Ash sat in silence, his fingers hovering over the black book's cover. The air in his apartment was thick with the weight of revelation. Across from him, Lyle and Ellen watched, waiting for his response, their expressions unreadable.
This is ridiculous. The thought looped in Ash's mind, mocking him. A secret society that rewrote reality? A war fought in the margins of history? A book that both protected and controlled him?
It sounded like the fever dream of a madman. Or worse, the plot of a dime-store novel he would've rolled his eyes at.
But there was no denying it.
He had seen the proof, felt the distortions. Everett Miren had been erased. People he had spoken to, places he had visited rewritten as if they never existed. And now, he was next in line, except for one paradoxical safety net: the book.
A device, a curse, a shield. The only thing keeping him from being wiped away, yet the very thing that had painted a target on his back.
He exhaled, long and slow. "Alright," he said finally, his voice steady despite the storm in his mind. "Tell me everything."
Lyle leaned back, satisfied. Ellen, still eerily still, finally spoke. "The Keepers of Concordia operate on one principle control. Not just of people, but of perception itself. They do not kill, they erase. And if someone is too deeply ingrained to be erased, they alter them. You become their puppet or you cease to exist."
Ash frowned. "That's… insane. If they have that much control, how are you still here?"
Lyle chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Because we exist in the cracks. They don't perceive us as a threat yet. We are few, and we do not strike carelessly. Our existence is tolerated, in the same way one tolerates an ant colony beneath the floorboards. An inconvenience, but not worth burning down the house over."
Ash raised an eyebrow. "And you think I'm worth burning the house over?"
Lyle's expression didn't change. "You were never an ant, Ash. The moment you opened that book, you stepped outside their controlled perception."
Ash couldn't stop the dry laugh that escaped his lips. "So let me get this straight. I have a cursed book that's both saving me and screwing me over at the same time. A group of shadowy overlords want to wipe me out because I started asking the wrong questions. And you" he gestured at them "are, what? The resistance?"
Ellen nodded. "More or less."
He rubbed his temples. "Fantastic."
His mind reeled, and yet, some part of him the same part that had always sought hidden knowledge, that dissected forbidden histories felt alive. He had spent his life in the margins, digging through half-truths and forgotten records, knowing there was something deeper beneath the surface. And now, he was looking at it.
The abyss had looked back, and he wasn't sure if he should be terrified or exhilarated.
Lyle interrupted his thoughts. "We need to act before they make a decision about you. Right now, you're an anomaly. They are observing, waiting to see if you are a threat or if they can still steer you into irrelevance."
Ash drummed his fingers on the book. "So what's the plan?"
Ellen spoke, her voice measured. "We need to retrieve what was erased. Everett Miren's work. His records. If we can reconstruct what he found, we may have leverage."
"And where do we even start?"
Lyle's gaze was steady. "With the book. It's more than a passive object, Ash. It reacts to you. If you learn to control it, we can use it to uncover what was hidden."
Ash eyed the book warily. It had already done things subtle things. Words shifting when he looked away. Pages whispering. It had been reading him just as much as he had been reading it.
"So I just… learn to use it?"
Lyle nodded. "And fast. Because once they decide you're a problem, the real hunt begins."
Ash let out a slow breath, rubbing his face. Rationally, the smart thing to do was walk away. Burn the book, leave town, pretend none of this happened.
But when had he ever done the smart thing?
A small, cynical smirk tugged at his lips. He had spent years mocking the concept of fate, yet here he was, about to charge headfirst into a battle against the custodians of reality itself. If that wasn't the definition of irony, he didn't know what was.
He looked up at them, decision made. "Alright. Let's get to work."
The game had begun, and for the first time, Ash wasn't just a historian. He was a player.
And he intended to win.