The Restricted Archives smelled of old paper and dust, and the silence was so complete that Alucent could hear the faint creak of his boots against the stone floor as he walked between the shelves.
The vault was smaller than he had expected. The walls were lined with lead, and the shelves themselves were made of a dark metal he didn't recognize, each one divided into compartments that held books, scrolls, and sealed containers. Faint shimmer of containment wards surrounded most of the items, barely visible unless he looked directly at them. The light came from softly glowing sconces set into the walls at regular intervals, casting a pale illumination that made the dust motes drifting through the air look like flecks of gold.
He walked slowly along the shelves, reading the small plaques affixed beneath each compartment. The organizational system seemed to follow Thread levels, with the lower numbers near the entrance and the higher ones further back. He passed Thread 1 primers and Thread 2 technical manuals without stopping, his eyes scanning the spines and titles until he reached a section near the middle of the vault.
One compartment caught his attention.
The plaque beneath it read: Foundational Texts, Thread 1-4, Rune Path.
Alucent reached toward the shelf and felt the faint resistance of a low-level stasis field pressing against his fingers. The Valerius Signet on his right hand pulsed once, the bone warming slightly against his skin, and the resistance faded.
He pulled the book from the compartment.
It was heavy in his hands, heavier than its size suggested, and bound in grey leather that had faded with age to an uneven, mottled tone. The cover was plain except for the title, which was embossed in silver leaf that had tarnished to a dull pewter: The Rules and Advancement of the Threadweave. The spine was cracked in places, and when Alucent turned the book over, he noticed that the corners of the cover were worn soft from centuries of handling.
He carried it to a reading desk near the back of the vault and set it down. The weight of it thudded against the wood, and he pulled a chair closer before sitting down.
For a moment, he simply looked at the cover. The silver lettering caught the pale light from the sconces, and the grey leather seemed to absorb the illumination rather than reflect it. The book looked ordinary, almost mundane, but he could feel something pressing against his awareness when he focused on it, a density that had nothing to do with physical weight.
He opened the first page.
The text was incomprehensible.
The script was static dense and "flowing", a blend of elegant cursive strokes and rigid angular symbols that reminded him of ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. Some characters flowed left to right, others stacked vertically, and still others formed circular patterns that enclosed smaller glyphs within their curves. The ink was black, faded slightly with age, and the letters seemed to follow grammatical rules he couldn't begin to parse.
Is this not Shaytum? Alucent thought.
He had seen references to the old magical tongues in the Thread 2 primers, brief warnings to avoid texts written in these scripts without proper supervision. This was his first time seeing Shaytum directly, and he understood immediately why the warnings existed. Even without comprehension, the symbols seemed to carry weight, as if looking at them too long might press something into his mind that he hadn't consented to receive.
He focused his intent on the Journal.
The artifact responded immediately. It rose from where it had been resting against his pack on the floor, the thick black leather cover catching the dim light as it floated upward. The micro-runes etched into the surface shifted subtly, forming fleeting patterns that resembled constellations before dissolving into new configurations. As it reached chest height and oriented itself toward him, the dark metal filigree along the spine began to glow faintly cyan, and the amber gilding on the page edges pulsed once, slowly, like the breath of a sleeping creature.
The cover opened on its own.
"Journal," Alucent said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper in the silent vault. "This is Shaytum. Can you translate?"
Cyan and gold light glowed from the open pages, and fresh script appeared in elegant handwriting:
"Shaytum is one of the rare Primary Magical Tongues of this world, Scion. It is distinct from the common speech in that it was designed to interface directly with the Weave. Books written in this script often contain volatile truths. Be careful what you read, and be more careful what you speak aloud."
A pause, and then more text appeared below the first passage.
"Translation overlay commencing via Record of All. You will perceive the meaning directly. Do not attempt to vocalize the original script."
Alucent felt a faint pressure behind his eyes, similar to the sensation of the Record of All activating during combat, but gentler and more sustained. When he looked back at the grey-bound book, the Shaytum characters remained unchanged on the page, but now he could perceive their meaning as if a second layer of understanding had been draped over the incomprehensible symbols.
He began to read.
The introduction was clinical and direct. "The complete Threadweave progression system is structured around four mandatory phases: Etch, Mastery, Unraveling, and Acceptance. Each ability gained through this system is a permanent metaphysical tool, and advancement is earned only through the successful completion of all four phases. This path favors the talented, the obsessed, and the patient, for each ability, if deeply understood, can reshape reality in ways that less dedicated practitioners never imagine."
