The grand reading hall breathed with the rhythm of their resolve, its vastness echoing the weight of unwritten destinies. Liam, Elena, and Finn stood before the oak desk, their hands steady but hearts thunderous. The pages beneath the quill shimmered, each stroke of ink rippling through the Archive like a stone cast into still water.
Elena's flame cast shifting shadows on the shelves, where volumes pulsed in response. "It's alive," she whispered, her voice a blend of awe and trepidation. "The Archive isn't just recording us—it's *reacting*."
Finn grunted, eyeing a nearby tome bound in thorned leather. "Let's hope it doesn't decide our story needs more tragedy." His jest faltered as the floor trembled, letters rising like smoke from the pages. They swirled into fragments of their past: Aric's fall, the Shardlings' shrieks, the crumbling Verse.
