The white-eyed creature had no right to be there, yet it stood before them as if it had received a handwritten invitation. It didn't breathe. It didn't blink. It didn't react. It looked like an absence disguised as a presence. And paradoxically, that was exactly what made it terrifying.
The floor of the Silent Spiral rippled like water touched by a cold wind. Marikka felt it before she saw it: the Athenaeum did not want this thing here. A broken vibration, like fingers dragging across an out-of-tune violin, ran through her, freezing her from the inside out.
Aurelian moved first—slow, steady, inevitable—as if his body carried ancient muscle memory on how to stand before things that did not belong to reality. "Step back," he said. But the command wasn't for Marikka. It was for it.
Cedric, who had already exceeded his daily quota of terror, whispered, "Please tell me this is a dream. A bad one, sure, but one that ends quickly."
The creature did not hear him.
Did not see him.
Did not acknowledge him.
Its white page-like eyes shifted by a millimeter, locking onto the book in Marikka's arms.
The book reacted with a violent jolt that nearly escaped her grip.
Do not let it touch me.
The vibration cut through her like a voice without sound.
Cedric, in a heroic but awful decision, slid one arm behind Marikka and the other behind himself as if forming a human shield. "Whatever you are, listen—I am harmless. She might not be. He definitely isn't. So why don't we just talk? I can offer cookies!"
The creature did not speak.
It emitted a vibration.
Just one.
"Ariath."
The Silent Spiral shuddered like a cosmic goosebump.
Marikka almost dropped the tome.
That vibration… it wasn't a name.
It wasn't a sound.
It was an imprint.
As if a massive, ancient memory leaned too close to the world and stretched its shape.
The creature stepped forward.
Its fingers—long, thin, papery—opened just enough to convey a clear intention: give it back.
Marikka didn't hear it in her mind. She felt it. Like standing in a room where someone thinks too loudly.
Aurelian raised a hand, and the Spiral obeyed. The suspended parchment columns twisted into a living net around the creature, woven from silence and history.
But the creature was not meant to be contained.
It opened its mouth.
No air came out.
No voice.
A vibration burst outward like a shockwave of invisible ink.
Cedric flew against a wall like a poorly treated feather. "OW— I'M IN PAIN—BUT ALIVE! I think!"
The net snapped apart like smoke scattered by an impatient wind.
Aurelian staggered for the first time since Marikka had met him.
"It's not a creature," he murmured. "It's an error."
A living error.
One seeking the book.
And every fiber of the Athenaeum was screaming that it must not take it.
Marikka placed a trembling hand on the tome.
It answered.
Not with fear.
With will.
Speak.
She blinked. "Speak…? I don't—"
The book insisted:
Speak.
Respond.
Transmit.
Marikka swallowed, throat dry, palms sweating. She placed her free hand on the floor. The ground vibrated instantly, loyal as ever.
And she sent out a simple vibration.
Raw.
Rough.
But pure.
I mean you no harm.
The creature froze.
Completely.
Cedric gasped. "Did—did that WORK? Please tell me it worked!"
Marikka didn't get to answer.
The creature tilted its head like an animal recognizing a scent—or a question.
Then it spoke again.
"Ariath?"
A question this time.
Marikka felt the meaning clearly.
It was asking if she was Ariath.
"NO."
Aurelian answered first, sharp as a blade.
The creature barely reacted.
It stepped forward again.
The space behind it bent, reality hesitating between shapes.
Cedric staggered back to his feet. "WE CAN'T BEAT IT! AND WE CAN'T RUN! SO WHAT'S THE PLAN?! A TRAP? A PORTAL? A—"
A new vibration sliced through the chamber.
Not from the book.
Not from the Spiral.
From above.
Like a firm slap on wet ink.
A rewrite.
The columns twisted in unison.
The suspended parchments curled inward.
The floor dropped slightly.
And the creature was dragged back,
pulled,
yanked toward a fracture that hadn't existed seconds earlier.
A vibration filled the chamber.
Not human.
Not kind.
Leave.
The creature screamed silently as it was pulled in.
And vanished.
Not dissolved.
Not destroyed.
Erased—like a sentence removed from a page still drying.
Cedric collapsed. "Wh—what the hell did that?!"
Aurelian inhaled sharply, shock flickering behind his composure. "The Athenaeum… has decided to intervene."
Marikka looked down at the book.
It was still trembling.
But not with fear.
With urgency.
Near.
Coming.
Close.
Cedric swallowed hard. "What's coming? Please—PLEASE—don't let it be—"
Marikka felt the answer before the tome vibrated it.
A single word.
Clear.
Heavy.
"The Second Fragment."
And in the silence that followed, even the Athenaeum seemed to hold its breath.