Omen of a Bluebell

He leans back once more, pondering what to say next, and I wait.

When he speaks again, he asks a question. “Do you have a storage device?”

I quirk a brow at him, confused at the topic shift, but nod anyways.

“I apologize for the query, but this could make things easier if it works out. May I analyze it?” he continues.

For a moment, I almost say no. But he already knows I’m the System Waker, so the Starlight Bangle’s description won’t surprise him. And soulbound items can’t truly be stolen, anyway.

That said… I’ve never tried to take it off.

I reach up, wondering how I might go about removing it, only for it to instantly appear in my hand without fanfare.

Just like when I first saw it, the polished black chains and silvery-blue gems sparkle like the night sky before inverting, shifting into silver-blue metal and black gems. Seeing it again like this, I can’t help but be somewhat captivated.

Though it weighs almost nothing, the weight missing from my ear still feels strange. I give my ear a purposeful flick, and the lack of the familiar tinkling of metal on metal makes me frown. On impulse, I flick my right ear and hear a relieving tinkle of metal, courtesy of the Courtesan's Keepsake.

When I look back up, I find the bearkin holding his hand out patiently, so I place it in his palm and watch as he pulls back. His eyes seem to sparkle for the briefest of moments, and I see a small stream of mana wash over the Starlight Bangle.

Then he nods, seemingly satisfied, and holds it out to me. I take it back a bit too quickly before willing it to be returned to my ear once more. For whatever reason, the familiar weight calms me, and I give my left ear another flick just to hear the metal and feel the rightness of it.

I know I can’t actually lose it, but it’s still nerve wracking to just… hand it over. Even if the person holding it is seemingly trustworthy, my entire life is tucked inside of the Starlight Bangle.

“That simplifies things greatly. As a soulbound item, it will be impossible to steal anything within, even if someone manages to take it from you,” he says, nodding slowly.

Then he leans forward and disables the privacy enchantments before quickly standing. I stare, confused, as he quickly steps over to whisper to Bella, whose eyes widen with surprise for a moment. Her composure returns almost instantly, and she gives him a nod before narrowing her eyes at me.

Then she seems to sense the mood I'm in, as her gaze flickers into one of concern.

I just give her a nod, unable and unwilling to speak much more on what's got me so twisted up.

The bearkin returns to my side and holds his hand out once more. I take it, though with much less hesitation now. He walks us to a door opposite the entrance.

I try to remove my hand from his as we arrive before it, but his grip tightens. “Please, hold on for a moment. Without my escort, you will not be able to pass through safely.”

So… I hold on. It’s a little awkward, and I feel like a child next to his towering form, but I don’t feel like finding out what could make things unsafe for me.

The door is white, like most of this place, with a gold trim and handle that clearly isn’t just for decoration.

Runes swirl in intricate patterns across its surface, as if they’re alive and flowing along some unseen river. Their pale blue glow doesn’t distract me from their complexity, though. Much like the Temple of the Fallen dungeon, and the runes on the living statues, these seem layered atop one another.

Just not quite as absurdly complex as the ones in the Dungeon.

“The Archivist’s Lock,” he says quietly. “Forgive the delay, but I will speak more once we are within its seal.”

For a moment I stare in wonder, and try to use Relic Whisperer to identify it, but a surprising result comes back. Just like Bella’s compass, I get very little.

The Archivist’s Lock

Ascended

Enchantments:

Unknown

When his free hand touches the handle, the runes flare bright, their light rippling down the frame before dimming again to their steady glow. It opens smoothly, and inside I see a narrow corridor between two enormous bookshelves.

The air shifts the moment we step through, and he finally releases my hand. The door closes on its own behind us soundlessly.

For just a moment, I'm too awed by the vision before me to be angry about anything.

On the bookshelves, countless tomes slide along invisible tracks, exchanging places with a quiet and almost mechanical grace. Runes flicker along the spines as they do, linking each book to the shelves and each to the other through faint threads of mana.

Looking up, I find that there is no visible ceiling. The bookshelves simply grow higher and higher, until eventually fading into a fog of mana and light. That’s when I really look at the mana.

It’s so dense that, now that I’m paying attention to it, I can almost feel it on my skin.

Where the trains ran the ambient mana into a river of conformity, the mana here is tied together in strange knots, making it look like a physical body of liquid.

I wave a hand through the air on impulse, half expecting resistance, but there’s nothing. My fingers slip through as if through mist, with no sensation other than that of air itself.

I feel ridiculous a second later. Even children know mana isn’t physical.

I peek at the bearkin, hoping he didn’t see, only to find him smiling gently at me. My cheeks heat with embarrassment, and I quickly turn away to continue looking.

I can’t even imagine what kind of enchantments control something like this, so I use Relic Whisperer.

In the same moment that I realize Relic Whisperer can cost mana, nearly half of the mana in my tail vanishes and my head feels as though it’s been split in two.

The Skill fails, and I crash to my hands and knees in a bout of dizziness and exhaustion, gasping for air. For whatever reason, even with Total Suppression taking my pain down to a measly two percent, this kind of pain is… different.

Deeper, and unsettling. Like there's a chunk of my reality just... missing.

The bearkin is there, hand on my back, patting and rubbing gently. His mouth moves and I know he's speaking to me, but I can’t hear anything through the ringing in my ears.

That’s when my eyes catch on something even stranger through the spinning world.

Another him walks down the corridor toward us.

Then another. And another.

Each one moves in perfect sync, the air thickening with mana after each arrival until it feels like the world itself is holding its breath along with me. Ten. Twenty. Thirty—more and more file into the corridor, making their way to the bearkin at my side.

Then the first doppelganger stops before him, reaches out, and presses a palm against his shoulder. In that instant of contact, the copy... unravels.

