The first thing he noticed was the cold.
Not the cold of death—though he knew that sensation all too well, the creeping numbness as his lungs had filled with smoke and the air turned to fire—but a deeper kind. The kind of chill that seeped through walls, into bone, into thought. It was a damp, heavy cold, accompanied by the steady drip… drip… drip… of something unseen nearby.
His eyes opened slowly.
He was lying on hard stone. The smell of wet iron and mildew flooded his nose. His vision swam in grey as he sat up, pain lancing through his skull.
What the hell…?
He remembered the archives—the fire, the falling beams, the coughing screams. Akira Mori had died, of that he was sure. A support column had collapsed, and he had shoved his assistant aside without thinking.
And yet, he lived.
Or… someone lived. He looked down at his hands.
They were not his own.
Slimmer. Paler. And on the back of his right hand was a strange mark: an ink-black spiral curling inward endlessly, as if drawing the eye into a void.
…A brand? A tattoo?
He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled forward, footsteps echoing in the pitch-black room. Bits of light filtered through iron-barred windows high above, revealing what looked like an abandoned crypt. Crumbling stone. Moss-covered walls. A toppled statue of a weeping angel, its face eroded beyond recognition.
His heart pounded. Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.
And then he heard it.
A voice—soft, feminine, and haunting—whispered in his mind:
"Open the Codex, Caelum. Begin your descent."
He froze.
"…What did you call me?"
There was no reply. Only the whisper of wind through broken masonry.
Then something stirred by his feet.
A book.
It hadn't been there before.
Worn leather, bound in chains of silver. A seal pressed into its cover—the same spiral that marked his hand. Hesitantly, he knelt and touched it.
Warmth.
Not the cold of stone, but a subtle pulse, like a heartbeat. The chains fell away with a soft clink, and the Codex creaked open on its own. Words appeared across the first page in blood-red ink:
The Arcane Pathways
Only the Chosen may walk them.
Only the Fool dares begin.
[Transmigration Confirmed.]
[Host Identity: Caelum Virel – Noble House, Fallen.]
[Codex Bond: Established.]
Akira—no, Caelum—stared at the floating text that shimmered faintly above the page. This wasn't just rebirth. This was something far more… engineered.
He turned the page.
There, a list:
•Pathway of the Seer – "Truth lies behind lies."
•Pathway of the Whisperer – "Power through speech. Control through tone."
•Pathway of the Hollow Blade – "Become the weapon. Lose the self."
•Pathway of the Scribe – "Reality is written. Ink is blood."
•Pathway of the Skinwalker – "Masks, not flesh, shape man."
•[LOCKED]
•[LOCKED]
•[LOCKED]
Each name pulsed as he stared at it. His fingers brushed the Codex again and—
Pathway Compatible: Scribe.
Initiate: Y/N?
He swallowed. Something inside him said no—said run. But the archivist in him, the man who had spent a lifetime digging through forgotten manuscripts, whispered something else.
Knowledge is power.
"…Yes."
The Codex snapped shut. The mark on his hand burned, and knowledge flooded his mind like black fire.
Symbols. Runes. Forbidden alphabets that twisted around his thoughts.
A single phrase seared into his consciousness:
"To write is to reshape. To ink is to command."
The pain subsided.
He opened his eyes to find the world different—clearer. Shadows now whispered truths. The statue now bore names on its cracks. His own footsteps left faint letters in the dust.
He had become something else.
A scribe… of reality.
And that was when the door to the crypt creaked open.
Footsteps echoed down the stairwell. A lantern bobbed in the mist. And a woman's voice called out:
"…Caelum Virel? If you're still alive, then get up. We don't have time. They're already hunting you."
Caelum blinked toward the stairwell, vision still adjusting to his heightened senses. The light of the lantern illuminated part of the figure—a woman in a long coat, its collar pulled high, the hem soaked with rain. She moved like someone used to danger: fast, alert, yet silent where it mattered.
She stepped into full view.
Tall. Pale skin. Ashen-blonde hair pulled into a tight braid. Her eyes, cold and brilliant gray, scanned the crypt like a blade slicing through fog. A pistol was strapped to one thigh, a silver dagger to the other. She looked nothing like anyone Akira had ever known in his old life—and everything like someone Caelum Virel might have crossed paths with before.
She raised the lantern slightly.
"So it's true," she muttered. "You really did come back from the dead."
Caelum didn't speak immediately. The world still reeled around him, the Codex's power humming like a second heartbeat in his chest.
"…Who are you?" he asked, his voice rasping.
The woman narrowed her eyes. "Don't play dumb. Not with me. I was there at your execution."
His breath caught. Execution?