Alucent turned the page carefully, noting how the old paper felt warm against his fingertips despite the cool air of the vault.
The next section detailed the outcomes of the Etch phase. A successful Etch meant the Threadweaver would feel a shift, described as a subtle change in perception, body, or fate, and the Thread would open. A failed Etch meant nothing would happen, or, in worse cases, the Taboo would stir.
The book defined Taboo outcomes with clinical detachment: Madness, Corruption, or Death. Corruption was described as a transformation into a being that would need to be killed before it could infect others.
Alucent paused at that passage and looked at the thin black veins visible beneath the skin of his left forearm. They had spread slightly since the workshop, tracing upward toward his elbow like ink seeping through wet paper.
He returned to reading.
The next section was titled Rune Threadweave, and it began with a thematic summary. The path was described as one of Glyphcraft, structure, and metaphysical law, belonging to the Foundational Cluster. The corruption risk was specific: Overinscribers become walking paradoxes, their glyphs rewriting reality and themselves. Physical abilities manifested at Thread 3 and Thread 4.
Alucent read the Thread progression carefully, absorbing each detail.
"Thread 1, Runeling. Function: Sense Runeforce, detect Weavefibers, latent glyphs, and metaphysical inscriptions. Etch: Trace a glyph in sand and let the wind erase it. Mastery: Perceive without obsession. Unraveling: Glyphs exist even when forgotten. Acceptance: You are the eye that sees the pattern.
"Thread 2, Coppermark. Function: Etch basic glyphs for light, sound, heat, and minor structural effects. Etch: Inscribe a glyph on copper and activate it with breath. Mastery: Etch without instability. Unraveling: Glyphs are verbs, not nouns. Acceptance: You are the hand that speaks.
"Thread 3, Silverline Scribe. Physical Ability: Bloodmark."
Alucent stopped and read this section twice, his finger hovering just above the page without touching it.
"Function: Your blood can inscribe. Glyphs etched in blood bind deeper, resist corruption, and carry emotion. Etch: Bleed onto a surface and etch a glyph with your fingertip. Mastery: Shape blood without losing self. Unraveling: Blood is memory, and memory is law. Acceptance: You are the ink of truth."
He stared at the final line for a long moment.
You are the ink of truth.
He thought about the glyphs he had inscribed since arriving in this world. The desperate scrawl in the tunnels beneath Verdant Hollow. The combat etchings in the workshop. The test glyph he had drawn for the Archivist less than an hour ago. In every case, he had used his blood as a tool, as ammunition, as a resource to be spent in exchange for effect.
He had never once considered that the blood was supposed to be him.
Alucent turned to the next section, and the paper whispered softly against itself.
"Thread 4, Goldscribe. Physical Ability: Runequill Awakening. Function: Channel localized reality warps through glyphs. Your Runequill awakens. Etch: Etch a glyph in the air and let it glow. Mastery: Control glyphs midair, shape them with thought. Unraveling: Glyphs are living logic. Acceptance: You are the scribe and the sentence."
Below this was a detailed description of the Runequill itself. "Form: A floating, radiant quill with cyan and gold glow. Control: Fully mental, appearing and disappearing at will. Function: Etches glyphs in air, space, or metaphysical surfaces. Growth: With advancement, the Runequill learns to multi-thread, inscribe in motion, and etch into time."
Alucent closed his eyes and let out a slow breath.
I haven't done it, he thought. The Acceptance for Thread 3. I have the Etch. I have the Mastery. But I haven't reached Acceptance.
He opened his eyes and looked at the Journal floating beside him, its pages still glowing with faint cyan and gold light.
"I haven't completed it," he said quietly, keeping his voice low in the silent vault. "The Acceptance phase for Silverline Scribe. I've been using Bloodmark, but I haven't accepted what it means."
Fresh script appeared on the Journal's page in elegant handwriting:
"Correct. You bleed, but you do not believe. You use the blood as ammunition, not as truth. The Weave recognizes the difference."
Alucent absorbed this for a moment, his fingers resting on the edge of the reading desk. Then he asked, "If I try to Etch Thread 4 now, without completing Thread 3's Acceptance, what happens?"
The Journal's response was immediate.
"The Taboo stirs. Madness, Corruption, or Death. The Weave does not permit shortcuts, Scion. You cannot become the scribe and the sentence if you have not first become the ink of truth."
