The Archive of the Dead

Before You Enter: The world you are about to step into is not bound by logic, nor does it follow the rules of the ordinary. Everything in this story—from the characters you will meet to the places you will see—exists only within the imagination. Any similarities to real people or events are entirely accidental. This narrative belongs solely to the author. Plagiarism, unauthorized copying, or reposting of any kind is not allowed. Let this tale remain where it was meant to be—within these pages, shared only by those who choose to wander through it. Be warned: some scene may evoke strong emotions, confusion, or unease. Magic is unpredictable. Secrets can be heavy. And some paths are easier to enter than to leave. Read at your own risk. If you are ready, take a breath. Open your mind. And step quietly. ___________________ PROLOGUE Her breath hitched. The night pressed close. Too close. It wrapped around her like a heavy, suffocating cloak. Every shadow seemed sharper, every sound louder than it should have been. She felt her pulse hammering, a frantic rhythm that threatened to betray her location to whoever—or whatever—was hunting her. Run. Don’t think. Just run. Footsteps—distant at first, then growing louder, closer, more urgent. Faster! Her heart sank a little with each echoing step, a drumbeat counting down her chances of escape. “FIND HER!” The voice sliced through the night air, sharp and commanding, like a blade. She could feel her knees trembling, as if they were losing their foundation beneath her. Collapse. I need to hide before I collapse! she thought desperately, skidding around the corner. The alley twisted into darkness. Shadows stretched unnaturally along the walls, crawling toward her with every stride she took. She halted suddenly. Left. Right. Dead end. Her lungs burned. Her pulse screamed in protest. She had to think. Think! Then—a deafening silence. The sudden absence of sound made her ears ring even more, the abrupt quiet almost more terrifying than the chase itself. Her eyes, wide and searching, caught a door left ajar, barely noticeable amidst the shadows and grime. She didn’t hesitate. She slipped inside as if the building itself had reached out to welcome her. It was dusty, swallowed by darkness, yet sublimely vast. The air smelled faintly of old parchment and damp stone, a strange mixture that both repelled and fascinated her. For a moment, she let her eyes scan the place, letting the dim light guide her vision across the floor and the tall shelves that loomed like silent sentinels. But in a swift instant, she faltered. She quickly covered her mouth when she heard the approaching sound of footsteps. Her chest tightened, and she could feel the rapid thumping of her heart, a frantic rhythm that seemed determined to escape her ribcage. She clutched her chest, eyes widening, face flushed with horror. How did I end up in this unfortunate situation? she wondered. Desperately, she closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them again, the footsteps, the danger, the huntsmen—everything—would vanish, as if erased by some magical hand. This is all that witch woman’s fault! she fumed internally, recalling the witch who had started this nightmare. She wouldn’t have been caught in such a horrendous escape if not for that one fateful encounter. Right now, she should have been on her motorbike, accelerating down empty streets, letting the roar of the engine and the wind whip her senses into a state of ecstatic freedom. Ever since she was a child, she had been drawn to driving—but not just driving. DRIVING. The kind that made her stomach drop, her heart race, and adrenaline surge through every vein. It fascinated her, her own personal dopamine hit. But now… she was trapped in a nightmare of her own making. How unfortunate! she muttered under her breath, bitterness coating her words. As if freed from some invisible spell, she let out a deep, shuddering sigh of relief when she confirmed the footsteps had faded. They were gone. For now. She allowed herself to lean against the dusty wall of her hiding place, inhaling slowly, letting the tension seep out of her muscles. Thirty seconds passed—or maybe more, maybe less; time felt warped, stretched and compressed by her heightened senses. Her gaze remained fixed on the muddied footprints left by her pursuers, a visual reminder of the danger that had just chased her through the alley. When she finally dared to lift her head, her brows furrowed, confusion etching every line of her face. This was her first time stepping into a place like this, and she never imagined such a place even existed—woven from magic, every corner breathing an inexplicable kind of mystery. The air here felt alive, charged with something she couldn’t name. There was a strange current, almost like electricity, that seemed to trace her nerves, sending goosebumps up her arms. Every breath she took was heavier than the last, yet she could not look away. There was an unusual sensation coursing through her veins, a strong, unsettling yet compelling feeling. It felt as if the air itself was breathing with her, as if the very walls were alive, aware of her presence. And then—her eyes landed on it. The book. It stood in the center of the shelf as if waiting for her. Its cover was dark, worn, and lined with strange markings she couldn’t immediately recognize. But it wasn’t the markings that made her freeze. It was the way it seemed to exist independently, as if the dim light of the library had conspired to highlight it, beckoning her. The presence of the book pulled at her attention, urging her closer, whispering promises she couldn’t yet comprehend. Her fingers itched to reach out, but she hesitated. Every instinct told her to stay cautious. The same instincts that had saved her tonight, that had carried her through narrow alleys and past relentless hunters, now screamed: Be careful. Yet curiosity tugged harder than fear. Her mind raced. What secrets could it hold? Why here? Why now? She felt a shiver run down her spine—not from cold, but from the inexplicable sense that this book was not ordinary. She took a tentative step forward. Her foot scuffed against the dusty floor, stirring small clouds into the stagnant air. A faint sound—a whisper of movement—seemed to echo somewhere deep within the library, though she saw no one. Her pulse quickened, and her breath hitched again. She glanced back at the entrance, reminding herself that the outside world—the threat, the danger, the chase—was still out there. Yet here, in this strange, silent sanctuary, the chaos of the night seemed to fade, replaced by a tense, anticipatory hush. Her eyes lingered on the book. The shadows around it seemed to shift subtly, almost imperceptibly, as if encouraging her forward. A magnetic pull, both terrifying and irresistible, drew her closer. I shouldn’t touch it. I can’t. Her thoughts warred with her instincts. But I can’t stop looking. The library’s vastness seemed endless now. Dust particles floated in the dim shafts of light like tiny sparks, swirling slowly as though stirred by unseen hands. She realized she could hear the rain still hammering the roof outside, but it was distant, muffled. Here, in this room, the world felt suspended. Time, too, felt altered—stretching and folding back upon itself in strange ways. Her heartbeat slowed slightly, a measured rhythm as she hovered at the threshold of discovery. She had survived the chase. She had evaded her pursuers. But this—this silent, vast, mysterious space—was something else entirely. Something that demanded attention. Something that whispered of secrets she wasn’t ready to fully understand, yet couldn’t ignore. She took a slow, deliberate step toward the book. Dust rose from the floor, motes dancing in the shafts of light like fleeting fireflies. And though her hands trembled slightly, she reached out. Before her fingers could make contact, she paused. A sensation prickled at the back of her mind—a warning. Not danger exactly, but… anticipation. The air itself seemed to watch her, to hold its breath along with her. And then, as she finally bridged the gap, the quiet pressed even closer, surrounding her. She felt… not alone. Not in the literal sense, but as though the library itself acknowledged her presence. And in that acknowledgment, a question lingered, heavy and silent: Are you ready for what you seek? Her hand hovered just above the cover. She had survived the night. She had escaped the alley. But what lay ahead—what lay in that book—was something entirely unknown. And yet, she could not look away.