"You were dead, Caelum. Publicly. The whole city saw it. Hanged by order of the Magistrate after being convicted of heretical practices," she said with a hint of venom. "So you'll forgive me if I'm not thrilled to see you blinking at me like a dazed puppy."
Akira tried to piece the memory together. His body's past… hanged? Heretical practices? The Codex… was this why it had chosen him? Because its former bearer had already been tried and killed for it?
"I don't remember," he said quietly. "Not who you are. Not what happened. Nothing before waking up here."
She stared for a long time, expression unreadable.
Then she holstered the pistol.
"Well, that makes things… worse."
"Worse?"
"You were arrogant before. Now you're ignorant. Fantastic." She sighed and stepped forward. "Name's Isolde Raine. I worked with your uncle before he vanished. You may have ruined my life once already, so listen carefully—"
She paused.
"Do you hear that?"
Caelum strained. The crypt was silent.
Too silent.
Then—a faint scraping. Metal on stone.
Isolde spun toward the stairwell, drawing her pistol.
"They've found us."
"Who—?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she pulled something from her coat—an iron pendant with a jagged symbol. She shoved it into Caelum's hand.
"Don't drop it. They'll sense you if you do."
A howl echoed through the crypt—low and unnatural, like a dying animal forced through a pipe. The shadows shifted at the stairwell's edge.
"Move!" she hissed, grabbing his wrist.
They ran.
Up through the crumbling passage, through twisted corridors and crumbling catacombs. Bones scattered beneath their feet. Archaic murals stared from the walls. All the while, that awful noise followed—clawing, scraping, laughing.
They burst out into the night air at last.
Valenhart lay before them.
A city of towers and spires, rooftops like jagged teeth beneath a sky choked with smoke and fog. Gaslamps flickered across cobbled streets slick with rain. The scent of coal, damp brick, and rust filled the air. Overhead, black airships drifted like carrion birds, their hulls marked with royal sigils.
Caelum froze in awe.
This wasn't just another world—it was a machine, a corpse of brass and fog, still breathing.
"Keep moving," Isolde snapped, pulling him into a narrow alley. "They're Shades. If they catch your scent, they'll drag you back to the grave you climbed out of."
A scream echoed somewhere behind them—too long, too inhuman.
Isolde pressed him against a wall. Her breath was sharp, focused.
Caelum clutched the iron pendant and whispered, "What do they want?"
She looked at him.
"The Codex."
He stiffened.
"You know about it?"
"I know it's what your uncle died for," she whispered. "And now you've got it bound to your soul. That means one thing…"
A pause.
"You're a candidate now."
"Candidate… for what?"
She stared into his eyes.
"For godhood."
[Codex Update: Pathway – Scribe | Rank: I – Wordbearer]
[Skill Unlocked: Inkweave]
"Weave a single written truth into reality. Requires material ink. Small lies are safer than large ones."
As Caelum's hand tingled with latent energy, the scream grew closer.
He knew only one thing for certain.
This world was going to kill him—if he didn't master it first.
They moved through the winding alleys of Valenhart like phantoms, barely daring to breathe. Every turn revealed more of the city's decaying splendor—soaring arches wrapped in thick ivy, gaslamps glowing like watchful eyes, and statues of forgotten saints hunched over intersections, their stone faces weathered and broken.
Isolde moved with confidence, even in the maze of backstreets. Caelum followed, his thoughts spinning. His body felt foreign, but more than that, it felt dangerous. The Codex pulsed in his mind, whispering phrases in languages he didn't know he knew.
Eventually, she led him into a derelict warehouse by the canal. A heavy door slammed behind them, bolted with rusted iron. Dust choked the air, but it was quiet—blessedly so.
Isolde finally turned to face him fully, her expression unreadable.
"Take off your shirt."
He blinked. "What?"
"I need to see it."
"…You could at least buy me dinner first."
Her eyes narrowed.
"That mark. On your hand. It should've spread by now."
Reluctantly, Caelum peeled back his coat and shirt.
The spiral tattoo on the back of his hand had grown. Black script now slithered halfway up his forearm—like ink spilled in veins. The writing moved faintly, like it was breathing.
Isolde exhaled. "You weren't lying. It's bound tight. The Codex chose you."
He stared at the moving script.
"Why me?"
"Because you're not from here," she said flatly. "It always chooses outsiders. People who don't belong to this world. Your soul carries… 'external resonance.' It hears the Codex like a tuning fork hears pitch."
She reached into her coat and pulled out a thin, leather-bound journal.
"I've been tracking Codex phenomena for six years. Your uncle, Helrin Virel, was obsessed with it. Everyone thought he was mad."
"Was he?"
