Sleep became a stranger to Kael.
The nights stretched into endless watches where he sat upright in his quarters, staring at the indigo book as though it were a living creature. Sometimes it pulsed faintly, its glow so subtle he wondered if it was merely his imagination. Other times, it seemed to breathe, the cover rising and falling in rhythm with his own chest. And always, beneath the silence, he heard Seroth's whisper. Not words, not yet, but the faint scrape of chains dragging across his thoughts.
By day, he tried to lose himself in routine. Copying texts, repairing bindings, assisting the senior Archivists with catalogues. But even among the shelves, Kael felt eyes upon him. Every conversation lingered too long, every glance seemed to weigh his hands as though searching for what he carried.
And perhaps they were.
"Your quill drifts," Liora said one morning, her voice even, but her gaze fixed upon the page before him. His copied script had warped, the letters swelling like roots straining against soil. Kael hadn't noticed until her words drew his eyes to the paper. He felt his stomach twist.
"Forgive me," he murmured, hurriedly flipping the page.
Liora's silence pressed harder than her words. She didn't scold him. She didn't need to. Her watchfulness was its own chain, heavier than ink.
---
Later, Kael walked the outer halls of the Archive, where the shelves towered higher than sight. Few ventured here—the tomes were sealed, their knowledge dangerous, locked with wards older than memory. Yet Kael found himself drawn to them, his fingers brushing the air near the bindings, as if the books themselves might whisper guidance.
Instead, he heard only Seroth's echo, faint but insistent.
They watch you. They doubt you. Soon, they will bind you as they bound me.
Kael shook his head violently, his breath ragged. "Stop," he hissed under his breath. "I won't—"
"Talking to yourself, Kael?"
The voice snapped him around. Mireth stood at the end of the corridor, his gaunt figure cloaked in shadow. His pale eyes reflected the lantern-light, cold and searching.
Kael's throat tightened. "I—just… thinking."
"Thinking." Mireth's lips twitched into something almost like a smile. "Careful with that. In these halls, thought itself can betray you."
Kael swallowed, nodding stiffly. He forced himself to walk past, every step heavy. Mireth's gaze followed him until he turned the corner.
---
That night, Kael found Liora waiting outside his quarters. She stood with her arms folded, her expression unreadable.
"You've been restless," she said without preamble. "The Archivists murmur. They say you wander the restricted halls, linger too close to sealed wards. They say your work is fraying."
Kael's chest tightened. "And you? What do you say?"
Liora's eyes softened briefly, though her voice remained steady. "I say that an apprentice does not falter without cause. I say something weighs on you that you will not speak aloud."
Kael hesitated. For a heartbeat, he nearly told her everything. About the wasteland, the ravine, Seroth bound in chains. About the whispers that dug into him, tearing certainty from his hands. But Seroth's warning rose in his mind—They will burn your name into silence.
He shook his head. "I'm fine. Just tired."
Liora studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "Fine," she said softly. "But tiredness becomes sickness if ignored. And sickness, if untreated, becomes rot. Remember that."
She turned, her footsteps fading into the silence of the hall. Kael stood frozen, the weight of her words pressing harder than stone.
---
When sleep finally claimed him, it came not as rest but as suffocation.
Kael dreamt of the Archive's halls stretching into infinity, shelves upon shelves filled with books whose spines bore no titles. He wandered, searching, until he found one book glowing faintly—his own. When he reached for it, chains lashed out, binding his wrists, his throat, his chest.
From the darkness between shelves, a voice whispered:
You are already mine.
Kael woke gasping, sweat slick against his skin. His lantern had guttered out, leaving only the faint pulse of the indigo book illuminating the room. It glowed steadily, a heartbeat that did not belong to him.
He pressed his palm against it, as though to silence it. "I won't," he whispered fiercely. "I won't free you."
But even as the words left him, doubt gnawed at the edges of his resolve. How long before the Archivists truly saw? How long before Liora's patience ended? And if they turned against him, what choice would he have but to turn to Seroth?
The whispers answered with silence.
And silence, Kael realized, was far worse than words.