2026-09-16 22:27:23Clovis spent the next three days expecting the boy to have reported to the High Magisters, which would have forced him to track down the child and burn the last seventy-two hours out of his skull but instead on a rainy Thursday afternoon, the double doors came open and he came in.
He looked terrible, dark circles under his eyes and his hands were stuffed into his coat pockets to hide the shaking.
He hadn't slept a wink since that day, it took him three days to muster courage to return, he took hesitant steps towards the counter, then slowly sat on one of the high stools.
“This is no bar kid,” Clovis muttered, not looking up from the papers he read.
“I—” Chadwick didn't know where to begin or how to begin.
With a deep sigh, Clovis sat up straight, “You have exceptional spatial awareness, Mr. Brook, but your survival instincts are abysmal.”
“I did some reading,” Chadwick finally said, shaking his head.
He seemed uneasy as he glanced around the empty foyer, “The historical records say the Mage of Ruin was a rogue genocidal maniac.”
The boy's yapping annoyed Clovis more than the headaches did, he didn't want a conversation and certainly didn't want an audience and before Chadwick could continue Clovis lifted his head and unlocked the latent, pushing a sharp needle of mental magic straight toward the boy's forehead.
For a moment the kid was suspended but then, Clovis' magic hit a wall and Chadwick blinked to reality.
Clovis' single good eye widened slightly as a dull ache throbbed in his temple.
“You can't get in. Mother's side of the family comes from the deep coast, Mr. Dupond. We are Mind Benders. My skull has been a fortress since I was three years old.”
Clovis leaned back in his chair, his expression flattening, “A Mind Bender…splendid. The universe truly possesses an exquisite sense of humor.”
“My turn,” Chadwick whispered, his pupils dilating as he leaned closer, attempting to push his own psychic weight into Clovis’s thoughts, trying to force the old man to speak the truth.
Chadwick didn't even make it past the outer layer of Clovis's mind, the feedback was so violent that Chadwick gasped, jerking backward on his stool as a drop of blood immediately leaked from his nose. He wiped it away with the back of his sleeve, looking even more terrified than before.
“You are a very stupid boy you know,” Clovis murmured, taking out his handkerchief and tossing it across the counter. “You are trying to look into a furnace that consumed a kingdom, child. Clean your face before you stain my wood.”
Chadwick took the cloth, dabbing at his nose while keeping his eyes locked on the librarian. “Okay. So we can't erase each other. That leaves us with an option you are probably going to hate.”
Clovis raised a brow as Chadwick spoke, “If I don't get the truth about what is happening under these floorboards, I am going to write a letter to the High Council.”
Clovis stared at him for a long minute. The audacity of the threat was almost impressive, though mostly it was just incredibly irritating.
He could kill the boy, certainly, but disposing of a body inside an elite academy during midterms was an administrative nightmare he didn't care to handle.
“Well be my guest,” Clovis shrugged.
Chadwick's mouth dropped confused, “what?”
“You think you want secrets, Mr. Brook, but you don't,” Clovis said, “Look around you. You think this is a house of common knowledge?”
Chadwick swallowed hard, his bravado entirely vanishing.
“This library is a lock," Clovis said, pointing a finger toward the grand arches behind him. “Every shelf you see is an iron bar. Every book and every single syllable written is a link in a chain. We are sitting on top of a cage holding ancient gods and cosmic nightmares that would turn Vaelenor into a slaughterhouse if they ever felt the sun.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Chadwick sat still, his eyes darting toward the aisles as if he could suddenly hear the breathing of the monsters hidden in the dark.
“Now,” Clovis said, picking his pen back up, “Go back to your little elemental theory class and leave me alone.”
Chadwick didn't stop coming to the library, if anything, the revelation made him twice as troublesome.
One night, exactly as Clovis had expected, a soft knock came through, he rose from his desk and walked over to open the doors.
Standing there was a bright, smiling face and beside her, a frail old man who looked as though a little wind could knock him over.
“Clovis!”
The woman immediately threw her arms around Clovis, hugging him tightly.
She pulled back with a laugh.
“How have you been? Gods, it's been far too long since I last came by.”
Clovis only offered a nod before looking past her shoulder into the dark courtyard.