"Yes," she said simply. "But he was also right."
She handed him the journal. Inside were rough sketches—symbols, spells, scattered records of unnatural events: People vanishing in locked rooms. Doors appearing where none had been before. Blood freezing midair. Eyes in mirrors.
Then, on the last page:
"Codex Bearer – Caelum Virel."
Status: Executed.
Successor: Unknown.
He looked up. "You thought I was dead too."
"I watched you hang," Isolde said coldly. "But now you're back, and the Codex is active again. That means the game's begun."
Caelum frowned. "Game?"
She nodded grimly.
"There are thirteen Pathways. Each with its own rituals, ranks, and costs. Walk one far enough… and you ascend. Become something beyond human."
"Godhood," he whispered.
"Yes. But you're not the only candidate." She leaned closer. "Others have been chosen. Some willingly. Others… not. The city is crawling with them now. Cults, assassins, nobles, even beggars. They all want the same thing: Control of the Codex."
Caelum sat in silence.
This wasn't just a second chance at life. This was a war.
"…What happens if I refuse?" he asked.
She stared at him.
"You can't."
He exhaled shakily, rubbing his eyes. "Great. I die, and now I'm trapped in a fog-choked hellhole with murder cults, living books, and a mysterious woman who may or may not shoot me at any moment."
Isolde cracked a faint smirk. "Welcome to Valenhart."
Later that night, while Isolde slept lightly by the shuttered window with one hand on her dagger, Caelum sat in the corner beside an overturned crate, the Codex resting in his lap.
He opened it again.
The pages had changed.
[Codex Entry: Arc 1 – The Whisper Beneath the Rain]
Objective: Uncover the source of the Shades haunting Valenhart's eastern quarter.
Reward: Pathway Progression.
Warning: Interference detected. Watcher active.
He frowned.
Then something else shifted on the page—a smear of ink that formed… a question.
"What will you write, Wordbearer?"
He looked down at the inkpot and quill that had somehow appeared beside the Codex.
He hesitated, then dipped the quill and wrote a single line in the margin:
"Tonight, no one will sense my presence."
The ink shimmered—and vanished.
Caelum waited. Nothing happened.
Then Isolde stirred slightly, murmuring, "Where'd you go…?"
She blinked at the corner where he sat. Her gaze passed right over him.
He wasn't invisible.
He was just… unnoticed.
Unfelt.
As if he didn't exist.
His breath caught. The words he had written weren't metaphor. They were real. Reality had bent to accommodate the lie.
Inkweave.
He stared at the page.
And for the first time since waking up in this strange new world… he smiled.
The next morning, Valenhart awoke beneath a sky of iron.
Fog clung to the cobblestones like mildew to a grave. Steam hissed from brass exhausts running along alley walls. And somewhere, always somewhere, a bell tolled—its deep, hollow tone marking the passage of another day in a city that had long forgotten why time mattered.
Caelum pulled his coat tighter as he stepped into the street beside Isolde. His breath plumed in the air, tinged with the smell of soot. The Codex remained warm against his ribs, tucked beneath layers of cloth like a secret heart.
Isolde led the way through the rain-slick alleys toward the Eastern Quarter, the district mentioned in the Codex's cryptic objective.
"Why here?" he asked quietly, ducking under a hanging chain of copper charms as they passed beneath an old arch.
Isolde's eyes were sharp beneath her hood. "Three disappearances. All in the same block. No bodies. No blood. Just screaming. And silence."
"Sounds lovely."
She gave him a thin look. "You're a Codex bearer now. You don't get to hide from this sort of thing anymore. If something's hunting people out here, it might be drawn to you next. Better to walk into its mouth prepared."
They passed a boarded-up apothecary, its windows smeared black with ash. A pair of children watched them from the shadows behind a rusted gate. Caelum felt their eyes linger too long on him, but when he turned back, they were gone.
They reached the afflicted street—Cinder Row—just as the sun, if it could be called that, bled weakly through the clouds.
It was empty.
Not silent, not abandoned—just… emptied.
Doors shut tight. Windows covered. Gaslamps flickering even in daylight. The buildings seemed to lean inward, as if listening.
Caelum shivered.
Then—a whisper.
So soft it might've been the wind.
Or not.
He glanced to his side. "Did you—?"
"I heard it." Isolde had already drawn her pistol. "It's close."
Caelum stepped cautiously forward. A letterbox rattled behind him. He turned just in time to see a swirl of something—mist? hair? smoke?—recede into the doorway.
The Codex burned against his side.
[Environmental Distortion Detected]
Local Veil: Weak
Entity Signature: Unclassified
Risk Level: Moderate
Suggestion: Observe before engaging.
