Page 2 of Hex and the Dragon
The Chronicle's pages turned again, revealing new text that made Ivy's blood run cold:
The crisis merely prepared the way. Your community's pain has made them vulnerable to better promises. Sweeter lies. I offer perfection where chaos reigned.
"Nico," Ivy breathed, setting the Chronicle carefully on her desk and backing away from it. "We need to get Nico. He'll know what this is."
As if summoned by his name, Nico Beaumont appeared in the archive room entrance. Gone was his usual air of amused detachment—his pale face was sharp with alarm, and his normally perfect appearance showed signs of haste. His platinum hair was mussed, his expensive shirt partially untucked, and his breathing suggested he'd run from wherever he'd been when he sensed the magical disturbance.
"The Chronicle," he said without preamble, his gaze fixing on the open book with the intensity of a hunter who'd found dangerous prey. "You opened it."
"I was cataloging the books you brought back," Ivy said defensively. "It opened for me. The pages were blank until..." She gestured toward Dorian.
"Until I arrived," Dorian finished grimly. "And then it started talking to us."
Nico's expression grew even more grim. "It chose you. Both of you." He moved toward the book with careful, deliberate steps, as if approaching a wild animal. "The Chronicle of Echoes isn't just a repository of knowledge. It's a prison. A fragment of something ancient and malevolent was bound inside it centuries ago."
"A fragment of the entity we just defeated?" Ivy asked, though she suspected the answer would be worse than that.
"No." Nico stopped just short of the desk, his hands hovering over the Chronicle without quite touching it. "Something else. Something that learned to mimic the entity's power and fed on the chaos it created. I've been tracking it across multiple supernatural communities for months, following reports of people losing themselves to beautiful dreams and perfect promises."
The book's pages rustled, and new text appeared:
Such passion, dear Beaumont. But you understand so little about what you've found. This is not a prison—it is an invitation. A gift offered to those worthy of transcendence.
"Transcendence," Dorian repeated with a bitter laugh. "Right. Because supernatural beings offering to make everything perfect always have our best interests at heart."
More text flowed across the page, and this time it seemed to be addressing him directly:
Your fire burns wild and uncontrolled, child of dragons. How many have you hurt with that unchecked flame? How many will you fail to protect because you refuse the power to save them? I offer dominion over your nature, mastery over your gifts. I offer the strength to shield everyone you might learn to love.
Ivy saw Dorian's jaw clench, saw the way his hands trembled slightly before he shoved them into his jacket pockets. Whatever the Chronicle was offering, it had found a target that resonated.
"Don't listen to it," Nico warned, though his voice held a note of desperation that suggested they might already be past the point of simple warnings. "The fragment feeds on desire, on the gap between what we have and what we want. It offers perfection because perfection is a trap—a beautiful cage that becomes smaller every day until there's nothing left of who you were."
The Chronicle's responded immediately and cuttingly:
Says the creature who abandoned his responsibilities, who fled when his people needed guidance. Tell them, Beaumont, about the communities that fell while you played at being a simple bookseller. Tell them about the children who chose beautiful dreams over waking nightmares.
Nico's face went white, and Ivy felt a chill slithering through her spine. How many supernatural communities had already fallen to whatever this thing was? How many people had chosen the Chronicle's perfect world over the messy, painful reality of their actual lives?
"It's already started, hasn't it?" she said quietly. "The people in town who've been having unusually vivid dreams lately. Mrs. Patterson at the market, who keeps talking about dreams where her late husband is still alive. The Morrison twins, who've been sleeping sixteen hours a day since the crisis ended."
"The dreams are just the beginning," Nico confirmed. "Once people start preferring the perfect world to the real one..."
"They stop waking up," Dorian finished. "They choose the beautiful lie."
The Chronicle's pages turned one final time, revealing text that seemed to pulse with malevolent satisfaction:
Such clever readers. Yes, the choice will come to all of them, as it comes to you now. But you two are special. You are the keys that will unlock not just this small refuge, but worlds beyond number. Through you, I can offer perfection to every reality that has ever suffered the indignity of chaos.
Choose wisely. Choose soon. The whispers will only grow louder until you surrender to what you were always meant to become.
The text faded, leaving the pages blank once more, but the damage was done. Ivy could feel the Chronicle's presence in her mind like a splinter of ice, offering glimpses of a world where her every question had an answer, where her knowledge could heal instead of simply cataloging the damage others had done.
Beside her, Dorian was rigid with tension, his amber eyes flickering between human and something far more dangerous. The Chronicle had found his weakness too—the fear that his power would hurt the people he cared about, the desperate desire to be a protector instead of a potential threat.
"We can't let it loose in the town," Ivy said, though her voice sounded distant to her own ears. "If it can do this to us after a few minutes..."
"It won't be contained much longer," Nico said grimly. "The Chronicle chooses its readers, and once that bond is formed, it can influence them from any distance. The only question is whether you'll fight its promises or surrender to them."
