The Archivist's summons came not through the cold chime of the wall panel, but through the soft, almost respectful click of his obsidian door unlocking. Valeria stood there, her expression as unreadable as ever, but she did not gesture for him to follow. Instead, she stepped aside.
The Archivist himself stood in the corridor.
He had never come to Kaelen's cell. His presence was a violation of the unspoken order, a seismic shift in the dynamics of their relationship. He filled the doorway, his grey robes seeming to drink the faint light, his weary eyes scanning the small room, lingering for a heartbeat too long on the shelves of memory-laden artifacts.
"Kaelen," the Archivist said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the confined space. "The Councilor's extraction was a success. The ring contained precisely what we needed. Clean. Efficient."
He took a slow step into the room, his gaze sweeping over the labeled objects. His fingers, long and pale, brushed against the locket that held Aris's love. "You have been… prolific. A dedicated curator."
Kaelen's blood ran cold. He stood from his cot, forcing himself to remain still. This was not praise. This was an inspection.
"It is my duty, Archivist," Kaelen replied, his voice carefully neutral.
"Is it?" The Archivist turned, his eyes locking onto Kaelen's. They were deep pools of exhaustion, but in their depths, a new, sharp intelligence was now active, probing. "Duty is a simple driver. A machine can have duty. What you did with Joren, and now with Valerius… that was not mere duty. That was artistry. A creative solution to a complex problem."
He took another step closer. The air grew thick.
"Valeria reports that the Councilor's mind was a 'labyrinth.' That the memory of the city's heart was 'degraded.' Converted to 'noise.'" The Archivist tilted his head, a gesture of academic curiosity that was more threatening than any shout. "A fascinating outcome. Tell me, in your professional opinion… what causes a high-value memory, one a man would risk treason for, to degrade into static so completely, just as my most skilled Sculptor arrives to examine it?"
The trap was sprung. The question was a spider's web, delicate and deadly. There was no right answer. To claim ignorance would be to admit incompetence. To over-explain would be to betray his deception.
"The mind under extreme duress is unpredictable, Archivist," Kaelen said, choosing his words with the care of a man defusing a bomb. "Especially a mind trained in secrecy. It is a defense mechanism. Self-immolation to protect the whole. I salvaged what I could."
The Archivist's lips twitched in something that was not a smile. "Self-immolation," he repeated softly, as if tasting the word. "A violent act. A final act." His eyes drifted past Kaelen, towards his cot. "And yet, you seem to specialize in preserving things from the fire, do you not?"
A fist of ice closed around Kaelen's heart. He knows. He doesn't have proof, but he knows.
Before Kaelen could form a response, the Archivist's attention shifted, his gaze sharpening on a point just behind Kaelen. He pointed a bony finger.
"That one. The river stone on the lower shelf. It is not labeled."
Time seemed to slow. The air vanished from Kaelen's lungs. The stone. Ilya's stone. The memory of the stars. It sat there, plain and unremarkable, a ticking heart of sedition in the heart of the enemy's fortress.
"An… oversight," Kaelen managed, his throat tight. "It is from an early, failed extraction. The memory was too fragmented to be of value. I keep it as a reminder to be more thorough."
"A reminder," the Archivist mused. He took a final, slow step, until he was standing directly before Kaelen. He did not touch him, but his presence was overwhelming, a mountain of age and power and unspoken knowledge. "We are all surrounded by reminders, Kaelen. I am reminded every day of the cost of order. Of the fragile nature of the peace we have built."
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper that was for Kaelen alone.
"Be careful what you choose to remember, Sculptor. Some truths are not simply dangerous. They are… corrosive. They can hollow a man out from the inside, leaving him a shell, forever yearning for a light that has been extinguished."
The words hung in the air, a confession and a threat woven together. He was speaking of the city. He was speaking of himself. And he was warning Kaelen of the same fate.
Without another word, the Archivist turned and swept from the room. The door hissed shut, locking once more.
Kaelen stood frozen, his entire body trembling. The encounter had been a battle, and he had barely escaped with his life. The Archivist had looked into his eyes and had seen the mirror. He had seen the secrets, not clearly, but as shadows moving beneath still water.
And he had pointed directly at the star-stone.
That was no coincidence.
As the adrenaline faded, a crushing exhaustion took hold. He was a mouse in a maze with a cat that could see through the walls. His every move was being watched, his every lie measured.
The Echo's voice was silent, but its presence was a cold comfort in the dark. The warden was awake, and his eyes were now wide open.