"Something's thinning the Veil here," Caelum muttered. "Like… the barrier between this world and another."
Isolde stiffened. "The Shade Realm?"
He nodded slowly. "Maybe."
A door creaked open behind them.
Both turned instantly.
At the far end of the street, a woman stood in the doorway of a small bookbindery. She was old, hunched, wearing a red shawl far too fine for the neighborhood. Her face was mostly in shadow, but her voice came sharp and clear:
"You shouldn't linger here, boy. She doesn't like men who speak too loudly."
Caelum blinked. "She?"
The woman smiled without teeth. "The Whisperer."
Then the door slammed shut.
They stood in stunned silence for a moment.
"…I hate this city," Caelum muttered.
Isolde looked pale. "Let's check the bindery."
They moved fast. Isolde kicked the door open in one strike, weapon drawn. The air inside was wrong. Too still. Too dark. Dust hung suspended like time had paused.
There was no sign of the woman.
Caelum stepped toward the desk at the front. Pages fluttered gently even without breeze.
He froze.
Each sheet was blank—except one.
A single line had been written across the center of the page:
You cannot ink silence. She is already written.
Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind them.
The temperature dropped.Shadows bent inward.
From the rear of the shop, a voice began humming. Soft. Uneven. Female.
Isolde raised her weapon. "It's here."
"Where?" Caelum whispered, spinning.
The Codex flared against his chest.
[Entity Engaged: Fragment of the Whisperer]
Class: Echo Spirit
Form: Partial Manifestation
Weakness: Spoken Contradiction / Written Inversion
A mirror in the corner cracked.
Then she stepped out.
Or floated.
The creature had no feet—just a flowing, ink-stained gown that merged into smoke. Her face was a porcelain mask cracked around the mouth, and from behind it, tendrils of ink curled like silent words. Her eyes were pits of blank parchment.
And her mouth never moved as she whispered:
"You have written in my place. That… was rude."
Caelum stepped back, breath catching.
Isolde took aim. "What the hell is that?"
"The Whisperer's fragment," he said through gritted teeth. "An Echo Spirit—probably born from the deaths that happened here. It's part memory, part idea."
The thing moved—drifting forward, arms unfolding into dozens of quills that scratched the air.
"All noise… must be silenced."
She lunged.
Isolde fired twice—bang, bang—but the bullets passed through mist and ink.
Caelum dove behind the desk. "We need to counter her with contradiction—!"
"Then do something!" Isolde yelled.
Heart racing, Caelum pulled the Codex from his coat. Inkweave it was.
He dipped his quill. On a scrap of paper, he hastily scrawled:
"The Whisperer cannot hear lies."
The ink flared and sank into the page.
The moment the words vanished, the spirit recoiled violently. Its tendrils snapped inward, thrashing at invisible strings.
It howled—not loudly, but in a pitch that seemed to tear the fabric of silence itself.
"She's destabilizing!" Caelum shouted. "Another one!"
He grabbed the next page and wrote:
"The Whisperer fears her own name."
The creature shrieked.
Its form rippled—flesh and mask boiling away like torn paper in rain. It flailed backward into the cracked mirror—
—and vanished.
The room fell silent.
Then, slowly, the air returned to normal.
The light no longer bent.
Isolde lowered her weapon, panting. "…Well. You're good with a pen."
Caelum exhaled and slumped against the desk. "Remind me never to work in publishing."
The Codex pulsed gently.
[Codex Update: Arc 1 – Progress 1/4 Completed.]
Fragment Dispelled. Veil Stabilized in Eastern Quarter.
New Entry Unlocked: Whisperer's True Name – Unknown.
Pathway Progress: +1%
Caelum closed the Codex, hands still shaking.
One threat down.
Three more to go.
And the Whisperer… was watching.
The rain hadn't stopped.
By the time Caelum and Isolde reached the edge of Coalhaven, the southeastern edge of Valenhart's Eastern Quarter, the gaslamps were casting long, watery shadows over streets that looked like they hadn't seen sunlight in years.
Caelum's coat was soaked, the ink marks along his arm now hidden under damp fabric. But the Codex still pulsed faintly beneath it—heavier now, as though the dispelled Echo Spirit had left a stain on the air.
Isolde glanced up at the squat tenements ahead. "This is where the second disappearance happened. A lamplighter named Bren Falk. Witnesses said he went into the service tunnel under the bridge and never came back out."
"Another Veil fracture?" Caelum asked.
"Possibly," she murmured. "But this one's different. Less distortion. No whispers. Just… absence."
They passed under the blackened arch of the Coalhaven Bridge. Water dripped from above. Steam curled from broken grates. Everything smelled of rust and ash.
