The Ink of blood

The archives had no door.

Only a seal.

Runes spiraled across the stone like a wound that never healed. Seven rings. Seven locks. All tied to memory.

Keiran placed his hand on the center.

The mark on his wrist pulsed.

"You shouldn't go in alone," Lys had warned earlier.

"I'm not alone," he'd replied. "Not anymore."

The seal broke in silence.

Stone slid away.

And the dark breathed him in.

No candles.

No torches.

The hall beyond lit itself—glyphs reacting to his memory as he passed.

The deeper he went, the heavier it became.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

Like each step pressed through someone else's grief.

At the end stood a single pedestal.

Cracked.

And on it, bound in rusted rings and sealed spine, lay a book.

The Severance Codex.

It was older than the Concordium itself.

Rumor claimed it was transcribed from memory glyphs found on the skin of a dying prophet.

Written not in ink.

But in nameblood.

The substance that bled only when someone near held the truth.

Keiran reached for it.

The codex trembled beneath his fingers.

And then—

It bled.

From between the pages, thin lines of crimson ink leaked across the surface like veins waking from sleep.

It recognized him.

"Show me," Keiran whispered.

The book opened.

And began to remember.

The first entry was dated sixty-two years before the Severance.

A time of dual moons, unrest, and magical inflation.

Lys and Calia were mentioned—barely more than children.

But gifted.

One line stood out, etched in bleeding red:

"Twin sisters born beneath Vaelen and Ashrah—one destined to remember, the other to erase."

Keiran's chest tightened.

He flipped forward.

Pages blurred. Names spiraled. Runes burned faintly.

Then—

His name.

Not Keiran.

Not Vayne.

Auren.

"Subject Auren: Orphaned Echo-born. Anomalous soul structure. Admitted to the Path of Shadows by direct petition of Calia Valemir."

"Not approved by Lys."

Keiran stared.

He remembered none of this.

But the ink bled freely now.

It knew.

Calia had brought him into the Concordium.

Not Lys.

He turned the page.

What followed made his breath catch:

A sealed confession.

Calia's own words.

"He's fractured, yes. But he can hold more than one thread. He's the only one who can."

"When the Severance comes, he will survive it. And if he remembers—he will become our key."

The next line burned in red:

"He is not Echo-born. He is Echo-made."

Keiran staggered.

The mark on his wrist flared.

The scar that had always ached—

It wasn't a curse.

It was a brand.

A binding sigil designed to hold multiple names.

He hadn't inherited his condition.

He'd been crafted.

More pages turned of their own accord now.

The ink bleeding across them like veins from a living heart.

Each name—someone he'd known.

Each rune—a piece of the conspiracy.

And then, near the end—

A sealed envelope.

Pressed flat between the final two pages.

His name written across it.

In Lys's handwriting.

But marked with her blood.

Not fresh.

Old.

As if written before she died.

He broke the seal.

Inside: a single letter.

"If you're reading this, it means you remember more than you should.

It means I failed to keep you safe.

Or Calia succeeded in her part."_

"You were never meant to carry this alone."

"Your soul was fractured for a purpose—to bear not one life, but several. Each life taken by the Severance found a root in you."

"You were the well we poured our broken names into. A living reliquary."

"You didn't survive the Severance."

"You became it."

He sank to the floor.

The book still bleeding at his side.

The candle on his wrist flickered violently.

Lys had known.

Calia had planned it.

And he…

He wasn't just someone caught in the crossfire.

He was the center.

The proof the ritual had worked.

The price that had been paid.

He looked down at the final line of the letter.

A single phrase.

Written in a rush.

The pen had scratched hard.

"If the moons ever align again—run."

The chamber began to tremble.

Not from collapse.

From memory.

The Codex pulsed as the twin moons aligned above the world once more.

And far away, beyond the veil of names and ash—

A voice stirred.

Not Lys.

Not Calia.

Not Keiran.

Something older.

Something watching.

Waiting for its relic to remember its name.