The Archive was the most secure place in all the cosmos—a vault of infinite knowledge, guarded by beings older than time itself. Its halls stretched beyond comprehension, shelves upon shelves of forbidden tomes, prophecies etched in fire, and histories written in languages long forgotten. But at its heart lay the one thing no living soul was permitted to touch: “The Book of Names.”
No one knew what it truly contained. Some whispered it held the true names of every being that ever was or would be. Others claimed it was the ledger of fate itself, where every destiny was inscribed in unbreakable ink. The penalty for reading it was absolute: death, or something far worse.
Lira had spent three years infiltrating the Archive. Disguised as a scribe, she had memorized the patterns of the Watchers -- tall, hooded figures who moved in perfect silence, their faces hidden beneath endless shadow. They did not speak, did not eat, did not sleep. They simply “watched.”
She had no interest in power, no hunger for forbidden knowledge. She was here for one reason only: her sister, Nara, was dying.
The healers had failed. The alchemists had failed. Even the whispered prayers to long-dead gods had gone unanswered. The Book of Names was her last hope.
Tonight, she would break the one unbreakable rule.
---
The Archive was coldest just before the changing of the Watchers. Lira had timed it perfectly -- three hours between rotations, a blind spot in their endless vigilance. She slipped between towering shelves, her breath shallow, her fingers brushing against the spines of books that hummed with dormant power.
The heart of the Archive was a circular chamber, its walls lined with silver glyphs that pulsed like distant stars. At its centre stood a pedestal of black stone, and upon it rested the Book.
It was smaller than she expected. The cover was dark as the void between worlds, its surface etched with silver runes that flickered like dying embers. The air around it “warped”, as if the Book existed slightly outside of reality.
Lira hesitated.
“No living soul may read the Book of Names.”
The penalty was death. Or worse.
She thought of Nara -- her laugh, the way she had always been the brave one, the one who had shielded Lira from the world’s cruelties. Now Nara lay still, her breath shallow, her skin pale as parchment. The healers had said there was no cure. But the Book… the Book “knew” all things.
Lira reached out.
The moment her fingers touched the cover, the runes blazed white. A sound like a thousand tolling bells filled the chamber, shaking the shelves, sending ancient volumes crashing to the floor. Somewhere in the distance, she felt the Watchers stir.
She had seconds.
With trembling hands, she opened the Book.
---
There were no words. No pages.
Instead, “voices” poured forth -- whispers, screams, laughter, weeping -- all overlapping, all speaking at once. They filled her skull, reverberating through her bones. She couldn’t understand them, couldn’t grasp their meaning -- until one voice rose above the rest.
“Lira."
Her own name.
The Book “knew” her.
And then --
She “saw.”
Not with her eyes, but with something deeper, something primal. Threads of gold and shadow stretched infinitely in every direction, weaving and unravelling, knotting and fraying. Lives. Choices. Possibilities. The Book was not just a record.
It “was” the universe.
And she was standing inside its heart.
A hand clamped down on her shoulder.
She turned. A Watcher loomed over her, its hooded face an abyss of darkness. No eyes, no mouth -- just an endless, hungry void.
"You have broken the rule," it intoned, its voice like stone grinding against stone.
Lira expected death. Instead, the Watcher leaned closer.
"Now you must fix it."
The world dissolved.
---
When she opened her eyes, she was no longer in the Archive.
She stood in an endless expanse, a sea of stars stretching in every direction. The Book floated before her, silent now, its runes dim.
A figure emerged from the dark.
A woman.
Her own face -- but older. Weary. Eyes that had seen too much.
"You weren’t supposed to read it," the woman said.
Lira’s breath caught. "Who are you?"
"You. From another thread."
The words settled like a weight in her chest.
"What happens now?" she whispered.
The other Lira smiled, but there was no joy in it. Only resignation.
"Now you become what you sought to defy."
The truth struck her like a blade.
The Watchers were not just guardians.
They were the punished.
Those who had broken the rule and been cursed to guard it for eternity.
The Book pulsed once, a heartbeat of light, and Lira felt it -- the weight of infinity pressing down on her. Her skin hardened, her thoughts stretched thin across time. She could feel the threads of fate brushing against her, could hear the whispers of every soul that reached for the Book in desperation.
She had wanted to save one life.
Now she would watch over all of them.
And the next time a desperate soul reached for the Book, she would be the one to stop them.
The cycle continued.
The rule remained unbroken.
Somewhere, far away, Nara took her last breath.
And Lira --
Lira “watched.”
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