Isolde knelt beside a corroded pipe that led down into a maintenance shaft. A rusted sign above the hatch read:
"City Maintenance Access: Authorized Wrenchmen Only"
Caelum raised an eyebrow. "You sure this is the place?"
Isolde didn't answer. She simply pushed open the hatch and climbed down.
With a sigh, Caelum followed her into the gloom.
The tunnel below was narrow and slick with condensation. Arcane wiring ran along the ceiling like tangled veins, pulsing weakly with residual energy. The further they moved, the more unnatural the space felt.
Eventually, they came to a locked gate made of brass latticework. Strange runes were carved into its surface—old ones, not from this world.
Caelum stepped forward.
The Codex responded.
[Runic Lock Detected – Forgotten Glyph Type: "Null Domain"]
Solution: Written Counter-Glyph
Note: Veil distortion increasing.
"Hold on," he said. He pulled a small slip of parchment from his coat, dipped the quill, and scribbled a single mirrored rune he saw in the Codex's margins.
The lock clicked.
The gate opened with a groan.
On the other side lay something far worse than they'd expected.
Blood.
Not fresh—but not old either. Smeared along the floor and up the walls like a brushstroke. Symbols drawn in it. A small lantern, shattered. A heavy wrench left abandoned.
Isolde's voice was low. "Falk was here."
Caelum nodded grimly. "Something took him."
And then they heard it.
From deep within the tunnel ahead—
—a rhythmic sound.
Scratching.
Wet.
Slow.
They moved carefully toward the noise, each step splashing lightly in puddles that reflected faint green light.
And then—
A shadow crawled into view.
But it wasn't a person.
It was wearing a person.
The creature was long and worm-like, its body wrapped tightly in the flayed remains of a man—Bren Falk, or what was left of him. The flesh was twisted, distorted into a smiling mask that didn't fit its face. Empty eye sockets stared outward, glassy and dry.
The creature's head turned—no, it rotated the mask—toward them.
Isolde cursed. "A Skinwrithe. That's from the Pathway of the Skinwalker."
Caelum staggered back. "I thought this was a Whisperer fragment case."
"It's not anymore."
The creature's mouth opened, and Falk's voice spilled out in reverse.
"Eld ehw ym rof gnikool uoy era…"
Then it lunged.
Caelum had no time to think.
He reached for the Codex.
[Entity Engaged: Skinwrithe (Unstable)]
Origin: Failed Initiate of Skinwalker Pathway
Weakness: Truth Spoken, Identity Reclaimed
Status: Degrading
Suggestion: Use "Inkweave" to assert Reality.
"Cover me!" he shouted to Isolde, already scribbling.
She fired a shot that struck the creature's shoulder—it didn't bleed, but the impact made it hiss.
Caelum scrawled across the next page:
"The Skinwrithe is bound to a false name."
The creature recoiled slightly, writhing in place.
He pressed harder.
"Its true name is Bren Falk."
The air shook.
A visible ripple passed over the creature. Its limbs twitched. The stitched skin-mass began to peel away—
[Reality Breach: Identity Lock Engaged]
The creature screamed.
It screamed with Falk's voice, now forward.
"Help me—no, no, it's eating me—!"
The mask cracked down the center. Caelum's ink flared one final time, and then—
Silence.
The Skinwrithe collapsed into a wet pile of melting flesh and ink-stained wrappings.
Only a single item remained.
A tarnished brass nameplate. "Bren Falk."
Caelum bent down and picked it up.
Isolde was breathing hard beside him, pistol still shaking. "Two Pathways… in one arc…"
He nodded grimly. "Something's crossing the lines. These anomalies aren't isolated anymore."
She met his eyes. "That means someone's guiding them. Or feeding off them."
The Codex pulsed.
[Arc 1 Progress: 2/4 Completed]
Skinwrithe Neutralized
New Entry: Failed Initiate – Pathway of the Skinwalker
Codex Insight Gained: "Faceless Tongue" Ritual (Locked)
Caelum pocketed the nameplate and looked back at the tunnel, then up toward the heavy iron grate above.
Rain was still falling on the city above.
But below it, in the dark, something was moving the pieces.
Something with many faces.
Rain continued to fall in steady, rhythmic sheets as Caelum and Isolde emerged from the tunnel into the narrow alleyways of Coalhaven. Steam curled around their feet, and the clang of distant gears echoed from somewhere deep within the city's underbelly.
Caelum glanced down at the brass nameplate of Bren Falk, now etched faintly with red runes that hadn't been there before. The Codex pulsed against his ribs—restless. Hungry.
Two anomalies. Two echoes.
And yet, something still watched.
Isolde felt it too.
