Lareth did not sleep.
Even in its quietest hours, the city sang. The wind here wasn't weather—it was voice. It carried messages, memories, and occasionally, warnings. Some said the Archive itself was alive. Others whispered it was haunted by the minds it had absorbed.
Caelum had been in the city only two days, but already he felt like it was listening to him.
And watching.
He spent his mornings with Serapha, assisting with her research into historical Weave disruptions. They weren't truly researching, of course—it was a cover, a safe space in which to wait. Still, Serapha used the time to teach him about magical theory, the structure of the Weave, and the history of elemental resonance.
But Caelum couldn't focus.
The sigil hadn't left his mind. It had only grown stronger.
Worse, he was beginning to see it elsewhere—etched faintly into ancient books, carved into older memory stones, and once, reflected in the silver basin of a mana diviner.
Every time he blinked, it stared back.
That evening, a message arrived.
Not a scroll or a summons.
A whisper, folded into the wind.
Caelum had been walking alone along one of the Archive's exterior bridges, taking in the sprawling lights of the floating city, when he heard it:
"Child of Silence. Come to the Dome of Eyes. Bring no one."
He froze.
The wind fell still.
Then the voice was gone.
When he returned, Serapha immediately noticed something was wrong.
"You're pale," she said. "What happened?"
Caelum hesitated. "I thought I heard something."
Serapha's eyes narrowed. "What did it say?"
He exhaled slowly. "It told me to go somewhere. The Dome of Eyes."
Serapha stiffened.
She stood, crossed to a drawer, and pulled out a scroll. She unfurled it over the table. A map of Lareth's lower sectors.
"There," she said, tapping near the eastern quarter. "It's not part of the Archive proper. It's a forgotten sector, an abandoned observatory. The seers used it before the Cloudveil Accord. But after the war, it became… volatile."
"Volatile how?"
"Resonance anomalies. Wild echoes. Sometimes people enter and don't return. Sometimes they return speaking languages that haven't existed for centuries."
Caelum frowned. "So it's a bad idea."
"Yes," she said. "That's why we're going together."
He hesitated. "They said to come alone."
Serapha's expression darkened. "Then we'll come alone together."
They reached the Dome of Eyes just before midnight.
It rose like a cracked egg of black glass, seated atop a plateau of forgotten wind-glyphs. The building shimmered faintly, even in darkness, reflecting stars that didn't match the sky.
As they approached, Caelum felt something resist them. The air thickened. Gravity buckled slightly. Each step took more effort than the last.
Serapha laid a hand on his shoulder.
"If I tell you to run," she said, "you run."
He nodded.
They entered the dome.
Inside, silence ruled.
Not ordinary silence. The kind that made you aware of your heartbeat. The kind that made your thoughts echo louder than sound.
The inner chamber was vast, with thousands of eye-shaped mirrors hanging from the walls. Some shimmered. Some wept vapor. Others whispered to themselves in forgotten tongues.
And in the center stood a figure.
A tall man in ceremonial robes of layered wind-silk, his face half-covered by a mirrored veil. His skin was the color of dusk. His hands were bare and trembling.
He spoke without turning.
"You came."
Caelum stepped forward. "You called me."
The man turned, slowly.
"Not I. The Thread did. I merely listened."
Serapha stepped between them. "Who are you?"
The man inclined his head. "I am Eryth Varrin, Seer of the Lost. I tend the Echoes. And I've been waiting for you."
Caelum tensed. "Why?"
"Because your sigil has reawakened the Dreamroot."
Serapha's eyes narrowed. "That's impossible. The Dreamroot was erased in the Accord."
"Not erased," Eryth said. "Silenced. Just as he was."
He turned fully to Caelum, his eyes shining behind the veil.
"The symbol you carry—do you know what it is?"
Caelum shook his head.
"The Sigil of Unweaving," Eryth whispered. "The same mark worn by the first Voidbearer. The one who unmade Durell."
A silence fell.
Serapha stepped forward, voice low. "This is a trap."
"No," Eryth said. "It is a warning."
He raised one hand—and a mirror behind him flared to life.
In it, Caelum saw a battle that had never been written in any book. A field of ash. A tower split by silence. And a man—just like him—standing amidst the ruin, holding nothing at all.
But all around him, magic died.
The scene faded.
"This is what lies ahead," Eryth said. "Not fate. But possibility."
Caelum's voice came thin. "Is that what I'll become?"
"That is what you can become," Eryth said. "Unless you choose something else."
Serapha stepped forward. "And what would you have him choose?"
"Knowledge," Eryth said. "A path outside war. The remnants of the Dreamroot left behind echoes—visions, records, memories sealed in places like this. If he follows them, he may find the truth before the Arcanum does."
Caelum stared at him. "And if I don't?"
"Then they will find you," Eryth said. "And rewrite you."
They left the Dome in silence.
Back at their quarters, Caelum sat by the window for a long time.
Serapha finally broke it. "You believe him."
"I don't know," Caelum said. "But that vision… it felt like a memory I forgot I had."
She sat beside him. "If the Dreamroot was real… then the Arcanum buried it for a reason."
He looked at her. "Will you stop me?"
Serapha met his gaze.
"No," she said. "I'll walk with you. Until I can't."