The library was suffocating. Shadows clung to every corner, and the candlelight seemed feeble, swallowed by the gloom. Ash's pulse drummed in his ears, the echo of his own footsteps unnerving in the vast silence. Each step felt heavier, as if the air itself were thickening pressing down, watching.
His nerves were frayed, and the whispered voices threading through his thoughts weren't helping. Honestly, if this was some grand scheme to drive him insane, it was annoyingly effective. Because, clearly, what he needed most in life was a book that spoke in cryptic riddles and a series of escalating eldritch nightmares.
He glanced at Corin, who moved quickly, a lantern swinging in one hand. Their face was unreadable beneath the hood, but their eyes darted nervously, betraying a wariness that set Ash's nerves even more on edge. Wonderful. The one person with a clue about what was going on looked about two seconds away from bolting. Truly, his luck was impeccable.
"You should've left it buried," Corin muttered, voice barely more than a whisper. "Some things were never meant to be found."
"You're telling me," Ash replied, trying to mask the tremor in his voice. "If I'd known, I would've stuck to drinking and pretending my life wasn't falling apart. Really."
They stopped before a rusted iron door, symbols etched into its surface. Corin pressed a hand to the markings, murmuring something low and sharp. The door shuddered open with a groan, spilling cold air that tasted of iron and mildew.
Inside, shelves stretched to the ceiling, laden with books bound in leather and metal. Some were chained, others bare, their pages fluttering faintly despite the stillness. The light faltered, and for a heartbeat, Ash swore he saw shadows writhing between the shelves.
His fingers flexed involuntarily, the book beneath his coat pulsing with faint warmth. Of course, it was warm. Why wouldn't the cursed book be cozy? Maybe it would offer him a cup of tea and some life-altering revelations next.
But the whispers were louder now, brushing the edges of his mind words in a language he couldn't place but instinctively understood.
"The Keepers will come for you," Corin said flatly, rifling through scrolls. "You've seen too much already."
"Right. Should I send a formal apology, or is fleeing for my life more appropriate?" Ash muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. The fatigue was catching up along with the creeping realization that he was, in fact, utterly and completely screwed.
Corin hesitated, eyes flickering. "If you're lucky, they'll erase your memory and let you live."
"Oh, fantastic," Ash snorted. "And if I'm not?"
Corin's silence was answer enough.
As Corin worked, Ash drifted, eyes catching on a cracked mirror half-hidden behind a shelf. His reflection was pale, eyes shadowed and hollow, dark veins curling faintly beneath his skin. He blinked, and the veins were gone, leaving only his own tired gaze.
His chest tightened. This is fine, he told himself, fingers twitching. I'm probably just sleep-deprived. Or hallucinating. Or, you know, unraveling the fabric of reality. Could be any of those.
His gaze slid to Corin, whose back was turned, rifling through parchments with a kind of desperate urgency. They're scared too, Ash realized, the thought unsettling. Corin had never seemed afraid of anything. If they were worried, things were far worse than he'd imagined.
His fingers twitched towards the book, breath catching. The need to open it was suffocating now, a pressure at the base of his skull. Just a glance.
No. He dug his nails into his palms, grounding himself in the sting of pain. Not here. Not yet.
Great. Now he was having withdrawal symptoms over cursed literature. Truly, his life choices were unparalleled.
The Mark
A glint of metal drew his eye a dagger on the table, runes carved into the blade. Without thinking, Ash pulled off his glove, running a thumb over the hilt then froze.
A symbol was branded into the back of his hand, faint but unmistakable. An eye, split down the center, ink-black and pulsing faintly.
His breath hitched. "What—"
Corin's eyes snapped up, widening. "You've been marked," they breathed. "That's impossible."
"Clearly not," Ash bit out, heart pounding. "Care to explain, or should I start panicking now?"
Corin's expression tightened. "It's a binding sigil. A contract. The book's chosen you."
"Chosen," Ash repeated hollowly. "Great. So I'm cursed. Again. Fantastic. Really."
Corin's jaw clenched. "The Chronicle doesn't bind itself unless… you must have touched something else. Seen something you shouldn't."
Ash's mind raced, fragments of memory the statue's eyes in the vault, the student who never existed, the whispers seeping into his dreams. His hands trembled, nails digging into his palms.
"What does it want?" he rasped. "My soul? My sanity?"
"If you're lucky," Corin replied.
Perfect, Ash thought darkly. Cursed by a book and hunted by maniacs who rewrite reality. Just my luck.
Corin moved quickly, leading him to a staircase winding into darkness. Each step groaned beneath their weight, dust spiraling in the lantern light. The walls were lined with faded murals scenes of battles, towers crumbling, an eye watching from storm clouds.
They stopped before a door reinforced with iron, symbols glowing faintly. Corin hesitated, eyes flickering to Ash. "Whatever you see in there, don't listen to it. Don't speak. Just keep moving."
Ash snorted, masking the unease curdling in his gut. "Great. More vague warnings. Very reassuring."
Corin's grip on the lantern tightened, knuckles bone-white. "I'm serious, Ash. It can hear you."
Before Ash could ask what could hear him, the door creaked open, spilling darkness like a living thing.
The lantern's light wavered, shadows stretching and curling. In the gloom beyond, a mirror stood, framed in obsidian its surface rippling like oil. But it wasn't his reflection staring back.
The figure in the mirror grinned, eyes black and empty, a twisted parody of his own face. And behind it dozens of eyes opened in the dark, unblinking, fixed on him.
A voice, low and rasping, spilled from the mirror his own voice, but distorted.
"Did you really think you could hide from us, Ash?"
The door slammed shut behind him with a deafening crash. The lantern flickered once then died, plunging the room into darkness.
And in the pitch-black silence, the eyes blinked.