The door shut behind me.
Not with a slam—but a breath.
Like the room itself exhaled.
The air was thick, colder than death but not lifeless.
Because something watched.
The walls weren't walls.
They were shelves—carved from black stone and bone.
No books. No scrolls.
Only names.
Each etched onto strips of tattered cloth, glass jars, rusted coins, teeth, and even spiderwebs preserved in crystal.
Names stored like artifacts.
Some glowing faintly.
Others pulsing like hearts still beating.
Verelith's voice followed me.
It didn't echo. It clung.
"This is my Archive, Elias."
"Every name that has been offered, broken, stolen, or cursed lives here."
"Some are still screaming."
I turned a corner.
And saw one.
A name pinned to a wax-sealed doll.
It was whispering—begging—for forgiveness.
But the mouth stitched shut with copper thread could only mutter vowels through muffled fabric.
I kept walking.
The Archive wasn't linear.
It spiraled.
Bending space, twisting gravity.
At one point, I found myself walking up a wall, the floor falling away behind me.
But I didn't fall.
The Archive wanted me to continue.
I passed chambers lit by floating lanterns filled with black flame.
In one room, dozens of children's shoes lay in a perfect circle, each holding a shard of name-glass.
One of the shards had my initials etched inside.
"This is where the stolen names rest," Verelith said softly.
"Names given too young. Taken too soon. Traded without consent."
I stopped at a large basin carved from obsidian.
Inside floated hundreds of paper boats.
Each bore a single name.
Some I recognized—people from the apartment complex.
Others… mine.
Dozens of them.
Each written in different handwriting.
Different years.
Different languages.
"You've existed before," Verelith said behind me. "In fragments."
"Each time, you sought us out. Each time, you paid the price."
"This is your seventh incarnation."
I spun around.
She was there now.
Not a reflection.
Not a voice.
But in full form.
Tall.
Wearing a cloak of names, stitched together with hair and ink.
Her eyes weren't eyes.
They were voids filled with mirrors.
When I looked into them, I saw every moment I'd ever lived—out of order, overlapping, contradicting.
"You cursed me," I said. "You bound me."
"No, Elias. You signed."
"You always sign."
"That's what you do."
She stepped forward and offered a scroll.
I didn't want to take it.
But my hand moved on its own.
The paper was warm.
Sticky.
Alive.
It unraveled itself.
And there it was:
My contract.
But not the one I remembered.
This one was older.
Dated 1672.
Sealed in wax bearing Verelith's sigil.
My name written in crimson:
"Elias Marr."
Below it:
"Offering: Soul Fragment #3."
"Compensation: Passage Through the Realms."
I read further.
And saw a signature.
My signature.
Written in my handwriting.
Centuries before I was born.
I staggered back.
"No. That's not—"
"Real?" Verelith interrupted. "It is. Just not in your current timeline."
I stared at the scroll.
Each word felt like it was pressing into my skin, branding itself into my bones.
I had done this before.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Time wasn't linear in the Archive.
Souls didn't reincarnate—they recycled.
Reused.
Fragments passed along like cursed heirlooms.
"Why show me this now?" I asked.
"Because your seventh contract is incomplete."
"You broke the cycle."
"You remembered too early."
She placed a finger on my forehead.
And for a moment, I saw all my past selves.
Some were scholars.
Others criminals.
One… a priest who had betrayed an entire village for a chance to glimpse the Market.
In every life, I had sought forbidden knowledge.
And every time, I paid with a piece of myself.
"You have one choice left," Verelith said.
"Finish the contract… or burn the Archive."
I stared at her.
Surely, I misheard.
"You're giving me the option to destroy this place?"
She nodded.
"Every soul who signs a seventh contract gains the power of undoing."
"It is rare. Dangerous. Final."
I stepped toward the center of the Archive.
The air pulsed.
The walls shivered.
The names trembled.
Every soul remembered me.
Some began to weep.
Others to scream.
"If you choose destruction," Verelith whispered, "you will lose everything. This life. Your memories. Your purpose."
"You'll return to the cycle—without identity, without anchor."
"But you'll be free."
I turned to her.
Heart racing.
Mind spiraling.
"And if I finish the contract?"
"You become one of us."
The Archive offered me a torch.
Its flame was pale blue.
Cold.
But powerful.
I took it.
Held it in shaking hands.
And stared at the shelves.
So many names.
So many lives.
So many echoes of who I'd been and who I could be.
I raised the flame.
Paused.
Then—
I blew it out.
Verelith didn't scream.
Didn't lash out.
She smiled.
Just once.
Sad.
Proud.
And whispered:
"Then may your memory remain yours, Elias."
The Archive shimmered—
And vanished.