The relic lay dormant in Ilyan's satchel, humming like a sleeping thought. Ashwen's silence matched its weight. She walked ahead of him now, her gait smooth, unaffected by the bruise on her cheek or the dried blood on her sleeve. Ilyan, bruised in spirit and shin, struggled to keep pace.
"You're sure you want to do this?" she said without looking back.
"No," Ilyan replied. "But I'm going to anyway."
Ashwen glanced over her shoulder. "You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The look people get right before they end up regretting something they were sure they wouldn't."
"That's my default expression."
They reached the top of a bone-white stair that spiraled down into a derelict clock tower. Time felt different here. The ticks weren't in sync. The steps echoed twice when they stepped once. A plaque above the arch read:
Ministry of Posthumous Affairs. Hours of Operation: Never and Always.
Ilyan's breath caught. The air smelled like burnt paper and lemon. As they descended, light dimmed, but the feeling of being observed intensified.
They reached a queue. Ghosts. Lost souls. One very bored skeleton sipping tea through its eye socket.
"Is this… real?" Ilyan whispered.
Ashwen nodded. "This is where the dead go to argue about being dead."
"Sounds productive."
"It isn't."
After nearly twenty minutes and two minor poltergeist incidents, they reached the front desk. A clerk, whose nameplate read Clerk 404, did not look up from his ink-smudged ledger. His quill moved like a tired worm.
"Form 18-E?" he said flatly.
Ilyan handed over a parchment. "Filed and folded."
"Triplicate?"
"One and a half. Ashwen used the other half to stop bleeding."
"Acceptable," said Clerk 404, without verifying. "Reason for visit?"
"I… temporarily died. I need to appeal the experience."
Clerk 404 scratched something into his ledger. The writing went backward.
"You'll need Form 27-B: Retroactive Death Awareness Application."
"Do you have it?"
"No."
Ilyan stared. "…Where is it?"
"The vault beneath Uvvvaek. A truth-lock vault. Swallowed in the Filing Collapse of 417 P.E."
"Is that past or future?"
"Yes."
Ashwen leaned in. "What's the catch?"
"Witnesses required," said Clerk 404. "Someone must have observed the moment of your death and verify the authenticity of your soul's protest."
"I was alone," Ilyan murmured.
Clerk 404 smiled kindly. "Then die again.Preferably with company this time."
Ashwen blinked. "Wait—back up. What death is he talking about?"
Clerk 404 raised an eyebrow. "The one in the Chamber of False Echoes. Accidental invocation. Overload of soul-resonance. Subject: Ilyan. Duration of death: 2 minutes, 47 seconds. Recovery via interference of an unnamed anomaly. Memory sealed post-resuscitation. Standard protocol."
Ashwen turned to Ilyan. "You didn't tell me you died."
"I didn't remember," Ilyan whispered. "Until just now… I think I dreamed of it. A place full of silence. And something whispering—no, writing me."
Clerk 404 tapped the ledger. "See? That's why we need the form.
Ashwen pulled Ilyan aside as they left the line.
"This is a terrible idea," she said.
Ilyan smiled. "It's my specialty."
Ashwen rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth curled up. "Fine. But if you get soul-fined or reality-taxed, don't say I didn't warn you."
They stepped through the Ministry's rear corridor, where the clocks ran backward. A faint buzzing sound came from the relic in Ilyan's bag — as though it knew what was coming, and didn't approve.