“Did anyone see you enter the academy grounds?”
She laughed again, waving her hand dismissively.
“Oh, please. My husband made the guards at the front gate pass out. They won't be waking up for at least a couple of hours.”
Clovis nodded, closing the doors behind him.
“I believe you're here to read your fate.”
The woman nodded eagerly.
The old man who had entered with her had already begun to wander away, staring blankly up at the towering shelves.
The woman cast a quick glance over her shoulder, ensuring he was well out of earshot before she leaned in close to the counter, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“I need to know exactly when he's going to die.”
Clovis whispered back.
“I still can't believe you actually married an old man.”
“An old, incredibly rich man who's already dying soon.” She corrected, with a grin, leaning even closer.
“I just need the precise date so maybe I can speed up the process a little?”
Clovis let out a sigh and turned away from the desk without another word, to fetch the glowing ledger known as The Book of Fate.
As he returned, the woman clapped her hands together happily at the sight of the book.
“Master Hugo Moss…”
She clearly called out the old man's full name, and Clovis began flipping through the pages, the glowing text shifting under his fingers until he found the exact chapter dedicated to the traveler.
“Well, it says he will die in exactly one week.”
The woman’s eyes lit up in excitement, “A week? That's perfect. Just in time for my coronation.”
She reached across the counter, taking Clovis' hand in hers.
“Thank you, Clovis.” she said with a smile, “I'll probably stop by again sometime.”
Clovis simply gave her another nod in response. She turned back, calling the old man. “Come along now.”
The two of them walked back out into the night, the double doors clicking shut behind them, leaving Clovis standing completely alone in the silent library.
That was how it went every few years.
The handful of powerful mages and sorcerers across the continent who still knew his true identity would smuggle themselves into the academy, using his burden to catch a glimpse of their own futures.
It was a small price to pay to keep the peace and keep them quiet.
Once the doors were locked, he finally decided to close up for the night, turning away from the counter, he walked toward where his small cot was laid out.
But he hadn't gone more than three paces when something invisible slithered through the air and stopped him. He tried to lift his boot to take another step, but his feet were glued to the floor.
Clovis frowned thinking the spirits had managed a way to restrict his movements too.
He closed his eye, attempting to channel his mind away to break the hold, but the magic in the room suddenly turned freezing cold and behind him, rustling sounds cut through the silence.
The Book of Fate, still sitting open on the counter, had begun to flip its pages on its own, physically dragging Clovis backward, his boots to slide across the stones until he was pulled right back to the edge of the desk.
He knew exactly what this meant, and he had spent eighteen years actively avoiding his own chapter. He didn't fear the concept of dying, but he didn't want to know the day or the hour either.
But the book was unyielding, forcing Clovis to look down despite himself, his single eye widening as the glowing ink began to paint the details of his past right across the paper.
On seeing his beautiful wife, Evelyn and his vibrant seven year old daughter, Anne he had left for dead, Clovis' heart clenched as a single tear rolled down his cheek.
Struggling to suppress the grief, he gripped the pages and flipped forward, his heart hammering against his chest as he sought the end of his own timeline.
There, at the bottom of a heavily detailed paragraph, the black ink quickly scribbled itself into existence. It read with absolute, immutable clarity: Clovis Dupond dies in one year.
His heart leapt into his throat, as he quickly turned the page to discover how it would happen.
But when the next page fell flat, the blinding light that had been glowing from the book suddenly died.
Confused, he grabbed the corner of the sheet and flipped the book again, thinking the pages had stuck together but nothing changed. The surface was blank, showing no text, no illustration, no cause, and no killer.
“This is impossible,” he muttered to himself.
The Archive always had records. Every death in the history of Vaelenor left a trace and the book never left an empty space.
He stared at the blank page for a long while until the sickening realization finally dawned on him, as a paralyzing fear began to creep up his spine.
A blank page did not mean a standard death…it meant erasure.
Whatever was coming for him in a year’s time wasn't just going to stop his heart…it was going to wipe his very existence out of reality, leaving the entire universe with no memory that Clovis Dupond had ever lived.
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CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE: Lexi’s Resolve.
