisting into questions he had no answers for. Why was Seroth imprisoned? Why had the Archive sealed him instead of destroying him? And why—why did Kael feel, in some unshakable way, that their fates were now tied?
The wasteland outside groaned with the sighs of shifting wind, the sand carrying whispers like fragile parchment tearing. Kael curled against the sound, clutching the book closer.
By dawn, he had convinced himself to return to the Archive. Perhaps there, surrounded by knowledge, by familiar walls, he could steady his thoughts and anchor himself once more. But as he walked, each step closer to the Archive felt heavier, as though the wasteland itself were reluctant to let him go.
---
The gates of the Archive loomed ahead, carved from dark stone and etched with runes that glowed faintly with protective wards. For the first time, Kael felt something almost hostile in their presence—as if the Archive knew where he had gone, what he had seen. He pushed through regardless, the massive doors closing behind him with a weighty finality.
Inside, the air was cooler, lined with the scent of aged parchment and ink. For a moment, Kael almost allowed himself to breathe. Almost.
"Kael."
The voice startled him. Liora stepped from the shadows of the central hall, her robe trailing like spilled ink, her eyes sharp and searching. She regarded him with a gaze that felt as though it could peel him open.
"You've been gone longer than your assignment required." Her tone was calm, but beneath it, Kael sensed suspicion.
"I… got lost," Kael said, forcing his voice steady. "The wasteland shifts. You know how it is."
Liora's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps. But the wasteland is not where apprentices wander alone without permission." She stepped closer, her presence a quiet storm. "Tell me, Kael. What did you find out there?"
His throat tightened. He wanted to lie, to claim he had found nothing, only silence and dust. But Seroth's voice threaded through his mind—They will not spare you. They will burn your name into silence.
Kael clenched his fists. "Nothing. Just whispers. The usual."
Liora's gaze lingered, long enough that Kael felt as though she were weighing his very soul. Finally, she exhaled softly, though not with relief. "The whispers are never 'just' anything. They gnaw. They test. They devour if left unchecked."
Her eyes softened for just a moment, something almost human flickering in her expression. "You should not carry their weight alone. Remember that."
Kael nodded quickly, though the words twisted in his chest. How could he tell her? That he had spoken to the one she and the other Archivists had sealed away? That Seroth had named him a trespasser, a misplaced reader? No. To reveal it would be to doom himself.
And yet, silence felt no less damning.
---
That night, Kael wandered the Archive's deeper halls, the book warm against his side. Every shelf of tomes whispered faintly as he passed, like rows of watchers muttering in disapproval. He kept walking, searching for something—anything—that might give him clarity.
His lantern flickered, shadows stretching long across the carved walls. At the end of a narrow corridor, Kael found himself before a sealed chamber door. It was bound with the Archive's strongest wards, sigils that pulsed like a beating heart. He had seen this door before, always passed it by. But now, the book in his hand vibrated, as though urging him forward.
Kael pressed his palm against the stone. A shock ran through him, not painful but jarring, and the door shuddered faintly. For a split second, he thought he heard Seroth's laugh echoing from beyond.
He staggered back, heart hammering. "No," he hissed to himself. "Not again. Not here."
But the seed had already sprouted. If Seroth spoke truth, if he was once a reader pulled into this world as Kael had been—then what did that make the Archive? Guardians? Or jailors?
"Lost, are you?"
The voice came from behind. Kael spun, clutching the book close, only to find an older Archivist, robes tattered, his face half-shadowed by the lantern's glow. His name was Mireth, a figure Kael rarely saw outside of the deepest stacks.
"I… no," Kael stammered. "Just looking for records."
Mireth's eyes drifted to the book at Kael's side, lingering there with a strange hunger. "That tome. It does not belong to the hands of one so untested."
Kael stiffened, taking an instinctive step back. "It was assigned to me."
A thin smile curved Mireth's lips. "Assigned, yes. But perhaps not wisely. Be wary, boy. Books… have teeth sharper than wolves. And some tomes"—his eyes gleamed faintly, reflecting the lantern—"remember their last masters."
Before Kael could speak, Mireth turned, disappearing into the shadows between shelves, his words lingering like smoke.
Kael stood frozen, the indigo book burning against his side. Every path seemed lined with watchers, with riddles, with truths buried too deep to unearth. And at the center of them all, Seroth waited, bound in chains, whispering promises Kael could not shake.
Free me.
The words echoed again, louder now, threading through Kael's thoughts until he could no longer tell if they were his or Seroth's.
And he knew, with a sinking certainty, that this was only the beginning.