The Sector of Lost Drafts resembled no other corner of the Athenaeum Marikka had ever seen. There were no shelves—not truly. Columns of text hung suspended in the air like banners caught in an invisible breeze, and half-formed pages drifted across the floor like dried leaves. Everything vibrated with an irregular rhythm, as if the place had never managed to decide what it was supposed to be.
Cedric looked around, then looked down at the floor, then up again—as if hoping reality might kindly rearrange itself into something less horrifying."Okay," he whispered, "this place officially tops the list of places I never wanted to visit. Ever."
Aurelian didn't respond immediately. His tension was unusual—not the calm vigilance Marikka had grown used to, but something sharper… something guilt-shaped. Here, in the heart of a sector meant to erase errors, guilt had a way of becoming heavy.
The vibration that had drawn them here still pulsed beneath everything else—not loud, not sharp, but insistent. A quiet tug at the edges of perception. A note that refused to fall silent.
A note remarkably similar to hers.
Marikka stepped forward. The book in her hands trembled—not in alarm, but in anticipation. The Athenaeum, on the other hand, seemed to hold its breath; even the drifting drafts paused in their soft motion, watching as though trying not to be caught doing so.
"Marikka…?" Cedric whispered, stepping closer than his usual comfort allowed. "You're not about to merge with a wall again, right? Because they're all staring at us. I swear they are."
She didn't answer him.The tug pulled her deeper into the Sector, each step causing fragments of text to dissolve and reform. The entire space shifted around her, rewriting itself like a nervous host rearranging furniture for unexpected guests.
Then she saw it.
At first, she thought it was a shadow—some distortion cast by the wavering light of the drafts. But the shadow moved independently, separating from the translucent columns around it. A silhouette leaning not on a wall, but surrounded by drifting text as if the place itself were trying to hold him still.
Tall— or once tall.Human— or formerly human.His edges flickered, lines of ink slipping free from his body only to snap back in place a heartbeat later. His skin—whatever that meant now—was the color of yellowed parchment. His eyes were two half-erased lines, like scribbles someone had tried and failed to remove.
The vibration he emitted was wrong. Fractured. Human and not human at once.
Cedric made a strangled sound."Oh, wonderful. A paper ghost. Because that's exactly what I needed today."
The figure raised his head. When his gaze met Marikka's, the vibration shifted. Recognition. A chord struck true.
"Finally," he said.His voice did not travel through the air—it traveled through the text.
Marikka felt it in her fingertips.
Aurelian stepped in front of her, instinctively forming a barrier. "I never expected to see you again."
Cedric whipped toward Aurelian so fast he nearly dislocated something. "Wait—AGAIN? You know him?!"
The figure smiled.Only half his face followed the gesture; the other half lagged behind like ink drying out of sync.
"'See me again.' An interesting choice of words, considering the Order of the White Page insists I no longer exist."
Marikka's book vibrated violently in her hand, as if it recognized a forgotten voice.Aurelian emitted a ripple of guilt so sharp that even she could feel it without touching him.
Her heart tightened.
"Who are you?" Marikka asked.
He stepped out from the drifting drafts, his presence stretching the narrative fabric of the room.
"A draft that was never properly erased," he said quietly. "Once, they called me Master Serian. Senior Archivist of Revisions."
The word "Master" hit Aurelian like a blade.
Marikka searched her memory for the name and found nothing—but the book remembered. The vibrations ran through her palms like startled breath.
"I thought you'd been—" Aurelian began, then stopped before uttering eliminated.
Serian finished it for him."Erased. Condemned to become reclaimed ink for new manuscripts. That is what they do to those who study the process of Rewriting too deeply." A humorless twitch crossed his face. "But apparently, the Athenaeum disagreed."
Cedric raised his hand like a schoolboy seeking permission to have a breakdown."Soooo—just checking—are you technically alive?"
Serian regarded him in silence.
"The short answer is no."
Cedric swallowed hard."…Could I maybe have the long answer?"
Serian ignored him with academic grace, turning back to Marikka.
"You shouldn't be here," he murmured. "Or rather—you shouldn't be here like this."
"What does that mean?" Marikka asked.
"You are stable." His fragmented eyes narrowed. "Too stable."
Cedric peeked out from behind her. "Too stable sounds… fine?"
"For the Rewriting? It is not."He drifted closer, the air warping faintly around him."Stable anomalies cannot be absorbed. They can only become anchors."
Marikka's breath hitched."The Second Fragment called me a Key."
"I know." Serian's shifting outline darkened. "That is why the Sector brought you to me. Drafts tremble when a Fragment moves—and when a Key resonates with it."
He hesitated.
"And you resonated."
Marikka's throat tightened. "Why did the Sector choose you?"
Serian's voice softened, cracking at the edges."Because I am the result of what happens when a person is treated as a text to be corrected."
The air thickened.Drafts bent toward him in recognition.Words slid from his skin like loose memories before dissolving into the floor.
"The Sector is trying to rebuild you," Marikka whispered.
"No," he corrected gently. "It's trying to decide whether to finish erasing me."
A violent tremor passed through the room—columns of text shuddered, and tendrils of black ink slithered down the walls like predatory vines.
Aurelian cursed. "You've attracted a procedure."
A wet sound rippled through the drafts.
A mass of ink dragged itself into view.
No shape.No face.Just intent.
"A Living Erasure," Aurelian said sharply. "A correction-form. If it touches us, it doesn't wound—it rewrites."
Cedric squeaked. "Rewrites WHAT?"
"You."
The creature lunged.
Ink lashed out like a whip—
—and that is exactly where