⋱⌘⋰ Lore Scrap ⋱⌘⋰
"Ink remembers what you try to bury."
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The Vault screamed. Not with sound — with pressure. Memory bled from the shelves. Books rattled in place. Sigils burned white across iron bindings. The air folded in on itself, ink turning to mist, mist turning to claws. Eira dropped to her knees. The book with her name throbbed in her hands — warm and wet, bleeding through her fingertips. She couldn't breathe. "Eira!" Cael's voice sliced through the chaos, distant and fraying. She heard him, barely. Her vision blurred. The book pulsed again. It knew her. It was her. And it wanted her name back. "Don't open it!" Cael shouted — closer now. The Vault floor rippled beneath him like a heartbeat. "It's already open," she whispered. "It's me—" A surge of ink lashed from the shelves. Not random. Targeted. The Vault was defending itself — or trying to reclaim what it believed belonged. Cael reached her just as the ink struck. His arm swept around her shoulders; his other hand carved a ward through the air with his bare fingers. A glyph flared into life — gold-rimmed and jagged. The ink screamed as it hit it. Steam rose between them. "Give me the book," Cael said through clenched teeth. "It won't let go." "Eira—" "I'm trying!" Her knuckles were white. The inkbinding on her wrist had begun to unravel — not break, but distort. Names flickered beneath her skin that didn't belong to her. "It's writing me—" Cael gripped her wrist. Cold energy surged through his palm — runic and terrible. For one breathless second, the book froze. "Now!" he barked. Eira wrenched her fingers open. The book screamed as it left her hands — and burst into flame mid-air. Not fire — ink-light. Cold, dark, burning backward. Cael caught it in a sealing glyph that flared blue and violet, snapping closed like a trap. The book shuddered once — then vanished. The Vault exhaled. And the door opened.
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The hallway outside felt too narrow. Too bright. Eira slumped against the wall, gasping, her ink-binding still crawling like it hadn't quite reattached to her. Cael crouched beside her. Not speaking. Just watching. His hands were still faintly glowing. "It was my name," she rasped. "Written in its blood." "It was a weapon." "It knew me, Cael." She looked at him. Her voice broke. "It wanted to take me back." Cael said nothing. But he reached for her wrist. His touch was not soft. It was deliberate. Measured. He pressed his thumb against the place where the ink-binding had cracked. The glyph beneath her skin flared — and stabilised. Only then did he speak. "You're still here." "For now." "You're stronger than you think." She blinked up at him. There was something in his face — not quite fear. Not quite reverence. Recognition, maybe. "Would you have let me open it?" she asked. Cael's silence was answer enough. He stood. Turned away. "Get some rest." "That's not an answer." "It's the only one I can give you." He walked down the corridor, steps silent. Ink still curled in the edges of his coat like smoke. Eira didn't move. She looked down at her hands. Her palms were stained. Not with blood — with something older. And deep in her pocket, the locket she had taken from the Vault pulsed once. Warm. Waiting.
⋯⋱⧉⋰⋯ To be continued…
⸻ ❖ Archive Fragment ❖ ⸻ Some things ink can bind. Others, it mourns.
⋱◈⋰ End Chapter ⋱◈⋰