The rain did not fall like water. It fell like ink, heavy, sluggish, blackish. It stained the cobblestone streets of the city, blurring the line between night and the inky abyss that shrouded the world.
Severus Ezren stood on the ledge of a gutted window, seven floors above the city of Kaldris. His skin as pale as the pages of his book. The drops clung to his dark hair, forming rivulets that ran down the contours of his face and revealed the metallic gleam in his deep-set gray eyes.
He suddenly felt an eerie silence in the streets below him, as if the sound itself had been extinguished. The usual cacophony of the nightlife, the whispers of shadows and the murmurs of the cobblestone streets, had all ceased to exist.
"The Auditors..." Severus murmured to himself, his eyes scanning the deserted alleyways. The air grew colder, and the rain's tempo increased. His hand clenched around the worn leather cover of the book, the ancient symbols etched into it pulsating gently with an unsettling energy.
He watched them from above, his chin lowered, his shoulders hunched under the weight of his wet leather coat.
Suddenly, a quill floated in front of him, spinning and twirling in the air as if it were a living being with a will of its own. It was made of black obsidian and shimmered menacingly even in the dim light. Severus had seen such a sight before, but never had he been so close, nor felt its presence so strongly. The quill danced and twisted, casting eerie shadows on the wet stones. It was a sign from the Auditors, a harbinger of their judgment that would soon be passed.
„The Chancellery of Truths had probably sent them." Severus thought, his mind racing as he considered his next move. He knew that the Auditors were not to be trifled with, people that dwelled in the interstices of the world, ensuring that the narratives remained true to their intended course.
A few hours ago he had spoken to an informant in one of the houses in which they appeared.
"They're reacting faster than I expected," he mumbled into the collar of his coat. "So my assumption was correct... they're looking for me!"
Suddenly a voice sounded. Whispering, calm, with a sarcastic tone. „The Chancellery is groping for you, Severus. Wants to reintegrate you. Tell me, how does that make you feel?"
He blinked. The voice wasn't on the outside, it was inside his mind. Intrusion, unwelcome and unannounced, echoed in his thoughts.
It rarely spoke to him, and when it did, it was always in the same tone. Sober, like an analyst. Untouched by emotion, but infinitely old.
„I feel... resistance." Severus replied to the intrusive voice, his eyes narrowing in defiance.
The quill stopped its dance and pointed directly at him, as if it had heard his silent response. He knew that the Auditors were notorious for their ability to hear thoughts, especially when they were as loud as screams in one's own mind.
With a metallic crack, the quill split into five separate segments, each one morphing into a sharp-edged feather that grew longer and thinner. The feathers hovered in the air before his eyes, whirring like a flock of arrows released from a quiver. They twisted and turned, their pointed tips gleaming with the same ominous light that emanated from the quill.
Four figures emerged from the alley, their folded coat sleeves fluttering like the wings of giant moths in the dark. Their faces were smooth, almost papery in appearance, as if they had been crafted from the very fabric of the stories they enforced. The Auditors had found him, and they approached with a grace that belied the gravity of their intentions.
The quills hovering before Severus grew restless, the ink they dripped pooling on the windowsill. Each drop grew into a tendril, reaching for the stone like the roots of a dark tree, connecting to the ground and stretching into an intricate pattern. The pattern grew more complex, forming a swirling maelstrom of shadow and ink.
The inky substance began to coalesce, spinning faster and faster until it formed a vortex. The metallic scent of fresh ink filled the air, mingling with the dampness of the rain, creating an alchemical bouquet that was both enticing and nauseating.
From the whirling abyss of the ink, a hand emerged, long-fingered and bone-white, reaching out to him like a ghostly apparition. Severus felt his heart pound in his chest. The hand grew an arm, and then a figure began to pull itself through the shadowy rift.
The first Auditor appeared before him, his paper-thin skin stretched over a frame of bone, a parody of the human form. His eyes, which appeared to be two pools of black ink, stared at Severus with an unwavering gaze. The mouth, a thin line that never quite formed into a smile, opened slightly to reveal pointed teeth.
"Severus Ezren," it spoke, the voice distorted, as if echoing from the depths of the abyss itself. "You are outside the Sacred Line. You are hereby summoned to appear in Court."
Severus spat into the wind, "Good news, Mr. Auditor. I'm not in the mood for authority right now."
With a flick of his wrist, he pulled a handwritten page from his book, its edges glowing with an unnatural light. The runes etched upon it were not mere scribbles, they looping and twisting in a dance. They moved like serpents, weaving in and out of each other, creating patterns that shifted and changed before his eyes. The page was wet from the rain, but the ink remained vibrant and unblemished.
"If you're reading me... you're already in doubt." he muttered, letting it disappear into his hand.
It's coat flickered and an alternative life path emerged before his very eyes. A parallel version of himself, in which he never went to the Chancellery of Truths, but became a gardener.
The Auditor's eyes widened, and the ink from its mouth grew thicker, spilling out onto its chin. It took a step backward, stumbling over the writhing tendrils of shadow that had once been the quill.
The scream that tore through the silent night was not one of pain but of pure existential horror. The creature of narrative integrity was witnessing the unthinkable.
Someone was able to harm him, not on a physical level, but psychologically, to the point that he questioned his existence. The paper-thin veneer cracked, and the Auditor's form began to warp and distort.
Severus watched as it's face melted into a tapestry of inkblots, the features swirling and morphing into an abstract expression of fear and anger. It was a sight that could make even the most stoic of souls recoil in horror. The creature's body followed suit, its limbs stretching and snapping like dry twigs in a bonfire, until it was nothing but a writhing mass of shadowy tendrils.
But Severus had no time to revel in his momentary victory. The whispers grew louder, the echoes of other Auditors approaching. He knew that the more of them that gathered, the more difficult it would be to elude their grasp. With a deep breath, he took the chance and retreated before the other three appeared. He stepped backward, off the windowsill, and let himself fall.
The quills followed him, their shadows stretching out like elongated fingers trying to snatch at his ankles. The air rushed past his ears, a symphony of whispers. The ground grew closer, yet he remained untouched by the tendrils of ink.
Just before he hit the ground, he tore a page out of his book, which was also inscribed with runes. He muttered the words quietly, let the page disappear before his eyes and stretched his hand towards the approaching ground.
Suddenly the ground in front of him disappeared and he landed in a different scene. An old train station filled with fog. No train and no human life either.
Severus rolled onto his feet, the impact absorbed. The Auditors' shadows grew fainter, as if the very fabric of their being had been torn by the sudden shift.
„Clever trick," the whispered voice inside his mind spoke again. „But you can't run forever."