The sewers of Lumin Hollow smelled like rotting parchment and old coins. Aeris waded through knee-deep water, her boots scraping against something brittle—a shattered inkwell, perhaps, or the ribs of a drowned rat. The flickering torch in her hand cast warped shadows on the curved brick walls, turning every ripple into a grasping hand.

  "You’re sure this is the way?" she muttered, though she already knew the answer.

  Behind her, Master Tellen’s blindfold fluttered like a moth’s wings. His staff tapped the water’s surface, each ripple echoing oddly, as if the sound were traveling upward instead of out. "Certainty is the first lie archives tell," he said. "But yes. The Sunken Archive prefers entrances that… discourage the impatient."

  Ahead, the tunnel narrowed into a jagged archway, its keystone carved with a single word:

  DROWNED.

  The water beyond was black and still. Aeris hesitated. The last time she’d ventured into the Archive, she’d left with Virellia’s secrets festering in her chest like splinters. Now, with Sorin’s willow crown heavy in her satchel (why had she kept it? Why couldn’t she throw it away?), the silence felt like a dare.

  She stepped forward. The water swallowed her to the waist.

  The Archive was a cathedral of decay. Books floated in the murk, their spines bloated, ink bleeding into the water like smoke. Shelves leaned like drunkards, their contents half-submerged, pages dissolving as Aeris brushed past. The air tasted of salt and mildew, thick with the whisper of unread words.

  "Careful," Tellen murmured. "Some stories drown so others can float."

  A figure emerged from the shadows—a woman with hair like wet seaweed and eyes the color of fog. Neri. Her fingers trailed over the books as she passed, as if reading their titles through touch alone.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  "You’re new," Neri said, though her voice held no curiosity. "Or old. It’s hard to recall."

  Aeris scowled. "We’re here for the Hollow King’s records. The ones the Sanctum tried to erase."

  Neri’s laugh was a dry thing, brittle as a bird’s bones. "Ah. The king who wore his scars like a crown." She plucked a book from the water; its pages crumbled at her touch. "There’s a poem about him, you know. ‘Nothing lasts—not even kings, not even thieves, not even me.’"

  Aeris’s pulse spiked. That line—it matched the screaming lullaby from Kael’s music box. "Who wrote it?"

  "Someone who forgot," Neri said, drifting away. "Or someone who was forgotten. The difference is academic."

  Tellen guided Aeris deeper into the Archive, his staff clicking against submerged tile. "You’re not reading history here," he warned. "It’s reading you."

  Then they found the mural.

  It spanned an entire wall, its colors muted by time but still horrifyingly clear: the Hollow King, his face obscured by a cracked mask, holding his own severed hand. The wound dripped gold—paint, or something worse. Beneath him, a child reached up, their features deliberately smudged.

  Aeris’s breath hitched. "That’s Sorin’s voice," she realized. "In the memory orb. He said, ‘You were never supposed to wake up.’"

  She reached out, her fingers hovering over the king’s mask. The moment she touched it, the paint moved—gold streaking down the wall like tears. The water at their feet shimmered, reflecting not the mural, but a memory:

  A silver-haired woman pressing a dagger into Sorin’s hands.

  A whisper: "When the time comes, remind him."

  A child screaming—

  The vision shattered. The water was rising.

  "We need to go," Tellen said sharply.

  Aeris didn’t argue. The Archive groaned around them, shelves trembling, books slipping into the dark. But as they turned to leave, a sound cut through the chaos:

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  From inside the shelves.

  Neri appeared beside them, her face eerily calm. "Oh," she said. "That’s the other librarian."

  Aeris’s blood turned to ice. "What?"

  "The one who remembers everything." Neri smiled. "Even the things that didn’t happen."

  The knocking grew louder. Something scraped against the wood from within.

  Tellen grabbed Aeris’s arm. "Run."

  The water surged waist-high, then chest-high, as the Archive swallowed itself behind them.