Alucent nodded slowly and looked back at the grey-bound book. He had suspected as much, but seeing it confirmed in the text and by the Journal made the situation feel more concrete. He was stuck at Thread 3 not because of skill or knowledge, but because of identity. He had to accept that he was part of this world's logic before he could advance further.
He thought back to Elara's words in the tower, her careful explanation of the Cap at Thread 4 and the dangers of what lay beyond. He thought about the 6th Myric, the age before the current one, when the rules had been different and a Scribe had tried to break through the ceiling.
"The book confirms it," Alucent said, keeping his voice low. "Thread 4 is the limit. Beyond that is Deity. Journal, you were there during the 6th Myric. The Mirror Schism. What actually happened to the Scribe who went beyond?"
The Journal's pages rustled softly, and when the text appeared, the handwriting was slightly different, more flourished, as if the artifact was preening.
"I know the truth, of course. I am the Record. But I cannot tell you yet. Your mind is still too fragile to hold the history of a broken sky. The weight of that knowledge would crush you before you could use it."
Alucent frowned slightly but didn't push. He had learned enough about the Journal's personality to recognize when it was genuinely withholding information for his protection versus when it was simply being difficult. This felt like the former.
"Is Anima real?" he asked instead. "I mean truly?"
The text that appeared was written in a heavier hand, and the ink seemed darker than usual.
"She is the First Weaver. Do not mistake the myths for stories, Scion. The Gods are absolute. They are not characters in a narrative; they are the laws that make narrative possible. Be careful where you aim your pen."
Alucent sat with that for a long moment. The silence of the archives pressed in around him, and the dust motes continued their slow drift through the pale light from the sconces.
He had what he needed.
He understood the system now, the four phases of advancement and why each one mattered. He understood his defect, the missing Acceptance that kept him locked at Thread 3. He understood his goal, Thread 4 and the Runequill Awakening, and what it would require to reach it.
He also understood that he could not practice the Acceptance Ritual here. The Scriptorium was designed to preserve static truth, to contain and catalogue knowledge without allowing it to change or grow. If he attempted to Unravel here, to confront his memory and his truth in the way the text described, the wards would flag him as an anomaly. The Archivists would intervene.
He needed somewhere the Weave was raw and uncontrolled.
Alucent closed The Rules and Advancement of the Threadweave slowly, and the heavy thud of the grey leather cover echoed softly in the quiet vault. He stood, his legs stiff from sitting so long, and stretched his shoulders before returning the book to its compartment on the shelf. The stasis field reactivated as he stepped back, the faint shimmer settling over the grey binding like a protective veil.
The Journal's glow dimmed as he withdrew his intent, and the artifact drifted back down toward his pack. The cyan light faded from the metal filigree, and the amber pulse along the page edges slowed until it stopped entirely. By the time it settled against the leather of his bag, it looked like an ordinary book again, thick black leather with faintly shifting surface patterns that could be mistaken for a trick of the light.
Alucent gathered his things and walked toward the vault doors.
The stone slabs opened at his approach, responding to the Valerius Signet on his finger, and he stepped through into the brighter light of the outer halls. He crossed the silver threshold without resistance and entered the main atrium.
Raya and Gryan were waiting near the same pillar where he had left them. Raya was leaning against the stone with her arms crossed, watching the floating platforms carry scholars between levels, while Gryan sat on a bench nearby with his toolkit resting on the floor between his feet.
They both looked up as Alucent approached.
Raya studied his face for a moment, taking in whatever she saw there, and then straightened. "You were in there for hours. Did you find what you needed?"
Alucent stopped in front of them. He could feel the weight of the knowledge pressing down on him, the understanding of what he had to do next.
"I know what I have to do," he said. "Let's go back. I need to write."
Gryan stood and shouldered his toolkit without comment, and Raya pushed off from the pillar and fell into step beside Alucent as they walked toward the bronze doors of the Scriptorium entrance.
None of them spoke as they passed through the doors and out into the clean streets of the Gilded Tier. The pale light of the upper city washed over them, and the air smelled of incense and old paper, a sharp contrast to the oil and ash of the districts below.
Alucent glanced up at the towering statues of the First Scribes that flanked the entrance, their stone hands raised toward the sky. He had looked at them differently when he first arrived, seeing them as monuments to achievement. Now, with the knowledge of the Cap and the Realm of Deity fresh in his mind, they looked like something else entirely.
Wardens, he thought. Guardians of a ceiling they helped build.
He lowered his gaze and kept walking.