Page 13 of The Alien in the Archive

Damn it.

It’s the first time it’s happened, even though Davina warned me. She said the books might give me trouble, the stacks might change…but the work has been ordinary, besides the voices in my head and that one night with the ghost.

The presence…the man?

I’m still not sure.

I look down at my ID card one more time, trying to see if the map has updated, and I see thatSong of Aethrais now four shelves down, deeper into the archive. Not everything here is labeled, but most of the books have a tracker in the frontcover as they do tend to move around on their own. I keep my eyes on the map as I move closer, hunting for that damn book.

The glow lamps flicker faintly as I weave between the towering shelves. The further I walk, the quieter the Archive becomes, as though the air itself is thickening, muffling every sound. My shoes scuff softly against the stone floor, and even that seems too loud.

When I turn the corner, I find it. Right there.

And it’s…singing.

That seems appropriate for a book calledThe Song of Aethra, yeah—but the singing isn’t noise, not really. It’s resonant, ringing…a psychic residue clinging to the binding.

I glance around nervously, half-expecting someone—or something—to appear. But the corridor is empty, save for the shadows pooling in the gaps between the shelves. My fingers itch to grab the book, but something in me hesitates. The air feels heavier now, like the library itself is holding its breath.

Someone—or something—carried this book here.

Left it for me to find, like a breadcrumb.

And now…I have its scent.

I follow the trail, every misplaced book on today’s list guiding me further into the library. There’sMagick of Mystein the wrong section, then,Mysticism in the Nyeri’i Trinityin another.

Each time, I hesitate before touching the books, almost expecting them to vanish as soon as I reach for them. But they don’t. Instead, they pulse under my touch, a faint, rhythmic vibration that sends a shiver up my arm, as though the books themselves are alive and watching.

The corridor narrows as I move deeper into the archive, the shelves closing in around me. The glow lamps are spaced further apart here, their golden light barely cutting through the darkness. The air grows cooler, and I catch the faint scentof something dark and enticing. It’s subtle, like a whispered memory, but it lingers in my nose, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

My senses pulse faintly, an echo bouncing off unseen walls.

I can’t shake the feeling something is watching me.

No.

Not something.

Someone.

There’s a bookshelf here set in an odd position. I stop dead in my tracks, looking around. I’ve gone somewhere I don’t think I’m supposed to be; there’s a thick layer of dust on everything back here, disturbed by a single set of tracks coming and going.

Toward the bookshelf.

Away.

My breath quickens. The tracks are shallow, like whoever left them was trying not to disturb the dust. I crouch, running my fingers lightly over one of the footprints. It’s too large to be mine, too well-defined to have been left long ago, and—the strangest part—bare.

And that resonance…

I lift my fingers, taking small steps forward. I should go back; this is dangerous. Davina told me that if the library misleads me, I should take it seriously.

But the pull is too strong. It’s not just curiosity, it’s instinct—a visceral need to see this through. My hand hovers over the edge of the shelf, my fingertips brushing the spine of the last book in the row. The hum is louder now, vibrating faintly against my skin.

I touch that last book, swarming with his psychic energy. I pull.

The shelf opens like a door.

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