Page 134 of The Alien in the Archive

The murmurs swell to outrage, punctuated by sharp gasps of disbelief. A ripple of shock runs through theTribunal, their stoic expressions faltering. I hear scattered thoughts crashing together, fragments of hurt and rage and doubt.

Impossible…

—she’s wrong.

The Merati wouldn’t!

Thalara’s hands tremble around her datapad, but she just keeps getting louder, gaining steam. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?” she asks. “How else would idols of Yrsa, stolen from Skoll settlements, have ended up in the royal palace on Triton? Or Nyeri’i sacred texts, buried in Merati tombs far beneath the waves of Tortuga? I knew it would be hard to hear, but history is rarely as simple or as clean as we would like to believe.”

Her gaze sweeps across the Tribunal, lingering on Administrator Kyral. “The Merati aristocracy was fractured by those alliances. Some resisted the Borean Empire. Others chose to profit from it.” She pauses, letting her words sink in. “The records were buried—but they survived, scattered across forgotten archives. Hidden even from ourselves. Until now.”

Administrator Kyral’s silver brows draw together in a sharp line, his expression unreadable. The faint glow in his pale skin dims as he processes her words. “You make a dangerous claim, Lady Seviris.”

“I make a truthful one, Administrator.” Thalara doesn’t back down, almost like she’s strengthened by Kyral using her title. “The existence of Borean dissenters complicates the narrative even further. This man,” she turns to gesture toward Thorne, standing motionless at the center of the chamber, “was part of something bigger than himself. A collaborative effort between Boreans, Merati, and Skoll.”

Another wave of whispers fills the air, but Thalara pushes on, growing bolder with each word. “I have cross-referenced my findings with those Professor Ferhalda uncovered in the Obscuary. Together, they paint a new picture—one of resistancewithinthe Empire. One that challenges the assumption that all Boreans were unified in conquest.”

Her words cut through the noise like a knife. The crowd begins to quiet again, curiosity tempering their skepticism.

Thalara straightens her shoulders, her voice rising. “You call Thorne Valtheris a fugitive. But what if he is something more? What if his story is a key—a chance to understand the mistakes of the past and prevent them from repeating?” She looks back at Thorne, her gaze softening. “He has knowledge that no one else alive possesses. And knowledge is more powerful than war.”

Professor Rhyss stiffens in his seat, but he says nothing. Again, I catch a glimpse of doubt…and even curiosity. Kyral’s gaze narrows slightly, and I can feel the tension in the air shift.

Thalara lowers her datapad to her side. “If we silence him, we silence the voices of everyone who fought against tyranny. Everyone who lost their lives to it. That is not justice. It is willful ignorance.”

The chamber is silent now. No more whispers, no more angry thoughts crashing into me. Just Thalara, standing in the center of it all, radiating determination.

She dips her head in a small bow before returning to her seat. Riley reaches for her hand as she settles beside him, giving it a quiet squeeze.

I want to cheer for her, but I can’t. My throat is too tight, my chest too heavy.

Because now, all eyes turn to Thorne.

The guards step back, and Thorne steps forward to the center of the room. For a moment, he simply stands there, looking out at the Tribunal, at the gathered scholars, atus. His silver eyes catch the light like polished glass, unblinking and unreadable.

He looks at me once…and my heart plummets.

He’s about to shoot himself in the foot, and I can’t do anything to stop him.

“Dr. Rhyss is right,” he says.

The air leaves my lungs in one hard rush. I want to scream at him, but I know better than to interrupt. I can’t help him if I’m in prison too, I’ll need to stay free if I want to advocate for him.

Thorne keeps going. “I was part of the Magisterium. I knew what was happening, what the Empire was becoming. And I was too much of a coward to fight back.”

Rhyss stiffens, his tendrils flicking. The murmurs rise again, more confused this time. Thorne doesn’t flinch.

“I ran,” he continues, his voice steady but heavy with grief, “when my people began preparing for the Convergence. I saw what was coming and I left. I fled to the Obscuary, where I hid while the galaxy burned.” He pauses, closing his eyes as though the memory itself is a weight he cannot bear. “That silence was my greatest sin.”

The murmurs hush. Even the minds around me—so loud and disjointed moments before—are quiet now.

“But hiding,” Thorne says, opening his eyes again, “was not the end of my story. It was not the end of the Obscuary’s story. What was built there was not simply a vault. It was apromise.A promise that knowledge—true knowledge—would survive. And I will not allow my silence to cost more lives.”

He lifts his chin, his voice ringing out, stronger now. “I am not asking for forgiveness. I do not deserve it. But I will give you everything I know. I fully intended to let myself die in the Obscuary, to allow my legacy to vanish with me…but I was convinced to emerge. And now, I will translate every word, every record. I will ensure that the mistakes of my people are remembered so that they are not repeated. That is the only atonement I can offer.”

He bows his head, just slightly. “Please. Let me do this.”

The room is still.

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