The lantern's glow transformed the marble floor into a shimmering expanse, reminiscent of water.
In my youthful imagination, it became a lake -- the kind my mother described from Velmyrion, serenely glassy, mirroring the heavens as if reflecting a hidden realm. I walked carefully beside her, only daring to step on the lighter tiles, as if to spare the "surface" from disturbance.
Her laughter drifted softly, warm and inviting, her braid cascading gently against the small of her back. "Careful, little quill," she murmured, her voice rich with tenderness. "One misplaced step, and you'll plunge into the unwritten realms."
"I won't," I proclaimed with pride, leaping over a shadowy tile. "I'm good at remembering."
Her pace slowed, and she peered down at me, her eyes sparkling with something deeper than amusement. "Then hold this close, my Vaerin," she said, crouching to lightly touch my forehead with her finger. "Your memory is your shield. The Calyra cannot seize what you protect with your whole heart."
At that moment, her words remained a riddle to me.
All I knew was that they cast a shadow over her, born from sorrow.
Rising once more, she offered her hand, and I grasped it. The halls of the Calyra were alive with brightness then -- less stifling, filled with the gentle scratch of quills and the soft whispers of Mythshapers weaving the very fabric of history in secret.
My mother belonged to that esteemed circle.
Her robes bore ink stains, and her desk was cluttered with incomplete scriptwork, yet her brilliance was undeniable. Everyone revered her; even the Archivist Council bowed their heads in respect as she passed by.
And me--
I spent my days in her service. Carrying parchment. Organizing scrollcases. Sorting reflection shards. Listening to her hum those ancient Velmyrion lullabies while her quill danced like a silver flame across the page.
I had believed she wielded power beyond reckoning.
But that day -- the one etched into my very bones -- she cast glances over her shoulder thrice before ushering me into her private chamber. She closed the door behind us, knelt before me, and cradled my face in her hands.
"Vaerin," she breathed, "some stories are prisons. Some truths are shackles. If anything ever befells me--"
It won't," I interrupted quickly, desperation threading my small voice.
A smile played on her lips, but her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
"If anything should happen," she repeated softly, "you must safeguard something. Hide one memory. One truth. Just one." Her thumb brushed my cheek, tremors coursing through her touch. "Promise me."
"I promise."
Her lips graced my forehead.
And then--
Quills clattered to the ground.
The light extinguished.
A horrid scream reverberated through the stone, so ancient and furious that my small frame crumbled beneath its weight. My mother enveloped me in her arms, whispering incomprehensible words as the thunderous sound swelled around us--
The last vision I held was her face illuminated by a pale, silver light, a blend of terror and brilliance, as the Calyra devoured us whole.
"VAERIN!"
My eyes shot open, a jolt of electric fear coursing through me.
Sareth's grip was fierce on my shoulders, her hands trembling as she shook me, the sound of my teeth colliding splitting the stillness. Her face was a mask of terror, cheeks flushed, hair a wild tangle, and breath coming in frantic gasps.
"You--" she panted, "--you stopped breathing, Vaerin! I thought--I thought the Book took you!"
I blinked, taking in the Vault around us, and suddenly everything felt wrong.
The air surrounding us vibrated with an ancient malice, heavy and ominous. The shelves trembled ominously, while the marble floor rippled in lazy, sinister waves, as if something titanic lurked beneath.
With a determined force, Sareth released me, only to bang the First Book shut, her hands pressing down with fierce resolve. The clasps resounded like snapping teeth.
She whirled toward Kallith's flickering silhouette. "What did you DO to her?"
Kallith's reflection shimmered, her edges warping as if an unseen heat rose from her very essence.
"I did nothing," she murmured, her voice low and haunting. "The Book remembered her before she remembered herself."
Sareth's lip curled in disdain. "You told us this would help us escape!"
Kallith's head tilted, glitching erratically from side to side, her silver essence dripping from her fingers and forming small, glimmering pools on the floor, vanishing before they could stay.
"Escape?" she echoed, her tone laced with an unsettling wisdom. "Child, you have not awakened a path out. You have awakened what sleeps below."
A deep, resonant rumble shuddered beneath us, a sound that reverberated through the very core of my being more than it resonated in the air.
Sareth grasped my arm, pulling me back. "What does that mean? What lies beneath us?"
Kallith's expression hollowed, a glimmer of what could only be pity washing over her features.
"The Calyra was not constructed to house knowledge," she explained, a somber weight to her words. "It was built to bury something the world could not endure."
"Bury what?" I croaked.
Her answer was a whisper steeped in dread--the dying echo of a fading heartbeat.
"The forgotten powers. The very ones stripped from every archivist. The ones tethered to truths the Calyra dared not allow to exist."
Another rumble, deeper and more menacing.
The stone ceiling trembled ominously above us. Shards of mirror--fleched dust drifted down like a cursed snowfall.
Sareth turned to me, her eyes wide with dread. "Vaerin... your hands."
I dared to look.
Beneath my skin, silver light pulsed--soft and shimmering, a delicate threadwork woven into my veins. In that instant, I felt an unfamiliar strength surge within me, grounding me to the floor while awakening a power I never knew thrummed just beneath the surface.
"Sareth," I breathed, my voice quaking with unspoken dread. "You too."
She cast her gaze downward.
Her fingertips shimmered with a soft, golden light.
The air surrounding her undulated, shimmering like the heat haze off sunbaked stone in a desolate landscape.
Kallith inclined her head once, a silent acknowledgment. "The Book does not bestow gifts freely. It demands restitution."
A forceful impact echoed against the Vault door. A primal growl reverberated from beyond -- deep, guttural, countless mouths yearning for release.
"All of you," Kallith murmured with intensity, "even those erased from memory -- your powers have merely been shackled."
The ground beneath us fractured, a thin seam splitting open, silver radiance spilling forth as ink spilled from an overturned vessel.
"Now the shackles are shattered."
Sareth's throat constricted. "So the archivists--"
"Are awakening," Kallith interjected. "And what they were destined to guard against is stirring."
The Vault shivered violently, the very stones groaning under the weight of unspeakable forces.
For an instant, I could have sworn I discerned a voice rising from the abyss --
Not a voice in words.
Only a palpable hunger.
Sareth gripped my hand with a desperation that pierced through to my bones. "Vaerin, we must flee. Now."
I nodded, my chest tightening, heart racing with a rhythm both familiar and hauntingly ancient.
The Book throbbed once.
Softly.
Then again.
With an urgency that resonated.
Kallith retreated toward the shelves, her form beginning to dissolve into twinkling motes of light.
"You must go," she urged, the urgency laced through her words. "Before it understands you are awake."
"Before what realizes--"
But the ground beneath us rolled like the surface of an ocean in tempest, and the door splintered inward. From the shadows, a voice -- neither Luthen's nor normal -- slithered forth:
"Archivist."
And in that moment, the Vault plunged into disarray, a cacophony of chaos unleashed.
