The night after the moons had written their sigil, Codexia could not rest.
Every surface of the Codex Hall hummed with faint resonance, as though the marble itself were waiting to be read. Her body felt the same—pages waiting to be turned, not by her hand.
When the shadow came, it did not step from her silhouette as before. It poured itself from the corners of the room, thick and deliberate, until her own outline was smothered within it.
You have marked me, it whispered—not in sound, but in the pressure of thought against thought. Now you must let me mark you in return.
Codexia stood firm, though her skin betrayed her with a shiver. "You already did."
No, it replied, circling her like smoke with intent. That was preface. This is authorship.
The first touch was not flesh against flesh, but inscription.
