The library Beneath The Bells

The late afternoon sun dipped beneath the cathedral's edge, casting long, molten shadows across the courtyard. Kairo stood still before the gates of the Bellspire Chapel, the faint ringing of distant bells echoing within its spiraled heart. Despite its name, the chapel hadn't conducted a proper service in decades—it was now merely a relic, a husk of faded prayers and forgotten rites.

But it hid something else beneath its gilded arches—something that called to him.

"You sure about this?" Samhael asked, her arms folded, leaning against one of the pillars beside the gates. Her usual sarcastic glint was softened by concern.

Kairo gave a half-smile. "Not at all."

She snorted. "Good. That's how I know you're being honest."

The doors creaked open, not by touch, but seemingly of their own will. Dust motes scattered like startled spirits in the dim interior, dancing through colored beams of stained glass. Kairo stepped inside, the soles of his boots echoing on the stone.

He couldn't explain what brought him here—only that the voice within him, that strange pulse that hummed like ancient magic, had guided him to this place.

"I swear if a skeleton monk jumps out and starts chanting, I'm out," Samhael muttered, following behind.

They made their way to the altar—cracked and overgrown with faint blue moss. And behind it, a stairwell wound downward like a serpent's throat, lit by soft blue lanterns that shouldn't have worked, yet burned steadily with a strange azure flame.

"This feels suspiciously like the start of one of those horror novels," Samhael said.

Kairo raised an eyebrow. "You read horror?"

"I had a phase. Got over it after one of the books made my mirror whisper back."

"...You should probably get that checked."

"No thanks. I'm pretty—" She trailed off, staring down the stairwell. "You hear that?"

Kairo listened.

At first, it was silence.

Then… pages. Turning.

And a voice.

Faint. Soft. Repeating something in a language neither of them knew.

They descended.

---

The hidden library stretched beneath the chapel like a buried cathedral of knowledge. Shelves rose like towers, filled with scrolls, tomes, and books wrapped in metal clasps and chains. Some glowed faintly. Others whispered. The floor was smooth obsidian, and along the walls, inscriptions pulsed like veins of light.

At the heart of it stood an old man with snow-white hair tied into a single braid, hunched over a large tome at a stone lectern. His robes shimmered like liquid starlight, and around his neck hung a pendant bearing the sigil of a bell and eye intertwined.

"You're late," he said without looking up.

Kairo and Samhael exchanged a glance.

"Uh. Sorry?" Kairo ventured.

The man finally looked up. His eyes were mismatched—one a dull grey, the other a gleaming violet. "It's been twelve years and seventy-four days since this place last echoed with a speaker's voice."

"You were… waiting?" Samhael said.

"No. I was reading. Waiting implies impatience. I had plenty to learn while time moved."

Kairo felt the strange pressure in his chest tighten.

The old man stepped forward and reached out his hand. "Kairo. You're the one whose words bend fate."

"How do you—"

"Names have weight. Especially when whispered by forgotten gods."

He touched Kairo's chest gently.

And the entire room changed.

Shelves rattled. Tomes flew open. The symbols on the walls began to dance. From the ceiling, a strange sigil—similar to the one on the pendant—flared into visibility.

"You cracked the third seal, didn't you?" the man said.

Kairo blinked. "You know about the seals too?"

The man nodded. "They are older than nations. Older than the world's shape. When the seven voices fell silent, the seals were placed to contain the aftermath."

"Wait—seven voices?" Samhael interjected. "You mean there are more like him?"

"There were."

The man turned back toward the lectern and flipped to a page that showed seven silhouettes—each adorned with symbols. "One who spoke with beasts. One who bent fire with laughter. One who turned lies into truth. One who wept stars. One who sang the oceans awake. One who danced through dreams. And finally… the last, whose voice could command the silence itself."

He looked at Kairo. "You carry the last voice."

There was a pause.

Kairo coughed. "So basically I'm like, the VIP of apocalypse karaoke?"

Samhael burst out laughing.

Even the old man cracked a smile.

"I forgot how charming sarcasm could be in the face of doom."

Kairo sobered. "What happens now?"

"You must decide," the man said. "There is knowledge here—ancient, dangerous, and necessary. But every truth you unlock will push the seals further. Speak too strongly… and they will all break."

Kairo stepped forward and placed a hand on the tome.

It opened for him.

---

Hours passed in a blur of reading, absorbing, and transcribing. The book did not merely tell him things—it showed him memories, histories, wars fought in dimensions that echoed through thought alone. He saw a world shaped by words, where names built mountains and lullabies could sink cities.

He saw the seven.

And he saw their fall.

Samhael kept watch, occasionally poking through side scrolls or doodling dumb expressions of the ancient gods with stick figures.

"Check this one out," she said, showing him a drawing. "Pretty sure this guy looks like a drunk potato with a crown."

"That's the God of Sovereignty."

"Then he's definitely overcompensating."

Kairo chuckled, then paused.

The voice within him—it stirred again.

This time, stronger. Clearer.

He spoke aloud. Just a whisper.

"Reveal the lost name."

A gust of wind blew through the chamber.

One of the chained tomes snapped open, its bindings falling away like brittle vines. From within, a single name echoed:

"Aravox."

The old man froze.

"You shouldn't have said that," he whispered.

The ceiling groaned.

Symbols flared red.

The torches sputtered.

Kairo backed away. "What was that?"

"A sealed name," the man said grimly. "Not just a name—a presence. Aravox was one of the Veiled Ones. The ones that the seven voices could not silence."

"And now he knows I'm here," Kairo said.

Samhael tapped the torch. "We're getting real good at waking up ancient horrors, huh?"

"Pretty soon we'll need a punch card," Kairo replied. "Two more unsealings and we get a free existential crisis."

A low rumble shook the ground.

The library was shifting.

The old man turned serious. "You've seen too much to go back. From here on, you must choose your truths wisely. Words are weapons, but also bridges. Use them to destroy, and they will turn on you. Use them to build, and you might still lose everything."

Kairo exhaled slowly. "Guess there's no turning back now."

"No," the old man agreed. "Only forward."

---

As they emerged from the chapel later that evening, the bells above rang once—not by wind, but by will.

And somewhere far from them, in a place between realms, a figure stirred in its slumber.

A single eye opened.

And the name "Kairo" was spoken by lips that had not moved in a thousand years.