"We're being followed," she muttered without turning her head.
"How long?" Caelum asked quietly.
"Since the Skinwrithe. Maybe earlier."
He didn't reply. Instead, he reached into his coat, fingers brushing the Codex as he whispered to it:
"Reveal the one who watches."
The air shimmered faintly.
From the shadows across the alley—a flicker.
A man stood at the edge of a rooftop, his long coat billowing in the wind, black umbrella held lazily above his shoulder. His face was obscured by a wide-brimmed hat and a porcelain mask shaped like a fox's grin. Only one eye showed—amber and gleaming.
Caelum's pulse quickened. "Friend of yours?"
Isolde's hand drifted to her weapon. "No. But I've heard of him."
The man raised a hand and waved slowly—mockingly.
Then he stepped off the rooftop.
Caelum's breath caught—only for the man to land silently on the ground, without so much as a splash in the puddle below.
"Good evening," he said, voice smooth and unhurried, tinged with amusement. "You've been busy, Caelum Virel."
The use of his name sent a chill down Caelum's spine.
He straightened. "And you are…?"
"A fellow bearer," the masked man replied. "A practitioner of the Pathway of the Hollow Blade. We call ourselves Mirrors."
Isolde tensed beside him.
"Codex-bearer?" she asked.
"Indeed." The man bowed slightly. "My designation is Dorian Eltz. I've been watching your progression with interest. Wordbearers are rare… and dangerous."
Caelum narrowed his eyes. "You were there. When the Skinwrithe attacked."
Dorian nodded. "I study. I don't interfere. You were never in true danger… yet."
Isolde stepped forward. "Why are you here?"
"Because the arc you're walking…" He tilted his head. "…isn't just yours."
He raised his hand—and with a flick of his wrist, summoned a sliver of black steel from thin air. It hovered beside him, humming softly, its edges frayed with unreality.
"That thing in the tunnels? Not just a failed initiate. It was sent there. Planted like a seed."
Caelum's eyes widened. "By who?"
Dorian shrugged. "That's the part I'm investigating. But I suspect a rising faction. One who seeks to merge the Pathways, to create something the Codex itself cannot fully govern."
Isolde's voice dropped. "That's suicide. The Codex punishes anyone who tries to combine roles."
"Yes," Dorian said with a fox-like smile behind his mask. "But the penalty only matters if you fail."
He turned to Caelum.
"You've been chosen for something bigger than you understand. You'll need allies soon. Or prey will be all you become."
The Codex pulsed sharply.
[Entity: Dorian Eltz – Rank III Initiate of the Hollow Blade]
Status: Unaffiliated Observer
Threat Level: Moderate to High
Notes: Currently non-hostile. Believes in "balance of pathways."
"Why are you telling me this?" Caelum asked warily.
Dorian turned.
Rain struck his umbrella in rhythmic beats.
"Because unlike you," he said, stepping back into the shadows, "I've already died twice."
Then he vanished.
No sound. No blur.
Just absence.
The city felt colder in his wake.
Caelum and Isolde stood in silence, only the rain filling the air between them.
"That was a warning," she finally said. "If someone's combining Pathways, the Codex won't stand for it. Neither will the city."
Caelum looked down at his marked hand.
He could feel the ink writhing beneath his skin.
Then I'd better get stronger.
He turned toward the Southern Quarter.
"There's still another disappearance, right?"
Isolde hesitated—then nodded. "Yes. One more."
"Then we move," he said. "Before the next 'seed' sprouts."
As they walked, the Codex whispered softly—less like a voice, more like a memory:
"The third truth lies in the home without light… where mirrors never show the same face twice."
[Codex Update: Arc 1 – Progress 3/4 Active]
Third Distortion: Location Identified – Mirror House on Vale Street
Warning: Entity Type Unknown
Special Condition: Personal Reflection Required
The rain had lessened by the time Caelum and Isolde reached Vale Street, but the fog had thickened into something tangible—heavy and still, as if the air itself had grown too tired to move.
This district was quiet, unnervingly so. No chimneys puffed smoke. No footsteps echoed. No voices murmured behind curtained windows. It felt abandoned, not from fear or flight—but as if time itself had given up on the place.
And at the very end of the street stood the Mirror House.
A crooked three-story manor of obsidian brick and tarnished brass. Its windows were all intact, yet reflected nothing. Not the gaslamps. Not the rain. Not the two people now standing just outside its rusted gate.
Caelum stared at the door.
"I don't like this."
"Neither do I," Isolde replied, hand already on her dagger. "But whatever's inside… it's what the Codex wants us to find."
Caelum approached slowly. The gate creaked open with a metallic shriek that made the skin along his spine twitch. The door stood unlocked, yet no wind stirred.
