⋱⌘⋰ Lore Scrap ⋱⌘⋰
"Whispers nest in silence. But the dangerous ones learn to dream."
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The dream began with wings.
Black as ink. Bound by chains.
They beat against her ribs like they wanted out.
Eira woke with a start. Her breath fogged the cold air. Candlelight flickered across the stone walls, casting shadows that didn't seem entirely her own. Against her chest, her pendant pulsed—faint, rhythmic, alive.
Something was calling.
She rose, pulled on her coat, and stepped into the corridor. The Library adjusted under her feet, the floor curling like a scroll being read in reverse. It was leading her somewhere it shouldn't.
A stairwell appeared—narrow, spiralling down, marked by a forgotten sigil that thrummed against her fingertips.
At the bottom: a door. No hinges. No handle. Just pressure, like a breath held too long.
Inside: cages. Not of bone or metal, but lattices of ink and glyph-light, pulsing gently. Whispers slept inside—barely.
Cael stood before one of them, his silhouette cutting through the gloom like a blade.
"You weren't summoned," he said without turning.
"I dreamed it."
He glanced at the pendant. "Of course you did."
The whisper inside the cage wasn't aggressive. It wept. Quiet, mournful. It pressed against the glyphs not to attack—but to reach.
Eira inched closer. "It feels like… grief that forgot its name."
Her ink-binding flared faintly. The whisper leaned toward it.
"It's collapsing," Cael said. "If it breaks, it becomes something worse."
"A nightmare?"
He nodded. "One that doesn't end when you wake."
"I think I can sort it."
"That's not how this works."
"But it called to me."
He hesitated—just enough to make her breath still.
Then, at the far end of the chamber, another cage stirred.
Not weeping.
Watching.
It smiled.
Cael moved instantly. A ward snapped into place with silver fire.
"That one is locked for a reason."
Eira turned back to the weeping whisper. It had gone quiet. Waiting.
"Come back tomorrow," Cael said gently. "Before it forgets your kindness."
She nodded. But behind the ward, the smiling whisper whispered her name.
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The next night, she returned.
The locked whisper's cage shimmered—unstable, twitching at the edges. The air around it had a taste now. Metallic. Wrong.
Vessa was already there, arms crossed.
"You followed the ink pull," Eira said.
"I followed the danger," Vessa replied. "That thing said your name."
"I think it knows something."
"Whispers are born of truth," Vessa said. "Doesn't make them honest."
Eira stepped forward. "What do I do?"
Vessa handed her a flat shard—a mirror-plate, etched in fading runes.
"If it's fractured, you'll see it."
As the plate lifted, the whisper screamed—silent, violent. Ink lashed like claws. The mirror cracked in Eira's grip.
Vessa yanked her back. Glyphs flared red.
Cael stepped from the ink-lit dark, fury and fire in his wake.
"What were you thinking?"
"It's trying to rewrite something," Eira said. "With a name."
He snatched the cracked plate, examined it.
"What name?" she asked.
He hesitated. The whisper behind the ward leaned forward, grinning.
"Julian," Cael said.
Eira's breath vanished.
The whisper pressed against the barrier—wearing her brother's face.
Some whispers want your help. Others want your name.
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To be continued... ⸻ ❖ Archive Fragment ❖ ⸻
"Some names leave scars behind them. Others come back with teeth."
⋱◈⋰ End Chapter ⋱◈⋰