Sareth approached her tasks with a steadiness seldom witnessed among archivists, a blend of precision and intensity that bordered on the ethereal. She embodied a sharpened focus, mastering the hard edges of her work, yet she retained a softness that I clung to in the shadow of uncertainty. It wasn't long before she became the sole beacon amidst the hollowed specters of the Calyra.
Yet, the specter of Luthen loomed in my thoughts, as persistent as a haunting melody. His gaze pierced through my very essence, letters entwining with my name like vines suffusing their host. Then came the chilling reality of his absence, as if he had been erased from the fabric of this place, lost to the annals of forgotten memory.
One dreary afternoon, while the upper floors resonated with the low hum of an unshakeable dread, Sareth closed her ledger, her movements deliberate and graceful. She leaned over our shared desk, the air thick with unspoken words, and whispered conspiratorially:
"You're still fixated on him."
I couldn't muster a denial; it felt futile. She possessed an uncanny ability to dissect silence, revealing truths even I dared not voice.
With a hush worthy of the grave, she continued, "Then it's time we sought him."
I felt a shiver trace my spine. "We cannot. The Calyra will reassign us. Or worse. They're already watching me."
Her response was laced with somber acceptance. "We're already marked for such fates. That is the price for those who dare to inquire within these haunted walls."
She waited for my feeble protest. It never surfaced.
And thus, we ventured forth into the dark unknown.
We descended into the depths of the personal archives--a twisted labyrinth of lacquered drawers concealed behind the stern gaze of a former director. His eyes, ever watchful, seemed to shadow our every step.
Sareth, an adept in the art of deception, coaxed the lockpick with a finesse that suggested a long history of clandestine endeavors. The resounding click of the mechanism reverberated through the solemn corridor.
"Help me uncover Luthen's file," she breathed, her voice barely more than a ghostly whisper.
Drawer after drawer yielded nothing until--there it was. Luthen Verath. The name stood stark and unblemished, a haunting promise of revelation.
Yet the folder lay devoid of contents.
Completely. Unnaturally. Suspiciously barren.
Sareth's brow furrowed, a storm brewing in her gaze. "This is impossible. They always leave the disciplinary reports."
I turned the folder over in my hands, desperate for evidence of its past. Nothing. Not a speck of dust remained.
But the paper held an eerie warmth, as if the imprint of fingers had lingered upon its surface mere moments before.
Then--
A muted thud echoed through the silence.
Sareth stiffened. "What was that?"
The drawer beside us trembled--just once--as though some unseen force had nudged it from within.
I swallowed my fear, heart pounding like a funeral drum, and pried it open.
Inside were personnel files--scores of them. Perhaps hundreds.
names viciously crossed out. Some were shredded beyond recognition. Others were scrawled upon in frantic script, entirely foreign to my eyes.
Yet the most grotesque sight of all--
Every single photograph revealed only charred voids where faces should have been, as though a malevolent flame had consumed their very essence.
Sareth shuddered, a tremor running through her as she whispered, "Who would dare do this?"
I remained silent. The marks were not the remnants of fire.
No, they were smears. Smudges. Distorted impressions, as if something with flesh had pressed its hands against the very souls of these faces, rendering them to naught.
Sareth murmured, "This... this is beyond the realm of normal archival work."
Behind us, the air rippled-- a ghostly shimmer, akin to heat rising from stone.
I turned just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse down the corridor. There, a silhouette. Thin and flickering, dancing in and out of the candlelight like a twisted shadow.
"Sareth," I breathed, the words barely escaping my lips. "We are not alone."
We retreated into the drawer room, hiding among the towering shelves. The corridor beyond pulsed with a muffled rhythm--wet footsteps, haunting their approach.
They halted just outside the door.
I grasped Sareth's sleeve tightly. She held her breath, frozen as if carved from marble.
A crack in the door. terrible, slithered through the crack in the door. "Vaerin."
Ice coursed through my veins.
The voice was corrupted, an echo of Luthen's, but bent asunder and reshaped, stretched beyond the familiar.
Sareth shook her head vehemently, her face imploring. Do not answer.
The voice scraped against the threshold once more. "Come... out..."
Then something trailed along the doorframe--not knuckles. Not nails. But something soft and wet.
A sound like fingers fashioned from rotten fruit.
Sareth mouthed, "Move. Now."
We slipped through the opposite door, into the east stacks. My heart thundered as we entered a narrow passage illuminated by flickering glass lanterns.
With each step, the air became a tangible weight, pressing in with a suffocating urgency.
"Vaerin," Sareth whispered, a tremor in her voice, "we're close to something."
"Something what?" I dared to inquire.
She shook her head slowly, dread pooling in her eyes. "I don't know. But something waits in the shadows."
We came to an abrupt halt before a chamber sealed with an unyielding lock. A red sigil pulsed faintly upon its grim facade.
"Restricted," I murmured, the word dripping with foreboding. "Level six clearance."
Sareth's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Then it must be precisely what we seek."
With an air of trepidation, she pressed her ear against the door. When she drew back, the pallor of her face spoke volumes.
"There is something within," she uttered, dread staining her voice.
I stretched out a hand towards the handle. It thrummed beneath my fingertips, alive with ominous energy.
There was no mere room; it was a vault of secrets long buried.
Shutting my eyes, I exerted a gentle force.
The door yielded.
Of its own accord.
Inside lay a dim sanctum, its walls adorned with stone slabs, each intricately inscribed with names--thousands, a creeping tide of identities. Suffocating multitude.
Yet on the far wall, a solitary tablet remained only partially inscribed. The letter quivered in their incompleteness, a name not fully etched.
I drew closer.
VAERIN V--
The final strokes of that name awaited their chisel.
Sareth's grip closed over my hand like iron.
"Vaerin," she breathed, terror distorting her features. "This is an Index of Erasure."
"A what?" My heart quickened in its cage.
"A ledger of all whom the Calyra expunges from existence."
I fixated on that incomplete name.
My name.
Sareth's voice trembled, a whisper of ice. "Luthen isn't merely lost. He has already been indexed."
Air caught in my throat. "So we must find him."
"No," she insisted, and her grip tightened like a vise. "We must ensure your escape."
Then, a soft wet footstep echoed in the dark, far too intimate.
A second followed.
And then--
"Vaerin..."
That voice again, slithering forth from the shadows.
Sareth yanked me toward the exit.
"We run," she hissed, urgency lacing her tone. "NOW."