He hesitated.
The Codex pulsed.
[Distortion Confirmed: Mirror House – Arc 1: Third Fragment]
Entity Status: Dormant
Interaction Requirement: Personal Reflection
Warning: Codex Influence will be unstable within these walls.
Unstable?
"Stay close," he muttered.
Isolde raised an eyebrow. "Since when are you in charge?"
He smiled faintly. "Since I started arguing with talking books."
They stepped inside.
The air within Mirror House was… wrong.
There was no dust. No decay. No smell of rot or mildew. Everything was perfectly preserved, as though the house had been frozen in time.
And lining the walls—mirrors.
Hundreds of them.
No two alike. Some full-length. Some round and cracked. Others twisted in baroque gold frames. Every wall was covered. Some hung at odd angles, others leaned on furniture. The entire manor shimmered faintly with reflected space—and yet…
Not a single mirror showed their reflections.
Caelum stared at one directly. "That's impossible."
Isolde stepped past him, scowling. "This place is layered. The mirrors don't show the current Veil. We're seeing echoes."
"Echoes?"
"Fragments of possible realities. Timelines that almost were. Faces that could've been yours."
She pointed to a wall near the staircase. One of the mirrors did show a reflection—but it wasn't Caelum's current self.
It was… another version of him.
His hair shorter. Eyes sunken. Hands covered in dried blood. And behind him, in that echo, stood a dozen corpses wearing porcelain masks.
Caelum turned away, stomach tightening.
"That's not me."
"But it could be," Isolde said softly.
They continued deeper into the house, each room more warped than the last. The mirrors began talking—not with sound, but through flashes of images. Possibilities. Nightmares. Regrets.
Caelum passed one that showed his own funeral.
Another where Isolde was aiming a pistol at his chest, tears streaming down her face.
He closed his eyes and pressed onward.
And then… they found the heart of the distortion.
The master bedroom.
A large oval mirror stood at its center, surrounded by black candles that burned with silver flame. Before it knelt a man—his face blank, his body limp. He stared into the mirror as if hypnotized.
Isolde stepped forward. "That's our missing person. Aldrin Lesk."
Caelum moved beside her. "He's alive?"
"Barely."
The Codex flared hot against his chest.
[Mirror Entity Engaged: Identity Parasite – "The Reflection Unseen"]
Class: Adaptive Construct
Function: Replace, Infiltrate, Overtake
Trigger: Direct Self-Recognition
Solution: Write and Assert "True Self" before mirror feeds completely.
A voice echoed from the mirror—not from the man, but from the Caelum inside it.
"You were never meant to be. You stole this life. Let me take it back."
Inside the glass, a reflection identical to Caelum stepped forward. Same face. Same eyes. But the presence was… wrong. Smiling too wide. Wearing a version of his coat stitched with human mouths whispering endlessly.
Isolde's hand twitched toward her weapon.
"No," Caelum said. "This one's mine."
He stepped forward, facing his reflection directly. His heart thundered. His breath caught. The mirror felt like a mouth, about to swallow him whole.
The creature grinned.
"You don't belong here. You're just a borrowed skin. Let me show you who you really are."
The glass shimmered.
A thousand versions of himself appeared. Murderer. Monster. Tyrant. Coward. All whispering the same words:
"Impostor. Thief. Pretender."
Caelum clenched his fists.
Then slowly, he pulled out a sheet of parchment and dipped his quill in ink.
He wrote:
"I am Caelum Virel—Archivist, Wordbearer, and I choose who I become."
He pressed the parchment to the glass.
The mirror screamed.
Every false version of him twisted, shattered, dissolved. The whispering stopped. The glass cracked—once, twice, a hundredfold—and then…
shattered.
The man on the floor gasped as if waking from a dream.
Isolde caught him before he collapsed. "He's free. You did it."
Caelum dropped the parchment. It burned itself into smoke and vanished.
The Codex pulsed:
[Arc 1 Progress: 3/4 Completed]
Mirror Entity Neutralized
Subject Rescued: Aldrin Lesk
Pathway Affinity Increased – Wordbearer (Scribe)
Skill Gained: "Scriptbind" – Bind identity to a written truth. Duration: 10 minutes.
He stood in silence.
And for the first time… his reflection returned.
Not in the mirror.
But in the window nearby.
Just himself.
Alive.
And real.
The Vale Street disappearances had one common thread—each person last seen had visited or passed by the sub-basement beneath Saint Bellgrave's Chapel, a now-ruined sanctum resting near the edge of the industrial quarter. Caelum and Isolde, escorting a semi-conscious Aldrin Lesk, had brought him to the Watch for safekeeping before setting out again, armed with knowledge and warnings from the Codex.
