The archives had a heartbeat.
It wasn't booming, but it was there, a subtle hum beneath the rustling of papers, the gentle flick of gloves over old covers, and the sigh of history that lingered between the shelves. Niah sensed it as soon as she ventured further inside.
Dr. Thorne handed her a linen apron and a pair of cotton gloves. "We're not exactly saving the world here, love," she said, her voice a dry rustle like autumn leaves, "but we're preserving the bits of it that people tend to forget. You wouldn't believe what gets tossed aside."
Niah's desk was tucked away by the far window, a small island of order in a sea of chaos. The view wasn't much, a graveyard behind the chapel, where skeletal branches clawed at the glass, etching shadows onto the already dim light. It felt like time itself was breathing down her neck.
She took a deep breath, the air thick with the scent of aged parchment and something else, like the ghost of incense.
The first box she opened contained brittle letters, ink-smudged pages folded painfully. Many were unsigned, and some were addressed to someone named "Rain."
Niah's breath hitched.
That name jumped out like a beacon in the fog. Rain again? She swallowed hard and set the letters aside with care.
It had to be a coincidence. Yeah, that was it. She tried to reassure herself.
Yet, her fingers shook a bit as she picked up the next bundle. Was she imagining this? Lately, it felt like every path she took led her back to the same scary crossroads, names that were half-familiar, shadowy figures, whispers in the mist.
And Zaire Castellan.
It had been a while since their standoff in the restricted section, and truthfully? She wasn't keen on seeing him again. Or… maybe she was. To ask him or just to make sure she wasn't losing her mind.
But she knew better.
Something deep inside told her that people like Zaire never appeared without a purpose.
* * *
The hours crawled by, marked only by Dr. Thorne's muttered complaints about the clergy's awful filing system and the creaking of the ancient building settling around them.
Around midday, Niah unearthed a rolled parchment, wedged between two warped hymnbooks like a forgotten prayer. It was sealed with a faint, almost ethereal insignia – a crescent moon entwined with thorny vines. It wasn't a church symbol, not anything she recognized. It felt… ancient, imbued with a power that hummed beneath her fingertips.
As she reached for it, her heart did a little tap dance in her chest. But then Dr. Thorne's voice cut through the silence, sharp and unexpected. "Don't open that one."
Niah froze, her hand hovering over the parchment. "Why not?"
"It's not catalogued yet. That one's… special. It needs permission."
"Permission from whom?"
"From higher-ups," Dr. Thorne said vaguely, her eyes darting around the room. "Higher than me."
Niah slowly placed the parchment back between the hymnbooks, the rough texture strangely comforting against her gloved hand. But the seed of curiosity had been planted.
What secrets did this parchment hold? What "higher-ups" were so concerned about it? The thought gnawed at her, a persistent itch she couldn't scratch. What if she just took a peek? Just a quick glance to satisfy her curiosity?
Maybe the voice in the fog did have more to say. Maybe this parchment was the key to understanding it all.
But the idea was reckless for her own good.
* * *
When she finally emerged from the chapel, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of bruised purple and fading gold. Evening had draped Eldermere in a cloak of shadows, softening the harsh edges of the crooked rooftops and silencing the bustling streets. Her breath puffed out in white clouds in the chilly air.
The walk back was peaceful, with only the occasional rustle of birds or the distant sound of footsteps on stone.
Halfway down Alder Street, she hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder. A prickling sensation on the back of her neck, the feeling of being watched. But there was nothing there. Just the empty street, bathed in the eerie glow of the streetlights.
Still, her pace quickened, her heart pounding a little faster. It was just her imagination, she told herself. But the feeling persisted, a nagging sense of unease that wouldn't dissipate.
Something had shifted again, not in a dramatic way, just slightly, like the world took a deep breath but hadn't let it out yet.
And at the edge of that breath… something was waiting.
* * *