The walk back to the Calyra's central wing felt like traversing a dream spun by a mind not my own. Luthen strode beside me, his steps unnaturally measured, his posture rigid as if carved from marble, and his breathing eerily placid. It was as though some unseen force had sculpted him into a more refined version of himself, one who mirrored a ghost--quieter, more obedient.
I forced my gaze away from the insidious shimmer that crawled up his wrist, imagining the dreadful culmination of its travel to his shoulder, his throat, and his very eyes. The thought sent a chill racing through me, an omen of the darkness and despair that lurked just beyond reach.
As we approached the administrative wing, the solemn bells tolled the second hour of morning. The door to Mistress Kallith's office yawned wide--a strange occurrence indeed. She had a penchant for solitude, ensuring her threshold remained unbreached even when she desired company.
Within, the chamber lay stripped bare. Her desk, once a bastion of archived thoughts, stood desolate; shelves emptied of knowledge, the quills that danced upon parchment now vanished. Even her essence lingered no more--the mingling scents of ink, lavender, and stern authority had fled.
In her stead stood a towering woman, her hair bound in a severe bun, a nose like a crooked blade, and her robes the color of dried blood, sucking the warmth from the air. Her eyes were not merely dark; they were an abyss of blackness, like soot spread upon fresh snow.
She lifted her gaze as we crossed the threshold. "You must be the culprits sowing seeds of administrative...discord," she intoned, her voice as chilling as winter's breath.
Luthen stiffened, and dread pooled in my stomach. "She's not Mistress Kallith," I murmured, a whisper of truth that slipped from my lips unbidden.
The woman's smile sharpened to a dangerous edge. "Indeed, I am not."
She advanced with a predatory grace. "Permit me to introduce myself. I am Mistress Serenth. Your new overseer."
"Where is Mistress Kallith?" I demanded, my voice thin as a wisp of smoke, the question escaping my lips before reason could stay it.
Serenth tilted her head, a predatory gleam in her eye. "Reassigned."
"To where?" The query trembled on my tongue, a fragile thread in the suffocating silence.
A drawn-out pause ensued, an eternity stretching between us. "Above your clearance."
An icy dread seeped through my veins. Luthen's lips wavered into a faint twitch--a response entirely incongruous with the terror clawing at our throats. I seized his sleeve, gripping it until I could feel the pulse of his unease beneath the fabric.
Serenth's gaze flickered to my movement, then returned to me with newfound intensity--sharpened, cold, like a blade waiting to be drawn.
"I have called upon you," she intoned, her voice a chilling echo in the dimly lit chamber, "because a peculiar anomaly has emerged within our Council logs."
With a deliberate gesture, she turned towards her desk, lifting a weighty stack of parchment--its presence almost ominous in the flickering candlelight. The pages appeared unremarkable--until she unveiled them, displaying their grim contents.
My name was inscribed across a multitude of sheets, not as a fleeting signature but in relentless repetition.
VAERIN
VAERIN
VAERIN
VAERINVAERINVAERINVAERIN--
As if some tormented soul had scrawled it until their quill shattered, or something malevolent compelled them to do so.
With a harsh clap, Serenth slammed the stack onto the desk, her voice descending into a dangerous whisper that hung in the air like a pall.
"Why," she demanded, "does your name appear in Council documents you have never seen, nor accessed, nor been authorized to touch?"
Beside me, Luthen's breathing shifted--measured, deliberate, and unnervingly calm.
I steeled myself to meet Serenth's piercing gaze. "I have not laid a finger on the council logs."
Her expression remained unyielding. "Yet someone has."
A truth clawed its way up my throat, desperate to escape. Something has.
Serenth advanced, her shadow looming over mine, cloaking me in foreboding. "You will reveal to me," she hissed, "if any unsanctioned entities have approached you: objects, reflections."
That final word sliced through the air, sharp as a dagger. She knew. Or at least suspected. Or perhaps feared enough to conceal it under the weight of a threat.
Before I could muster a response, Luthen surged forward. "She hasn't," she declared, his voice smooth yet unsettlingly false. The quiver that usually danced in his tone before our superiors lay dormant, as if a dark force had seized control.
"She hasn't witnessed anything," she reiterated. "Nothing out of the ordinary."
Serenth's gaze narrowed, a hawk poised for descent. "And you?"
Luthen stood unblinking, his facade unyielding. "I haven't either."
My stare locked onto him, breath hitching in my throat. That was not the Luthen I knew--he had been replaced, fear vanquished by cold obedience. Someone had molded him into a lie.
Serenth stepped back, a calculated retreat cloaked in shadows. "For your sakes," she said, "I truly hope that your words ring true."
Her fingers danced over the papers once more, halting at a page where my name was not merely inscribed--but cruelly etched. The parchment bore the scars of her pressure, threads of the paper fraying and tearing beneath her relentless grip.
"Because should these entries persist," she remarked, "the Council will condemn you as the perpetrator of this tampering. And those who dare to meddle with sacred records..."
Her smile twisted upon her lips, a thin, cold curve,--the very essence of malice.
"...rarely retain their positions as archivists for long."
I clenched my jaw, a steely resolve masking the turmoil within. "We will tread cautiously."
Serenth's nod was deliberate, her gaze fixed on Luthen, unyielding and piercing. "Ensure that you do."
As we turned to depart, her voice coiled through the air, dark and foreboding:
"Oh, Vaerin?"
I halted as her words slithered around me like a shadow dancing upon still waters.
"Should anything else bear your name--a note, a page, a specter--bring it directly to me."
Silence hung in the air, for I couldn't betray the dread swelling within me. I understood all too well what she sought to do with such remnants. What she'd ultimately do with me.
Once outside her lair, Luthen exhaled, the breath drawn out, dragging like a lamentation. It felt as though he'd held his breath against unspeakable truths.
I seized his arm, pulling him into the obscurity of the nearest passage.
"Why did you lie?" I spat, my voice barely above a whisper.
His gaze darted to mine, and for the ephemeral moment--a fleeting glimpse--I discerned a haunting reflection lurking behind his eyes. A specter of another soul gazing back.
"I didn't lie," he murmured, his tone soft and unsettlingly incorrect. "Not truly."
I recoiled, a creeping dread spiraling through my being. "Luthen--what is happening to you?"
He inclined his head precisely as the theologian had once done in the Mirror Hall. A perfect imitation, eerily unsettling.
"Nothing," he replied. "Everything is as it should be."
A chill slithered up my spine. "No," I breathed, "It is not."
Yet he merely smiled--a faint semblance of a grin, an expression that belonged to him. Then he turned, striding further down the shadowed corridor, leaving me engulfed in a growing void.
For the first time since all of this began, my fear of Luthen eclipsed even my dread of the mirrors.
