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Chapter 2 - Into The Veil

Chapter 2: Into the Veil

Isen's descent into Veridica was unlike any transition he had ever experienced. Entering a corrupted Memory Ark was typically disorienting — fragmented echoes, like walking through shattered mirrors of a life — but this was different. It was seamless, as though he hadn't been dragged into the Ark but invited.

Light surrounded him at first, a soft gold that bled into his vision. Then, the air cooled, and he found himself standing on solid ground.

Veridica.

The name surfaced in his mind unbidden. It felt as natural as breathing, though he had never seen this place before. Yet here it was — real.

Before him stretched the impossible city. Spiral towers climbed into a violet-tinted sky, their surfaces glimmering as though carved from liquid crystal. Golden bridges arched gracefully between buildings, glowing softly as if the light had been absorbed from some invisible sun. Below, a vast, glass-like river — still and flawless — reflected the city perfectly, blurring the line between what was real and what was reflection.

Isen blinked, momentarily stunned. He glanced down and found himself standing on a wide, pale stone path. It led straight into the city.

"You shouldn't be here."

The voice made him turn sharply.

At first, he thought no one was there, but then a figure emerged from the shimmering light at the river's edge. It was a man, tall and cloaked in shadow. His features were obscured, as though the light refused to touch him. Yet, his voice carried — smooth, measured.

"Who are you?" Isen asked cautiously.

The man tilted his head. "The better question, Archivist, is why are you here?"

Isen's pulse quickened. "How do you know who I am?"

The man took a step forward, his shadow lengthening unnaturally across the pale ground. "You carry the arrogance of all Archivists — believing you can fix what you do not understand."

Isen frowned, trying to steady his breath. This is just a memory, he reminded himself. It couldn't hurt him. "This place is corrupted," he said firmly. "It doesn't belong in the Arks."

"Corruption?" the man repeated softly, almost amused. "Is that what they've taught you?"

Before Isen could respond, the man turned abruptly and began walking toward the river's edge, his footsteps silent against the stone. Isen hesitated for only a moment before following, his Archivist instincts driving him to pursue answers.

As they reached the water, the man extended a hand toward the surface. The river rippled at his gesture, spreading like liquid silk. Images began to form within the water — scenes shifting and blurring like memories.

"What is this?" Isen demanded.

The man didn't answer. Instead, he spoke slowly, his voice carrying a strange weight.

"They say memories are threads, Archivist — spun, stored, and catalogued to keep humanity whole. You are the weaver, the curator, the savior. But you never asked where the threads came from."

The river stilled. In its surface, Isen saw himself standing in his office back at the Spire. He saw Kyria, her glass-like eyes staring back at him. And then he saw Veridica — stretching endlessly into the horizon.

"This place…" Isen murmured, trying to keep his voice steady. "It's not real. It's a corruption."

The man turned then, and though his face was still obscured, Isen could feel his stare.

"Do you believe that?"

Isen swallowed hard. "I know that."

The man laughed softly. "Your certainty will be your undoing, Archivist."

Before Isen could respond, the man raised his hand once more. The ground beneath them began to tremble, and the air grew heavy. Isen staggered back as the river's surface shattered like glass, sending shards of memory cascading into the air. Around him, the world flickered and warped — the towers of Veridica twisted, stretching into unrecognizable shapes before snapping back into place.

"Stop!" Isen shouted.

The man's voice was calm, almost gentle. "Welcome to the truth, Isen Vrail."

And then everything went dark.

---

Isen awoke with a gasp. He was on his office floor, cold sweat soaking through his shirt. The crystalline walls of his office had returned, humming faintly with the energy of the Arks. But the sensation of Veridica still lingered — the cool air, the shimmer of its impossible skyline.

He sat up, breathing hard.

"What… was that?" he whispered to himself.

Veridica had felt alive, not like a fractured or corrupted memory. It had been whole. And that man… whoever he was… had known his name. That wasn't possible. Memories couldn't interact with Archivists. They were reflections, not living things.

Isen staggered to his feet and stumbled to his desk. The interface blinked patiently, awaiting his command. His hand hovered over the display, his mind spinning. He needed answers — fast.

"Kyria," he whispered.

---

Isen returned to Kyria's chamber later that day. She was seated in the same position, knees tucked beneath her chin, though now her eyes were closed.

"I saw it," Isen said without preamble.

Kyria's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "I told you."

He stepped closer, keeping his voice low. "What is Veridica? What's inside the Ark?"

She finally opened her eyes, their unnatural gleam sending a shiver through him. "Not what," she corrected. "Who."

Isen frowned. "What do you mean?"

Kyria stood slowly, her movements unnervingly fluid. "You've always believed the Arks store humanity's past. But they don't." She tilted her head. "They shape it. Rewrite it. What you call 'corruption' is just a memory fighting to survive."

"That's impossible," Isen said, though doubt scratched at the edge of his certainty.

Kyria stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Veridica isn't a place, Archivist. It's a question. And once you ask it, nothing will ever be the same."

Before Isen could respond, an alarm blared through the chamber — sharp and mechanical, echoing off the sterile white walls.

Kyria smiled wider, showing too many teeth. "They're coming for you, Archivist."

"What?"

"They know you've seen it now."

The energy field flickered violently, and the room seemed to bend, as though reality itself was starting to splinter. Isen stumbled back, his pulse pounding.

Outside the chamber, voices rose in chaos. Doors slammed. Lights dimmed.

And through it all, Kyria's voice echoed, soft and taunting:

"Run, Isen. Before they rewrite you."