Did I break my mind?

Stare, struggling to focus on what's happening around me through this soul-wrenching wrongness I feel, and his edges fray into motes of light that swirl like ash caught in the wind. Then, as if pulled by some unseen force, it all flows forward, drawn into the original and absorbed.

A ripple shudders through the mana when they merge. A silent pulse that makes my fur stand on end. The next copy follows, and another after that, each dissolving more cleanly than the last until it’s like watching water run through a funnel.

By the time the last of them is gone, the air hums with power. The runes carved into the shelves seem to glow brighter in resonance, as though acknowledging his presence.

That’s when I realize I can hear again, and that most of the wrongness has faded. Not completely gone yet, but I can feel myself recovering quickly.

Then I realize that Sense Danger has chosen this moment to go completely berserk.

The scent of ozone that warned me of his strength earlier is now overpowering, making it feel as though the air around me has turned molten with sheer potential energy.

Invisible hands grip my lungs, forcing me to hold as still as possible, lest the monster at my side spot me and choose to take umbrage with my mere existence. I can feel that it’s not that he’s actually threatening me in any way—it’s just that he simply is threatening.

For the first time in months, I feel like I did before the System Update. Like if I say the wrong thing, or make the wrong move, someone could turn me to paste on the ground with a casual slap.

Then, as suddenly as I realized it was there, the feeling fades and I can breathe again. My heart races with adrenaline, but I manage to calm myself down enough to take slow, deep breaths.

I take a moment to center myself, using my Meditation Skill to drown out the signals Sense Danger is giving me.

I’ve dealt with situations like this my entire life. I can do it again.

As I settle, he continues to gently rub my back, as if he’s trying to comfort me despite being the cause of all of this.

I look over to him and narrow my eyes, then catch sight of his tag.

It changed.

The Archivist

Level ????

Wait, what?

“Are you feeling better now?” he asks, extending his other hand to me.

I don’t know why, but part of me expected him to sound different after everything I'd just witnessed. But he doesn't. His tone is still that deep baritone, with a soft growl rumbling beneath it.

Thankfully, whatever knocked me on my ass isn’t affecting me anymore. My head no longer feels like it’s being cracked open by a brick enchanted to inflict extra pain, and that deep wrongness has vanished without a trace.

“Maybe?” I say, taking his hand.

He nods. “Your soul is remarkably resilient. I apologize for not warning you against attempting to inspect the Archives. I didn’t believe your skill was strong enough to trigger the defensive enchantments.”

My soul?! What in the hells happened to my soul?

His eyes flick over me searchingly, as if seeing past me entirely. After a moment, he nods again and smiles faintly.

“Regardless, any damage dealt to your soul has already healed. You have an impressive Skill, there," he says, actually sounding impressed.

His comment immediately brings to mind the Mind, Body, Soul skill, which has saved me at least three—no, four times now.

"Now, if you would please follow me."

I do. Even after the calm returns, the echo of the power that struck me down lingers in my chest like a warning, and I shudder from the memory of it.

He leads me toward the open space beyond the shelves, where a single desk rests at its heart. Two chairs sit opposite each other, and he takes the larger of the two, gesturing for me to take the other.

All around it are countless corridors of shelves much like the one we'd just come from, where at the end of each rests another intricately carved door. For a moment, I can't help but wonder if it's some kind of portal that we just walked through.

“Now then,” he begins, folding his hands before him, “let me first clarify some things.”

His voice carries no weight or command this time, like it did when he explained ‘Omens’ to me. But still, I listen.

“The price to purchase an Omen is two of its own in kind because of the danger they pose to whoever might learn them, the world at large, or both,” he says, his gaze boring into my own. “The knowledge of your Title, if enough people learned of it, would invite assassins, kidnappers, slavers, and worse. Entire nations may go to war to obtain you, in the hopes that they might force you to influence the System on their behalf.”

That sends a shiver down my spine. It’s exactly what I’ve feared all this time, and exactly what Scruffy warned me of.

And I’m not ready for it yet.

“That isn’t the worst of it, though.” His tone softens, but it isn’t in comfort. “What you should fear most are the gentler approaches. Ambassadors who come not with chains, but with coins. They will offer you sanctuary, wealth, even worship. They will let you believe you are free.”

He leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing. “But they will surround you with guards who never leave your side. They will give you servants who listen to every word you speak, and advisors who gently steer every choice you make until you start to willingly choose what they want you to. You will wake each day in silk sheets, and yet find that you are not permitted to open your own windows.”

He pulls back then. “They will not need to imprison you. They will teach you to imprison yourself—afraid to lose the gifts they so generously bestowed upon you and those you love. Their cage will gleam of gold, its bars forged from gratitude.”

I swallow hard.

“That is the risk of just one of your own Omens. The one you have paid for is dangerous in a different way. What I will tell you has the potential to throw every nation into a war so vast and brutal that none will be left unscathed, if any remain as they are at all. Knowing this, do you still wish to learn of it?” His gaze bores into mine, seeking the truth.

I don’t hesitate. I nod.

“So be it,” he says, and with a wave of his hand, mana blooms throughout the archives.

Books shift on the shelves faster and faster, turning into little more than a blur of leather and paper. Then, abruptly, they stop all at once. Dozens of books, both small and large, float through the air before settling on the desk before him, followed by hundreds of loose papers filled with illegible scrawl.

He shuffles through it all, manually sorting the piles of priceless information, and speaks in a low tone.

“As you have paid for it, once you learn this information, you may do with it as you please. However, I would suggest you keep it to yourself, whenever possible.”

He looks up from them after a moment, and the air itself joins the stillness of the archives.

“Now, let’s begin.”

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