It pulsed against Caelum's chest like a second heart as they neared the blackened stone ruin.
[Final Fragment Detected: Arc 1 – "The Root Below"]
Threat Level: Moderate
Residual Entity Presence: High
Warning: Truth Suppression in effect. Words may lie.
Stability of Arcane Veil at 28%
Caelum tucked the Codex away and stepped into the ruins.
The interior smelled of mold, blood, and memory.
Old wooden pews had long since decayed, their shattered remains piled like corpses. The altar was cracked down the center. Moonlight filtered in through the collapsed ceiling in pale shafts of light—sickly and unnatural.
At the far side of the chapel lay a trapdoor, rusted shut. But it wasn't the door that disturbed Caelum.
It was the sound beneath it.
A rhythmic clicking—not mechanical, not bestial. Something between a typewriter and a tongue tapping against teeth.
Isolde drew a silver-inlaid blade from her coat. "We go down?"
Caelum nodded. "We finish it."
The passage beneath Saint Bellgrave's was suffocating.
Stairs descended endlessly, each step taking them further from the natural world. The gaslamp flickered in Caelum's hand, shadows dancing across murals carved into the walls—depictions of human faces slowly distorting into ink-blotted things.
And at the base of the stairs, they reached a chamber.
It was circular, lined with shelves and books, the walls a swirling mass of paper, tongues, and ink. Scrolls fluttered as if caught in a breeze, though no wind moved.
At the center stood a throne made of quills and torn pages, and sitting on it—
—a man with no face.
Instead, where his features should be, there was only text. Letters twisted and floated in the shape of a visage, never still.
He spoke without mouth or voice.
"Archivist. Wordbearer. You arrive late."
Caelum's hand froze on the Codex.
"This Arc was mine. These disappearances were my revisions. You were never written into this volume."
The creature rose.
Its body unfolded like parchment, limbs made of riddles and forgotten footnotes. The words on its face shifted into phrases Caelum had once written… and some he hadn't yet.
"Is that… a Pathway creature?" Isolde whispered.
"No," Caelum muttered. "It's something between."
[Entity Engaged: The Manuscriptor – Bound Remnant of the Forbidden Ink]
Nature: Arc-Bound Parasite (Failed Ascension)
Objective: Rewrite narrative threads to install itself into reality
Weakness: Truth Stabilization – Overwrite with stronger narrative
The Manuscriptor moved.
Ink flooded the room, and mirrors made of phrases hung in the air—each one a possible version of Caelum's life. In one, he was insane. In another, enslaved to the Codex. One showed him stabbing Isolde.
"No," he growled. "I write my own path!"
He reached for the Codex and opened it. A page glowed—one he hadn't seen before.
[New Page Unlocked – Invocation of Self: "Auctor's Decree"]
Skill: Shape Truth into Command. Seal opposing narrative threads. Cost: Mental clarity
Warning: Use once per Arc.
He raised his hand and began to write in the air with his finger, light forming behind each stroke.
"This tale does not belong to you."
"You are not the author."
"You will be erased."
The Manuscriptor screamed—not in sound, but with words.
It hurled lines of corrupted prose at him, trying to overwrite Caelum's being. For a moment, Caelum saw himself trapped in the throne, pages erupting from his mouth, his identity lost to a thousand lies.
But he held firm.
He wrote one final line:
"I am the scribe of my soul, the quill of my fate."
And with that, the Manuscriptor unraveled.
Its words peeled away, one by one, collapsing into dust.
The ink dried.
The throne cracked.
And silence returned.
As the dust settled, Caelum sank to one knee, gasping. Blood trickled from his nose. Isolde rushed to him, grabbing his shoulder.
"Hey! You alright?! You nearly—"
"I'm fine," he rasped. "Just… rewriting a parasite out of reality takes more energy than I expected."
She gave a strained laugh, then helped him to his feet.
The Codex glowed one last time:
[Arc 1 Complete: "The Fogbound Awakening"]
Fragment Neutralized: Manuscriptor
Pathway Advancement Unlocked: Wordbearer → Grade 1 Initiate
Skill Retained: Auctor's Decree (1 use per Arc)
New Arc Added: "Whispers in the Inkspire"
As they emerged from the ruin, dawn finally broke over Valenhart. Fog rolled back just enough to show the city's crumbling spires in full light.
Caelum took a deep breath.
"Think the city will ever feel normal?"
Isolde looked sideways at him. "What part of this feels normal to you?"
He smiled.
"Fair point."
They walked side by side through the mist. Above, unseen, the ink of reality stirred again.
The story was far from over.