She worked the plate at her own hour, came up the back passage, and went along the reading floor with a book held up against her, and her hands started somewhere around the second range end.She let them. She did not look down at them and she did not put them away in her sleeves, and by the time the study room door was shut behind her they had quit on their own.One window, and nothing in it at that hour but the sky going out over the eastern spires.There was a chalk line across the boards near the door, standing at sixteen feet and stopping dead. She stepped over it, the way you step over a thing somebody else is in the middle of, and sat down past the end of the table with the repair bench between her and the wall.On the far side of that bench, face in, was the board with the pins in it and the red thread run between them. She could have said every item on it without turning round. S
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT: Clovis Prepares For The Hunt.
The north door had been unbarred since the last bell, and the boy came in at it at the hour he comes in at, and there was nothing in that to read.What there was to read was that he did not go to the trolley.He came up the floor, took the register off the end of the desk, opened it, and turned it round to face the chair.Clovis did not put a hand on it.The hand in it is the boy’s. He backfilled the whole term in one sitting, in ink, and nobody asked him for the hours. They were his own, because he does not leave a column short.A boy does not carry a man a book he has been keeping all term unless somebody else has read it first.It lay open at a night in the second week, with his thumb down the fore edge in three more places. He took the thumb away, left the three proud of the block, and stepped back.Four lines with
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN: The Prominent Magister’s Move.
The chit had four words on it in a clerk’s hand and a crest pressed into the corner, and going up the slope he worked out what they had on him, and the answer was that he had written it himself.The register. Dates put in from the start of term forward, in ink, because the old man had let it stand and said he should not have.He had offered it on the way down the floor, the two of them a yard apart and both looking straight ahead.The old man was turning a cloth over on his own wrist and folding the clean side out while he said what wanted doing, and it was out of Chadwick’s mouth before he had decided to say it.There was the smallest pause after. Then he was told he would do it in ink, and he said he would do it in ink, and he did.Nobody made him put the hours in. The hours were his own idea, and he put them in because he is a boy who counts and a colu
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX: Clovis Doesn’t Tell Her.
He had the velvet book out on the desk before she came in, because a thing you mean to give back should be the first thing in the room.It has been shut in the drawer with the rest of what he keeps since the night he took it, and getting it out he could not put it anywhere on that wood that did not look arranged.So he stopped moving it and put his hands either side of it and waited.She came up the north aisle at her hour and stopped two feet short of the desk, further out than she used to stand.She looked at the book. Then at his hands either side of it. Then at the shut drawer that has her notebook in it, and she said nothing about that.“Take it,” Clovis said.She did not reach for it.“You’re going to answer them,” she said.“I am.”&ldq
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE: The Secondary Anchor.
She gave him the length of time a person gives, and when it had gone by she put the pencil in the satchel and got up.He had her notebook under his own hand. He had stood up and gone round the corner of his desk for it an hour ago, in front of her, and she had not asked for it.So he got up as well, and took the lamp, and walked her down to the north door.He set the lamp down and got the bar up out of its brackets, four feet of iron that wants both his arms now.She waited while he did it, and did not offer.“You can keep the notebook,” she said. “I’ll ask you for the other one again. I’m not in a hurry about it.”He had nothing ready for either half. A man can refuse a thing asked of him and cannot refuse a thing handed over, and she had done both in a breath.“Go to your wing,” he said.“Yes, sir.”Then she went out past him into the colonnade, and the cold came off the grass for as long as the door stood open.Clovis got the bar back across its brackets and kept a hand on it a whi
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR: The Second Reading.
The notebook lay at the length of the desk from his hands, and to get it he was going to have to stand up out of that chair in front of her.He had already looked at it, so the price had been set by somebody else.A chair taking a girl’s weight back is a small sound. That one had arrived like a thing presented for signature.Nothing since. No page turned up at the cold table, no foot on the boards, no shifting about by a girl who wanted it heard.The chair was still round on its legs where he had turned it an hour ago, so he was facing up his own floor, and he could not undo that without the undoing being counted.The lamp had burned past the hour it had in it.The sub-vault volume sat squared to the edge with its seal unbroken, and beside it the ruled sheet, still one row.The notebook lay past the pair of them.
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