The Archive was huge.
Not just tall — tangled.
Like a tower built by someone who thought spelling bees and structural engineering were the same thing. It shimmered with layered letters in every language I'd never passed in class. The roof was shaped like an ink bottle, and the doors kept rewriting themselves every few seconds like they couldn't make up their mind.
Aari walked in like she owned the place. I stumbled in behind her like a tourist who accidentally wandered into a university mid-exam season.
Inside?
It smelled like chutney, burnt paper, and stress.
Scrolls flapped through the air like birds with deadlines. Books floated past whispering things like "Not now, I'm dramatic!" and "Don't conjugate me!" Quills scribbled spells in languages I didn't recognize — probably ancient... or Dutch.
At the center sat a man in a long coat and glasses, sipping tea from a cracked mug.
> "Unregistered," he said the second I stepped in.
> "Wow, that obvious?"
> "You radiate 'newbie who almost exploded someone.'"
> "...Accurate."
He stood slowly. His name was Rayleigh, and he looked like he'd seen one too many magical accidents but still hadn't given up on tea.
> "Come. Let's see how bad it is."
He gestured to a practice circle. I stood awkwardly in it while he handed me a scroll. Aari sat off to the side, already doodling on a spellbook.
> "Petit feu," I said.
A tiny firelight bloomed above my palm.
Rayleigh nodded slowly.
> "You're a disaster. But a manageable disaster."
We moved through a few more scrolls. I messed up once and summoned a blast of warm air that knocked a floating book into Aari's hair. She didn't flinch.
> "Do that again and I'll turn you into grammar homework," she said calmly.
Then came the announcement.
A student ran in, out of breath, holding a parchment.
> "Guild agents," she said. "They raided the west side. Burned down a bakery. Said they killed a witch using forbidden singing spells."
Rayleigh paused mid-sip. Just a second.
> "They're getting bold," he murmured.
> "Wait," I said, "Singing spells are real?"
> "Very rare," Rayleigh said. "And very feared. Songs that bend reality are hard to control. Most consider them dangerous folklore."
> "So… she really sang and cast spells with it?"
> "So the Guild claims."
> "Why'd they burn her bakery though?"
> "Control. Fear. Image. Doesn't matter," he said. "Stay away from Guild politics, Leo. They don't play fair."
Aari stared into her scrollbag, brows furrowed.
> "What kind of songs do that?" I asked.
> "The old kind," Rayleigh replied. "The ones people try to forget."
He turned away, muttering something in a language that made the wall flicker.
And somewhere, deep in my gut, something stirred.
Like a half-remembered melody waiting to be sung.
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