The shard pulsed in Kael's palm like a captured heart, cold yet burning with an inner rhythm. Each beat sent threads of light curling into his skin, seeping beneath the veins, promising a language older than the Archive itself. He should have dropped it. Every instinct screamed danger, yet curiosity outweighed fear.
"Kael." Liora's voice was hushed, tight. She leaned closer, her ink-black hair brushing his sleeve like smoke. "That thing doesn't belong to you."
"Maybe not," he whispered, thumb brushing the shard's jagged edge. "But neither do I."
The shard pulsed again, brighter this time, and with it came a voice — not in his ears, but under his thoughts, weaving between his doubts.
Hold me tighter, child. You've touched the fragment of beginnings. With me, you'll unmake the chains that bind you.
Seroth's tone was like velvet soaked in ink: tempting, dangerous, strangely compassionate. Kael's breath caught. For a heartbeat, he felt seen — more than Liora's careful glances, more than the Archive's suspicious stares.
"Don't listen." Liora's hand darted to his wrist, cold and trembling. "It's bleeding through. That shard is his tongue. If you let it root—"
"I'm not letting it root," Kael cut in, harsher than he meant. "I just… need to know."
The library around them groaned. High above, shelves bent as if straining under invisible weight. Pages loosened, fluttering down like dying birds. Kael looked up, and in the drifting snow of parchment, he swore he saw a silhouette — tall, cloaked, eyes like dying stars. Seroth.
But when he blinked, it was gone.
He slid the shard into his pocket, heart pounding. It was heavier now, as if feeding on his hesitation.
---
They walked in silence for some time, corridors narrowing into winding aisles where the books no longer spoke but whimpered. Kael could almost feel them recoil from him, their bindings straining.
Finally, Liora spoke, her tone brittle. "You think you're strong enough to wield it. You're not. Seroth doesn't offer; he consumes. And once you start speaking his language, you won't stop."
Kael wanted to argue, but the whisper rose again, soft, soothing:
She fears me because she knows I speak truth. Her world survives on lies — illusions of order, cages dressed as knowledge. But you, Kael… you could write your own page.
His throat tightened. "What if I don't want the page they've written for me?"
Liora froze, her eyes flashing. "Then you tear it carefully. Not by becoming the ink that devours everything."
He looked away. The shard's glow bled faintly through his coat, a reminder that choice was already narrowing.
---
Elsewhere in the Archive, another figure traced Kael's footsteps with relentless patience.
Seraphine moved through the dark like judgment incarnate. Her chains coiled in her hands, each link whispering the names of those they had bound. When she paused, the Archive itself seemed to hush, as if honoring her silence.
She knew where the boy was headed — toward the deepest aisles, the places forgotten by even the Librarian. He was slipping. The shard's presence was no longer subtle; it stained the air like smoke.
"Soon," she murmured. Not triumph, not anger. Just inevitability.
---
Kael's sleep that night was thin, fractured. Dreams spilled ink across his vision, forming words he couldn't quite read. He stood before a table, a single blank page lying upon it.
Write, Seroth's voice urged. One word, and I will show you freedom.
Kael's hand trembled. He reached for the quill — not wood and feather, but something alive, writhing. When he touched it, agony lanced through him. He dropped it, clutching his hand, but the ink had already seeped into his veins, glowing like liquid night.
He woke with a strangled gasp. Liora hovered over him, her form flickering, half-solid, half-sketch.
"You're slipping faster than I thought," she whispered. For the first time, her voice carried fear.
Kael pressed his shaking hands to his temples. The shard burned against his ribs like a second heartbeat. "Maybe… maybe I'm already too far."
"Then fight harder," she snapped, gripping his shoulders. "Or you'll stop being Kael and start being his echo."
Her desperation stung more than her words. For a moment, he saw the truth: she wasn't warning him out of duty. She was afraid of losing him.
And yet, in the quiet that followed, Seroth's whisper slithered back.
Why cling to their fear when you could wield it?
Kael shut his eyes. But the choice was growing thinner by the hour.
---
Far above, in the Archivist's sanctum, Seraphine knelt before Seroth's chained visage. She did not bow out of reverence, but resolve.
"Your shard is loose," she said flatly. "I will seal it."
Chains shifted, groaning, but Seroth's smile was faintly audible in the silence that followed.
Seal it? Or deliver him to me yourself? We both know judgment often walks hand in hand with temptation.
Her jaw tightened. But she did not answer.
---
The Archive was holding its breath. Kael felt it in every echo, every shuddering shelf. The shard whispered louder now, even when he was awake. Liora shadowed him, fighting to anchor him in the present. And somewhere, unseen, Seraphine's chains rattled in the dark.
The noose was tightening.
And Kael knew: the next choice he made would not just stain him — it would tilt the Archive itself.