Marikka had never seen the Level of Lost Memories from so close. From afar, it always appeared as a sealed doorway—an impossible, triangular opening no apprentice dared to touch even by mistake. Up close, however, it felt less like a door and more like a breath.
A long exhale from something ancient.
The corridor that led downward changed each time someone entered it. Today, its walls were stitched together from aged manuscript pages, fused like scar tissue. The faint glow made the letters within them twitch, half-formed words trying to rearrange themselves.
Aurelian walked at the front, unbothered by the shifting architecture. Cedric followed, attempting to look confident but failing in spectacular fashion. Every time a sheet of parchment rustled on the wall, he jumped like someone had fired a ballista.
Marikka closed the procession, holding the book close to her chest. Its vibrations were stronger now—shivering pulses that spoke of fear, memory, and a kind of longing she did not yet understand.
The soundless tremors rippled through her fingertips.The book was hurting.And yet… it was eager.
Cedric suddenly whispered—well, mouthed—"Please tell me it's not looking at me."
Marikka tapped his arm gently: Yes, but it won't bite.Cedric didn't find the reassurance reassuring.
The corridor widened unexpectedly, revealing a circular chamber. The air thickened with layered whispers—not true voices, but vibrations stored in the walls, like ghosts of forgotten emotions. The stone tiles beneath their feet emitted a soft hum, a chorus trapped in a minor key.
The Level of Lost Memories did not welcome visitors.It tolerated them.
Aurelian halted at the center. His presence seemed to soothe the room—or perhaps command it. "Marikka," he said, enunciating carefully, "place the book on the altar."
A small slab of ancient stone rose from the floor as he spoke, revealing an altar worn smooth by centuries of forbidden contact. The edges were etched with runes so faded they looked like bruises.
Marikka stepped forward.The book trembled violently, resisting.
"It remembers this place," Aurelian murmured.
Cedric took several strategic steps backward.
Marikka placed the book on the altar. Immediately, the air tightened, and a high-frequency vibration spread through the chamber. The runes flashed briefly like startled eyes.
Aurelian lifted his hand and performed a series of archivist signs—motions older than magic, older even than cataloging. The Athenaeum responded, dimming the ambient hum as if creating a fragile bubble of stability.
"Touch it," Aurelian said quietly. "Let it open."
Cedric squeaked. "Let her? Why does she always have to—"
Aurelian ignored him.Marikka placed both hands on the cover.
The tome opened as if gasping.
The pages turned themselves, slithering with the smooth glide of something alive. Each page emitted a pulse—short, sharp, full of tension—until it stopped.
A page half-healed.Half-ruined.Half-screaming.
Marikka felt the pain before she saw the scar.
The center of the page was unnaturally smooth, as if rewritten.The edges were puckered and rough—emotional scar tissue from a wound centuries old.
Her fingertips touched the border.
And the world vanished.
She was dragged into a vision—not a memory shown, but a memory felt.
A hall of golden light.Brilliant, dazzling, warm.Voices murmuring in a language layered like chords.People—not quite human, and yet too human—surrounded a massive tome resting on a pedestal.
A glowing book.A living thing.A heart.
Marikka sensed panic in the room. The tome pulsed faster, in distress.
Then—the gloved hand.
A sharp movement.Pages torn.Torn from the core.The pain of the book hit her chest like a physical blow.
Marikka fell to her knees.
Cedric lunged, but Aurelian stopped him with a raised palm. "Let her. She must see what we could not."
The golden hall shattered into motes of ink.The vision dissolved.
Marikka gasped, finding herself once more in the chamber, the altar beneath her hands cold as stone from a grave. Her heart thudded painfully. She tasted metal.
"What did you see?" Aurelian asked, slow and clear.
She signed rapidly:A hall made of gold.Unknown figures.A living tome.Pages torn out.Fear—the book's fear.
Aurelian and Cedric exchanged looks.Alistair would have fainted from sheer academic excitement.
Aurelian rubbed his chin. "This does not match any recorded era. No architecture, no languages, no documented magical practices."
Cedric whispered, "So… where was she? In… another world?"
"Perhaps," Aurelian said softly. "Or in ours, before it was rewritten."
The phrase hung in the air like a falling blade.
The book vibrated suddenly.A single word pulsed through Marikka's fingers.
"Return."
The runes on the altar glowed faintly, reacting.
"It's trying to express intent," Aurelian said. "That is not typical behavior."
Cedric, pale as chalk: "Intent? Books have intent now? Can we… not do this?"
The chamber trembled.Shelves leaned inward by a hair's width.Loose pages fluttered without wind.
The Athenaeum was listening.Watching.
Marikka lifted her hand again and touched the page.Another vibration—this one darker.
"We are not alone."
Marikka's breath hitched.Cedric sat down hard on the floor.Aurelian went rigid.
"A warning," he said. "Something else survived the Rewriting."
Or worse—something was coming now.
Marikka felt a vibration deeper in the chamber.A presence in the stone.A different pulse—slower, heavier.
Something was crossing into the Athenaeum.
Cedric whispered, "Is that a good something, or a bad something?"
Marikka and Aurelian both looked at him.
Cedric nodded weakly. "Bad. Right. Got it."
The book pulsed once more.
A final word rippled through Marikka's bones:
"Arrives."
And suddenly, the chamber felt far too small.