Page 79 of The Alien in the Archive

We pass the entrance to our reading nook, not stopping.Page reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it, and I glance back at her.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m…my mind is a bit scrambled today,” I mutter. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Okay,” she says. “You don’t have to.”

We venture further…where the shelves turn from wood to stone, toglass. Borean frostglass, forming the shelves, the lamps that have long gone unlit. It still shines clean and bright in the skylights, glimmering with undertones of blue and violet.

My chest clenches at the sight, the sight of the frostglass pulling something loose inside me, something I hadn’t realized was buried. Memories…fragments of sensation. The cool hum of Borean ships beneath my feet, before they were repurposed for warfare; the sound of voices speaking in my native tongue.

Page’s grip tightens. “I’m with you,” she whispers.

I glance back at her. I don’t have the words to express something beyond a simple thank you.

But as I look back at her, the fragments swirl faster…her face blurs, replaced for a split second by another, then another. Friends I had, students, colleagues…and somehow, I never loved anyone as I love her.

Finally, we reach the door—the door I knew was here, buried in my memories. It’s heavy, ornate, carved with an interwoven mosaic of Borean, Merati, and Skoll iconography. Unlike the rest of the Obscuary, it isn’t dusty at all; it glimmers in the middle of a dark stone wall, as if it’s speaking to us.

“This is incredible,” Page breathes. She releases my hand to step closer, her voice soft and reverent. “It’s…where’s all the dust?”

“It’s made of frostglass,” I murmur, approaching carefully. “Borean craftsmanship; we used it for our spacecraft and orbital stations. It repels debris.”

“So…what is this?” she asks. “A ship?”

“No,” I say. “It’s…”

But I trail off as I touch the mosaic. My fingers land on the cool surface, and the sensation strikes something deep, a jolt of recognition—as if there’s ancient psychic resonance on the glass, touching my mind. Images flood through me: the glow of frostglass corridors, the hum of engines and conversation.

And with a low rumble, the door rumbles and begins to open inward.

Page grabs my hand again, and I can feel her shaking—not with fear, but anticipation. My future stands beside me, steady and breathing, even as my past pulls at me from just ahead. I thought I had nothing left to find in the cosmos—no place, no person—but she’s here.

My anchor.

Ashlan seems entirely unimpressed as he leaps ahead into the newly revealed room. It’s bright compared to the rest of the Obscuary, and Page and I both shield our eyes.

“This is…” she starts…then exhales. “Oh…”

The sight is breathtaking.

It’s a reading room, untouched by time. The air is cool and still, carrying the faint scent of paper, ink, vellum. Curved shelves line the circular space, filled with books, tablets, and scrolls, their titles written in myriad languages. A massive table dominates the center of the room, its surface inlaid with…something. A map, if memory serves.

Page steps forward beside me, her breath catching as her gaze sweeps over the room.

“Oh my God,” she whispers.

We walk together toward the table, my eyes drawn to the top. I realize it’s a map of the cosmos, labeled constellationsmoving outward from Yrsa’s Cradle. And there, in each one…tiny markers indicate the locations of wellsprings, and the names of the temples built around them. Sacred sites, before we destroyed them.

And covens—the ancient groups of scholars and mystics Page has been searching for.

“This is why I came here,” I murmur.

“Thorne, this is…” Page is staring down at the map, unable to look away. “How did you find this place?”

“Because I was here when it was built,” I reply, voice quiet.

She finally looks up at me, disbelieving. “What?”

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