The King's Guard

Chapter 75

The lower corridors of the Academy never slept, but they always sounded as if they might. Lamps burned low behind iron glass, smoke curling like ghosts along the ceiling. Kael’s boots scuffed against stone as he moved past the wards carved into the archway. Each glyph pulsed once, then dimmed, recognising his temporary clearance.

He didn’t slow until the final gate sighed shut behind him.

“Restricted Archives,” said a dry voice from the shadows. “Cadet access ends three doors up.”

Kael turned. The speaker was a thin old man in the grey of a records-keeper, quill behind one ear, eyes as sharp as his tone.

“I have permission,” Kael said, offering the slip Darius had signed weeks ago for research.

The archivist adjusted his spectacles. “Old clearance. You’re lucky the seals still recognise it.” He took the parchment anyway, frowning. “What do you want down here?”

“Corps history. The purges during the Eastern Campaigns.”

The man’s gaze lingered. “That was forty years ago.”

“That’s why it’s here.”

A pause. Then, quietly: “Follow me. But keep your hands where I can see them.”

They descended past rows of tablets and scrolls wrapped in waxed cloth. Dust floated like faint snow. The air smelled of ink and iron.

“You’re Darius’s protégé,” the archivist said. “I remember when he was your age. Spent hours down here arguing that ethics had a place in war.”

Kael asked, “Did he find his answer?”

“He found reality instead.” The man stopped before a narrow door banded with brass. “Section Nine. Don’t remove anything. Don’t copy sigils. If you read a name you don’t like, keep it to yourself.”

He pressed a rune; the door unlocked with a soft click.

Inside, the chamber felt colder. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with ledgers bound in black leather. Kael drew one free, careful not to disturb the thin layer of dust.

The archivist watched him. “Most cadets look for glory records. You look for ghosts.”

“I want to understand what we’re part of,” Kael said.

The old man’s mouth twitched. “Understanding isn’t safety, boy. It’s just sharper edges.”

Kael opened the ledger. Lines of names filled the page: soldiers, captains, whole squads, each followed by a red mark. He flipped further, finding the header Internal Cleansing Orders.

He read:

> Authorised by Commander Arcturus Velreth.

Executed by Captain Archon.

Page after page repeated the pattern: missions disguised as rebel hunts that ended with internal divisions erased.

Kael whispered, “He killed his own.”

The archivist’s eyes narrowed. “Careful what you say aloud. The stones remember.”

Another name caught Kael’s eye: Darius Vale, listed beside an operation cancelled at the Queen’s request. The notes beside it were blotted out except for one phrase visible through the ink: “Disobedience logged, leniency denied.”

He shut the book slowly. “Why keep these records at all?”

The archivist answered, “Because truth doesn’t burn. It waits.”

A faint sound came from the corridor: footsteps. Kael tensed. The archivist raised a finger to his lips, motioning him behind a shelf.

Light flickered under the door. A shadow paused, then passed.

When silence returned, Kael exhaled. “Someone else down here?”

“Always,” the man murmured. “Knowledge draws watchers.” He stepped closer, voice low. “You’ll leave soon. But remember this, every purge began with a single justification: to protect Veridale. It still will.”

Kael nodded, sliding the ledger back. “Then maybe it’s time someone protected it from them.”

The archivist’s eyes softened, almost regretful. “Then may your courage outlive your clearance.”

Kael emerged into the upper hall nearly an hour later. The lamps burned brighter here, but the air still smelled of dust. A figure waited near the stair: arms folded, hood lowered.

“Kyna,” he said quietly. “You followed me.”

“Of course I did,” she replied. “You disappear below the archives and expect no one to notice?”

“Wasn’t a secret.”

She gave a dry laugh. “Then why did you take the back passage?”

Kael hesitated. “Because I found something I shouldn’t have.”

Kyna’s expression shifted from teasing to alert. “Show me.”

He glanced around, then led her to an empty reading room. The walls were lined with glass cases; their reflections doubled in the lamplight.

Kael spoke first. “The purgesz every one of them ordered by Archon, authorised by Velreth.”

She frowned. “Velreth? That doesn’t make sense. He’s too high up to sign off on internal killings.”

“It’s his signature.”

Kyna paced. “Maybe forged. Maybe not. Either way, you shouldn’t have been down there.”

“I had clearance.”

“Clearance isn’t protection.” She stopped, meeting his eyes. “Do you realise what this means? Archon’s been covering for something for decades.”

Kael nodded. “And Darius’s name was almost added to the list.”

Her mouth tightened. “So that’s why he keeps his distance from Velreth.”

He leaned against the table. “I need to copy the data. Quietly.”

“You can’t. The sigils on those ledgers would fry your fingers off.”

“Then I’ll memorise them.”

Kyna stared. “All of them?”

“Enough.”

She let out a slow breath. “You’re either brave or suicidal.”

“Both, apparently.”

They fell silent. Beyond the window, snow began to fall, soft flakes drifting through the lamplight.

Kyna spoke first. “When I joined, I thought the Corps cleaned up corruption. Now it feels like we are the corruption.”

Kael closed his eyes briefly. “Maybe we can change that.”

“How?”

“By knowing.”

She shook her head. “Knowing gets you killed.”

He gave a thin smile. “Then we better be quick learners.”

The door creaked. Both turned. The archivist stood there, framed by light from the corridor.

He looked at Kael. “You left something.”

Kael froze. “What?”

The old man crossed the room, holding out a small scrap of parchment. On it was a single emblem, the mark of Archon’s command, crossed through with red ink.

“I found it under the ledger you opened,” the archivist said. “It was added recently.”

Kyna leaned closer. “What does the cross mean?”

The man hesitated. “Marked for erasure. Whoever bears that insignia… will vanish soon.”

Kael’s stomach tightened. “Whose record?”

The archivist looked him in the eye. “Yours.”

The lamp guttered once, casting long shadows across the walls.

Kyna whispered, “Kael…”

He took the parchment slowly. The ink was still wet.

The archivist backed toward the door. “I was never here. You never saw me.” He slipped out before either could answer.

Silence hung heavy.

Kyna said softly, “He’s warning you.”

Kael folded the scrap into his glove. “Then Archon already knows I was down there.”

“Which means?”

“That I don’t have much time.”

He moved to the desk, pulling a blank sheet from the stack. His hand shook slightly as he began to write:

> Purges – Internal – Velreth / Archon – Records 2–9

Targeted units: dissenters, reformists, loyalists under Darius.

Kyna watched him. “You’re really going to do this.”

“Yes.”

“Even if it kills you.”

He didn’t look up. “Especially if it does.”

She stepped closer, her voice low. “Then let me help. My mother’s network can hide things the Corps can’t touch.”

Kael stopped writing. “You’d risk that?”

“For truth,” she said. “And for you.”

Their eyes met. For a moment, neither spoke.

Outside, the last bell of the night tolled.

Kael rolled the parchment and tucked it into his coat. “If I disappear, take this to Darius. He’ll know what to do.”

“You’re not disappearing,” Kyna said firmly.

He gave a faint, weary smile. “We’ll see.”

The lights flickered once more as if the building itself were listening. Then they dimmed back to their usual glow.

Kyna whispered, “Someone’s already erased your name on paper. Don’t let them finish it in reality.”

Kael looked toward the stairway leading back to the dorm levels. “Too late to hide now.”

He turned and walked into the dark hall, Kyna falling in beside him. The folded note burned faintly against his chest: a mark, a warning, and a promise.