The Weight of Elias's Words

The diary slipped from Ardyn's fingers, hitting the wooden floor with a thud that echoed in the silent room. For a long moment, no one spoke. The fire in the lantern crackled, casting flickering shadows that danced across their stunned faces.

Ardyn's Hands Were Shaking

He stared at his palms, his golden eyes wide. The words from the diary played over and over in his mind—"You will remember all, but be forgotten by all." His chest ached. Elias had been just a boy. A boy who loved his sister. A boy who had been desperate enough to bargain with something he didn't understand.

"He was alone," Ardyn whispered.

His voice was barely audible, but in the stillness of the room, it cut deep. He thought of his own parents—his mother's steady hands brewing remedies, his father's calloused grip guiding him at the forge. He had always had someone. Elias had had no one. No one but Liora.

And now, even she didn't remember him.

Ardyn's throat tightened. His aether-sight flickered at the edges of his vision, pulsing in time with the darkflame residue still clinging to the diary. He could almost see Elias's memories—fragments of a boy begging in the dark, screaming at uncaring saints, watching his sister forget him piece by piece.

"We have to find Liora," he said suddenly, looking up. "Before the Archivist does."

Lyria's Fingers Dug Into Her Arms

She hadn't realized she was holding herself until her nails bit into her skin. The diary's words burned in her mind, sharp and unrelenting.

"She called me 'kind stranger.'"

Lyria had spent her whole life running from the gilded cage of her noble name. She had clawed her way into the streets, forged herself into something harder, something that couldn't be broken. But this—this was different. Elias hadn't just been trapped. He had been erased.

And for what? A sister who would never know his sacrifice?

Her jaw clenched. "Stupid," she muttered.

Therion shot her a look. "What?"

"He was stupid," she repeated, louder this time. "Bargaining with something like that. Letting it take everything. For what? A temporary fix?"

But even as she said it, her chest burned. Because she knew—knew—if it had been her little brother wasting away in some back-alley hovel, she would have done the same. She would have burned the world down to save him.

And that realization made her furious.

She snatched the diary off the floor, flipping back to the last entry. "The Archivist is the Temple," she read aloud. "Which means if we find Liora, we're leading her right to it."

Her gaze flicked to Therion. "So what do we do?"

Therion's Laugh Was Too Sharp

"Oh, now you ask me?" He dragged a hand through his hair, his usual smirk nowhere in sight. His fingers trembled—just slightly—but he shoved them into his pockets before anyone could notice.

The diary's words had settled under his skin like shards of glass. Elias's fate was too close to his own. A power that ate away at him. A cost that grew heavier every time he used it.

"You will remember all, but be forgotten by all."

Would that be him one day? A ghost in his own life, phasing in and out of existence until even his own parents didn't recognize him?

The thought made his stomach twist.

"We could burn it," he said abruptly, nodding at the diary. "No more clues. No more trail. The Archivist wants Liora? Tough. We don't play along."

But even as he said it, he knew it was a coward's answer.

Ardyn's voice was quiet. "And leave Liora to die?"

Therion flinched.

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Then Lyria exhaled sharply and stood. "We find her first," she said. "We find her, and we make sure the Archivist never gets close."

Therion opened his mouth—to argue, to protest—but the words died in his throat. Because Ardyn was nodding, his jaw set. And Lyria's eyes were blazing with something fierce and unyielding.

And Therion?

He was tired of running.

"Fine," he muttered. "But if we're doing this, we're doing it smart. No bargains. No deals. And no fucking darkflame."

The diary lay between them, its pages heavy with the weight of a dead boy's sorrow.

But for the first time since they'd found it, the room didn't feel quite so cold.

Therion was mid-complaint about "haunted books being the worst kind of haunted" when the diary suddenly thumped against the table like a dying fish. The sound was sharp and unnatural, making all three of them flinch.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Lyria raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between the book and Therion's increasingly irritated expression. "It's back," she said, voice dry.

Therion threw his hands up. "Oh, come on—"

Then his jaw locked. His eyes widened, panic flashing in them as his hands flew to his throat. Something was moving up his esophagus, pressing against his windpipe in a way that was distinctly wrong. His breath hitched, and he clawed at his collar like he could physically stop whatever was happening.

Ardyn leaned forward, concern creasing his brow. "Therion, are you—"

Therion gagged, his body convulsing once before he spat out a folded piece of parchment onto the table. It landed with a damp plap, pristine despite its journey.

Silence.

Therion stared at it in horror, his face pale. "What the fuck."

Lyria, ever practical, plucked it up with two fingers, inspecting it with detached curiosity. "Huh. Neat trick."

Therion wiped his mouth with his sleeve, looking vaguely ill. "Neat?! That thing just—just violated me!" His voice cracked on the last word, and he shuddered, rubbing his throat as if trying to erase the sensation.

Ardyn frowned, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "It didn't violate you, it just—"

"It came out of my MOUTH, Ardyn!" Therion snapped, his voice rising an octave. "That's not normal! That's not okay!"

Lyria ignored them, carefully unfolding the parchment. The paper was unnaturally smooth, as if it had never been crumpled or dampened by saliva. "It's Elias's handwriting again," she murmured, scanning the contents.

Therion groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "I hate this. I hate this. Next time, the diary can stay haunted."

Ardyn patted his shoulder sympathetically. "At least it's not coming out the other end?"

Therion's glare could have melted steel. "Not helping."

Elias's Message (Via Parchment)

"If you're reading this, stop being cowards and open page 167. No, it wasn't there before. Yes, I added it. The notebook holds all my memories, and I only show you what's necessary so you don't accidentally summon something or get corrupted. Stop complaining and turn the damn page."

Therion blinked. "Excuse me?!" His voice was a mix of outrage and disbelief. "Did this little ghost bastard just call us cowards?"

Ardyn, already flipping through the diary, paused on a previously blank section. His fingers traced the fresh ink, the pages crisp as if they had always existed. "He's right," he murmured. "There wasn't a page 167 before."

Lyria smirked, leaning over his shoulder to inspect the new addition. "Guess the dead guy's got a sense of humor."

Therion jabbed an accusatory finger at the diary. "Ask it why it couldn't just fall out like a normal letter!"

As if in response, the diary rippled—its pages shifting unnaturally, like something alive beneath the leather cover. Then, with a sudden fwip, another parchment shot out, this time from Ardyn's sleeve, fluttering onto the table like a startled moth.

Therion threw his hands up. "Oh, NOW it's polite!"

Ardyn picked up the new note, clearing his throat before reading aloud: "Because watching you choke was funnier."

Lyria snorted, barely suppressing a laugh.

Therion's eye twitched. "I'm burning this thing."

Ardyn held the diary protectively out of reach. "No, you're not."

"I absolutely am."

Lyria plucked the second note from Ardyn's fingers, scanning it. "There's more. 'Also, if you're going to keep complaining, I'll start sending them through your nose next.'"

Therion made a strangled noise. "I hate him."

Ardyn sighed, rubbing his temple. "Look, let's just read page 167 before this escalates further."

Lyria flipped to the indicated page, her expression shifting as she took in the contents. "Huh. It's a map."

Therion, still sulking, muttered, "Of course it is."

Ardyn peered at the detailed sketch—a winding path through what looked like a forest, marked with symbols that definitely weren't standard cartography. "And that?" He pointed at a dark, jagged X near the center.

Lyria's smirk faded. "That," she said slowly, "is where Elias died."

Silence settled over them, heavy and thick.

Then, from deep within the diary's spine, came a faint, echoing chuckle.

Therion groaned. "Great. It's laughing at us."