"He's not wrong," she said. "The older record aligns with what I've been seeing."
Both of them turned to look at her.
For a moment, the room felt… tight.
Then the archivist waved a hand. "Fine. Take it up with the Celestial Conclaves if you care that much." He remarked knowing they obviously had no means of communicating with any authority of that level.
He walked away. He didn't get paid enough to argue with the courier boy or even report him to his bosses for going through their work.
Silence settled between them.
"You see it too," the stranger said. He wasn't asking, it seemed more like recognition and relief.
Nyra studied him carefully this time. Black hair, slightly unruly. Green eyes sharp with something that looked a lot like concern.
"Yes," she said. "Do you?"
He nodded once.
Something in her chest loosened. She wasn't going crazy after all
Whatever was wrong with the stars, it wasn't just her who could see it.
And that was the moment, though she wouldn't realise it until much later, when the normal life she had, finally began to crack.
"Finn" he said, holding his hand out for her to take.
"Nyra", she responded, taking his hand. He didn't seem so mysterious anymore.
They stared at each other, neither of them knowing how to continue the conversation.
"How long ago did you notice the misalignment" she finally asked, breaking the silence between them.
"Some months ago, when I started delivering the maps and records to the Archive ", he replied.
"I noticed the inconsistencies as I often watch the priests and scribe work while waiting for the deliveries." He said, taking a step closer and whispering.
The temple's records were kept closely and were not to be disclosed to the public. Scribes were not even allowed to interpret the notes or records they were given or what they were told by the Astrologers who read and interpreted the stars. They just listened obediently and wrote.
This man, standing before her, was reading and interpreting the stars. She could understand why he was whispering now.
"If you understand so much, why are you not a part of the temple?" She questioned him. He was now highly suspicious in her eyes.
Who was this man?
"I will never be a part of such a broken and failing system," He responded
"You may not see it because you are in it star scribe Nyra," said touching her red robe briefly, its colour, indicating her position and role.
"As someone who knows a little more than the general public and is not a part of the temple, the cracks are clear as day."
"You are telling so much. Aren't you afraid I'll report you?" She asked to which he chuckled in response
"You just agreed with me and actually spoke up to that guy. You are not an idiot or an obedient dog like the rest of them."
"We are just doing our jobs", she retorted, frowning. "No need for the derogatory words"
She found it rather unpleasant how he spoke about the scribes as she was one herself.
Who the hell does he think he is? How rude.
"I'm sorry" he apologised "but you know it is true "
"Scribes are diligent people, who are dedicated to their work". She responded looking him in the eye.
He took a step back and nodded his head "I agree".
"You know it is illegal to go through the records and maps." Her voice was calm again, without any trace of the annoyance that was there a few moments ago.
"You could be mistaken for a spy."
"You're right. I will be more careful henceforth."
Nyra watched him for a second longer than necessary, weighing his words.
People in the temple lied all the time but usually with polish, rehearsed reverence. Finn didn't have that. He looked… careful now. Like someone who had realised his mistake.
"Careful would be good," she said. "The Archive isn't forgiving."
"I've noticed," he replied dryly.
They stood among the shelves, the scent of old parchment and ink hanging heavy in the air. Somewhere deeper in the hall, quills scratched and pages turned, the quiet, relentless sound of the temple recording itself into eternity.
Nyra glanced down at the star charts spread across the table. The inked constellations were clean. They looked precise and official.
And yet they couldn't be more wrong.
She tapped one with her finger. "This sequence," she said. "It's been copied three times in the last decade. Each version shifts the anchor point slightly west."
Finn leaned closer, not touching the parchment. "And no one questions it."
"No one's allowed to," she said. "We transcribe. We don't interpret."
"But you noticed anyway."
"I notice patterns," Nyra said simply. "That's literally the job."
He smiled at that a little "Same."
She raised an eyebrow. "Courier work teaches pattern recognition?"
"Moving between districts does," he said. "You hear arguments. See things. Priests arguing when they think no one's listening. Astrologers correcting themselves mid-sentence."
"That's not supposed to happen," she muttered.
"No," Finn agreed. "It really isn't."
A pause stretched between them, thicker this time.
Nyra straightened the stack of charts, aligning the edges with more care than necessary. "If the stars are misaligned," she said slowly, "and the records are being… adjusted to match the wrong readings, that means–"
"Then the problem isn't the sky," Finn finished. "It's the people reading it."
Her fingers stilled.
She looked at him again, properly this time, not as a stranger who'd noticed the same inconsistency, but as someone who had reached the same conclusion she'd been trying very hard not to think.
"That's a dangerous thing to say," she said.
He shrugged. "Most true things are."
Nyra exhaled through her nose, almost a laugh. "You realise that if you keep talking like this, I might actually report you."
"I realise," Finn said. "But you won't."
"And why are you so sure of that?"
"Because you didn't shut the record when you saw the error," he replied. "You corrected it in the margins. That's not what obedient scribes do."
Her jaw tightened, but she wasn't angry this time, it was something closer to being seen when she hadn't invited it.
"That margin note will be erased," she said.
"Eventually."
"But I'll remember it."
Finn nodded. "That's how it starts."
She frowned. "How what starts?"
"Noticing," he said. "And then wondering how long things have been wrong."
Nyras iflded her arms. "You speak like you've already gone down this path."
"I have," he admitted. "It doesn't end well."
"That's encouraging."
He smiled again, softer this time. "I didn't say it wasn't worth it."
A bell rang faintly in the distance, signalling a shift change. The sound echoed through the hall, a reminder of schedules and structure and rules.
Nyra glanced toward the sound, then back at him. "I should get back to work."
"Of course," Finn said. He hesitated, then added, "I'm usually assigned here on third day rotations. Mid-morning."
She nodded once. "I'm always here."
He turned to leave, then paused. "Nyra?"
"Yes?"
"If you ever notice something that doesn't match at all,something they can't quietly fix..." He met her gaze. "Don't write it down."
She considered that. Then, slowly, she said, "You're asking me to remember instead."
"I'm asking you to stay alive."
Finn walked away before she could respond, disappearing between the shelves like he'd never been there at all.
Nyra looked back down at the charts.
The stars stared back, silent and patient.
And for the first time, she wondered not what they were saying, but who was changing their words.