⋱⌘⋰ Lore Scrap ⋱⌘⋰
"Silence is not the absence of sound. It's the weight of all sound denied."
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The Library had been quiet for three days. Too quiet. Even the whispers had hushed — as if something deeper had begun listening. Eira noticed it first during morning checks. Finnian was the one who said it aloud. "Feels like we're all being watched by something that forgot how to blink." Vessa didn't comment. But she started lighting two candles instead of one. By the fourth day, the ink on the lower levels stopped flowing. Not jammed. Not dried. Just still. That's when Eira heard it. A whisper. Her own voice. It came not from a shelf. Not from a basin or vault. From nowhere. And everywhere. "Eira Starling," it breathed. Not spoken. Exhaled. The first time, she thought she was imagining it. The second, she turned. No one was there. The third time, she followed. The path wasn't direct. The Library never allowed that. Shelves turned sideways, staircases reversed. She passed Nella — a quiet apprentice sorter from Whisper Archive 5 — muttering about misplaced glyph keys. Passed two ravens she didn't recognise. Passed a section Cael had once told her to avoid. It led her to the east wing. She hadn't been there since her first week. And there it was. A book on the floor. Glowing. Her pendant pulsed, hot and rhythmic. She approached carefully. It wasn't sealed. The glow flickered as she neared. Inside, ink lifted gently off the pages — like breath caught in midair. Her brother's name was written there. Julian. Not printed. Scrawled. In her handwriting. She staggered back. "Eira Starling," the whisper said again. Her voice. Her cadence. "You left me behind." "Who are you?" she whispered. The air rippled. And then she saw her reflection in the ink pool on the page. Only it wasn't her. The eyes were wrong. Too dark. Too still. Too knowing. "What do you want?" The whisper smiled through her mouth. "To finish what you forgot." Footsteps behind her. Cael. And Vessa. They saw the book. The glow. The mirror of her. "Don't touch it," Cael said. Too late. The ink surged. Her hand was already moving. And then everything went wrong.
The book screamed. Not with sound — with silence. A kind that pulled at thought and marrow.
The glow shattered into filaments, each one slithering through the air like memory untethered. Eira staggered back, but the ink clung to her skin, her sleeve, her breath.
Vessa reached her first, drawing a warding sigil mid-air. It flared, briefly, then dimmed — swallowed by the thing in the ink.
Cael's voice cut through. "Cover the glyph!"
Eira didn't know which glyph he meant. The book? Her hand? The one now pulsing on the back of her wrist, bright and new?
The ink wrapped around her fingers like a vine. Tightened. Then loosened. Then sank.
Into her.
Vessa gasped. Cael swore.
A flare of gold-white magic seared the book shut — Cael's hand raised, gloves off, sigils bleeding across his palm.
The room went still.
The book, blackened at the edges, lay dormant once more.
But something had already moved.
Something stayed.
It nestled beneath Eira's thoughts, quiet and cold. Not possession. Not yet. But permission. A tether with no visible thread.
She opened her mouth to speak but didn't know what language to use.
Behind her, Cael stepped forward slowly. His voice low.
"Can you still hear yourself?"
Eira blinked. Her voice—when it came—was her own.
"I think so."
He didn't look convinced.
Vessa touched her wrist, gently.
"She'll need watching."
Cael nodded. "She always does."
The ink dried. The room calmed. The book stopped breathing.
But the silence that followed didn't feel empty.
It felt occupied.
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To be continued…
⸻ ❖ Archive Fragment ❖ ⸻
Some echoes don't vanish. They wait until the door is open wide enough to walk through.
⋱◈⋰ End Chapter ⋱◈⋰