⋱⌘⋰ Lore Scrap ⋱⌘⋰
"All bargains come with bindings. Some you do not see until they bleed."
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The room was round. No doors. No windows. Only a single desk at its centre — ink-stained, candlelit — and a book. Cael stood behind it, as if he'd always been there. Eira wasn't sure she'd walked in. It felt more like the Library had folded her there. "What is this?" she asked, voice hushed. "The Scriptorium," he replied. "Where pacts are inked." "I didn't agree to anything yet." "Not formally," he said. "But you came through the Door. You woke the shelves. You spoke to the whispers. The Library sees that as… intention." Eira swallowed. "So what happens now?" Cael pulled the book open with a gloved hand. The pages turned themselves, each blank until they weren't — lines of ink threading across vellum like veins forming in real time. When they stopped, the text shimmered: PROVISIONAL BINDING: LENTICULAR WHISPER EXCHANGE Parties: The Archive (hereby referred to as the Library) & Eira Starling (hereby referred to as the Recipient) Term: Undetermined. Conditional upon stability and compliance. Purpose: Knowledge sought in exchange for service rendered within the bounds of the Whisper Index. Risk: Memory erosion. Name distortion. Premature return of whispers. Compensation: Access to the Whisper Vault. Supervised inquiry into the case of Julian Starling (deceased? missing? unresolved). Consent: Binding requires ink willingly shed. "Sort?" Eira echoed. "The whispers arrive unshelved, unfiltered," Cael said. "They must be catalogued, anchored, or sealed. If left unattended, they… spread." "And if I break the contract?" "Then pieces of you stay behind. The kind you can't get back." She stared at the shimmering quill. The words curled through her like a tide pulling away something essential. "And what do you get out of this?" Cael hesitated. "I don't know yet. But the Library is changing — and it started when you walked in." She didn't understand half of what he meant. But she thought of Julian. Of his empty room. Of the ache that refused to heal. And still, some part of her hesitated. This was madness. Ink and whispers and names like weapons. But what if Julian had come through a door like this? What if she turned away now — and lost him all over again? She reached for the quill. The pendant at her neck warmed. The Library was watching. Cael held up a slender blade. Not metal. Quill-bone. "You sign in your own ink. It marks your essence — your truth. Anything less, and the Library won't recognise it." "And if I don't sign?" "You'll remember just enough to lose your mind wondering what you forgot." That hurt more than it should have. She took the quill-bone. The tip bit into her palm like it knew where to pierce — just below the base of her thumb. Not pain, exactly. More like opening something sealed too long. A single drop of ink-black blood welled up. She wrote her name. Eira Starling. It shimmered once, then sank into the page. A new line appeared beneath her signature: "Bound by ink, sealed in name. The Archive accepts." The moment she signed, the ink slithered up her wrist like a bracelet. It didn't hurt — but she felt something bind. Not magic. Not metaphor. A truth. — The air in the room shifted. No rush of wind. No spell. Just a quiet settling — as if the Library had inhaled… and now, it exhaled. Cael closed the book. A whisper stirred on the shelf. "Welcome, Sorter," he said, without smiling. "You belong to the Library now." She looked up at him. "Is that supposed to scare me?" He didn't blink. "Not you," he said softly. "The things waiting behind the shelves."
⋯⋱⧉⋰⋯ To be continued…
⸻ ❖ Archive Fragment ❖ ⸻
When you bind your name to something old, make sure it doesn't remember you first.
⋱◈⋰ End Chapter ⋱◈⋰