Chapter 7
Elian stood frozen before the towering gates of the Scriptorium Athenaeum, heart hammering in his chest. It was like standing before the mouth of a living story—massive black arches inscribed with silver-gilded runes, each one pulsing faintly with breathless power.
Behind him, Lyra hovered close, her wings a faint flutter of parchment and ink.
He tried to speak. He couldn't. His mouth was dry.
Is this really where I'm meant to be? he thought.
Then the gates opened—not with a creak, but with a slow exhale, like a book opening itself.
A gust of warm, ink-scented wind brushed past him, and the world inside revealed itself.
Towers like spiraled pens. Stone pathways etched with shifting script. Gardens where floating scrolls drifted like leaves. Students walked in silence, their robes marked with color-coded glyphs, their fairies glowing with strange light.
The stone beneath Elian's feet shifted with his steps, rearranging letters around him. He looked down.
The word "Welcome" shimmered briefly in a language he didn't recognize—and then vanished.
He took a breath and stepped forward.
"They're staring," he whispered.
"Of course they are," Lyra murmured. "It's not every day a new Inkbound appears mid-cycle."
A voice called from beneath the nearest archway. A woman in dark robes stepped forward, her cloak bearing the mark of a quill and key.
"I am Conservator Thalia. You must be Elian Vale."
He nodded.
"You're late to the term, but not to the purpose," she said simply. "Come. The others are waiting."
She led him through the courtyard, past open colonnades where students practiced, some speaking words that shaped the air, others inscribing glowing runes into floating scrolls. Some trained with partners in whispered duels, their spoken phrases generating bursts of energy or shifting illusions.
"The Scriptorium Athenaeum is not just a place of learning," Thalia said. "It is our shield against erasure. Our defense against the Devourers."
They entered a tall spire whose walls pulsed with quiet energy. Inside, benches formed a semi-circle around a raised lectern. Dozens of students sat in silence, some with fairies perched beside them, others with glyphs glowing beneath their hands.
Elian was led to an empty seat. Eyes turned to him, but no one said a word. The air thrummed with restrained curiosity.
Thalia stepped to the front.
"Orientation begins now," she said. "For him."
A few students exchanged glances.
"Some of you were born into legacy lines. Others were chosen by fairies recently awakened. No matter your path, you are now Inkbound.
Our world has always been built on stories. But now, stories are under siege."
She raised a finger, and the air shimmered. A projection of a book appeared—then darkened, dissolved, as if eaten by smoke.
"When a Devourer consumes a book, it does not burn it. It unwrites it. The knowledge, the memories—even the emotions tied to it—are lost."
Elian felt a chill. He remembered what Lyra had once told him—blank shelves, and hollow hearts. The aftermath of something truly unwritten.
Thalia continued. "The Devourers evolve. Ten books, and they become something worse. Bookmarks—creatures that disguise themselves and infiltrate archives. That is why the Academy exists. That is why you are here."
Another Conservator stepped forward and began listing the roles within the Academy: Reciters, who speak the Words of Power; Conservators, who safeguard texts; Lexographers, who decipher lost languages; and Librarians, who maintain the sanctums.
"There are those who bond," Thalia said. "And those who support them. Neither path is lesser."
She turned her gaze to Elian.
"Some among you will one day become Legacy Reciters—capable of writing new books into existence. But first, you must understand what has already been written."
The bell rang overhead. The students began to rise.
But Thalia called out once more.
"Before you go, a word of warning: not every book is safe. Not every fairy trustworthy. And not every Inkbound will reach graduation."
That silenced the room.
"Tomorrow, you will receive something that has waited many years to be read. Dismissed."
As the students filed out, Elian remained seated.
Lyra floated beside him, silent.
"Did she mean...?"
Lyra nodded. "Your grandfather's words, perhaps."
Elian looked toward Thalia, who had already vanished into the stacks.
He had only just arrived. But the ink was already calling.
---
Outside the spire, Elian wandered the eastern wing of the campus. Students passed him in pairs or small groups, speaking in low tones. He caught snippets of strange phrases—"Lexograph trials," "Bookmark shadowing," "Second Scribing."
He found a small courtyard garden where the wind stirred hanging scrolls like wind chimes. Lyra sat on his shoulder in silence.
"What happens now?" he asked.
"You train. Learn to control the bond. Learn the Words. This place will test you—but it will also protect you."
Elian nodded slowly. Then a soft voice interrupted.
"You're Elian Vale, right?"
He turned. A girl about his age stood a few steps away. Her fairy looked like a moth-winged child made of ash and gold.
"Yes, he is," Lyra said simply, floating at Elian's side. "And I'm Lyra."
The girl smiled. "I'm Naia. My brother's a Conservator. If you need help getting around, just ask."
Elian managed a grateful nod. "Thanks. I think I'll need it."
Naia walked off, but not before whispering something to her fairy that made it giggle.
Lyra floated ahead. "The ink always pulls the threads together."
As dusk settled over the Scriptorium, Elian felt it for the first time—not confusion, not fear.
But belonging.