Elias woke to the taste of copper and ancient dust.
His mouth felt like he'd been chewing on old pennies, and his throat was raw as if he'd been screaming for hours. Maybe he had been.
He wasn't in the Archive anymore. The darkness had spat him out into a circular chamber he'd never seen before, its walls covered in symbols that hurt to look at directly.
The symbols writhed and shifted when he tried to focus on them, like living things trying to escape his gaze. They seemed to be carved into the stone itself, but when he looked closer, he could see they extended deeper than should be possible—as if the wall was merely a window into some vast, symbol-filled void.
But he wasn't alone.
"Finally awake," said a voice like grinding stone.
Elias struggled to his feet, his head spinning. The world tilted sickeningly around him, and for a moment he thought he might vomit. When his vision cleared, he wished it hadn't.
Before him stood a figure that might once have been human. Its skin was translucent, showing the network of black veins beneath. The veins pulsed with a rhythm that didn't match any heartbeat Elias had ever heard—too slow, too deliberate, like the tide of some alien ocean.
Where its eyes should have been, twin voids stared out with hungry intelligence.
"What are you?" Elias gasped.
"I am what you will become," the creature replied. "A Memory Drinker. One who has seen too much, consumed too much knowledge. The city's secrets have a price, little archivist."
The being moved with fluid grace, as if gravity had only a passing interest in its form. When it spoke, its voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once—not through its mouth, but directly into Elias's mind.
The symbol on Elias's hand burned like fire. New power coursed through him—he could feel the creature's thoughts pressing against his mind, alien and vast. They were like trying to hold an ocean in a teacup, overwhelming and impossible to contain.
In those thoughts, he saw glimpses of what the creature had once been. A scholar, like himself. A seeker of truth who had delved too deep into the library's mysteries. The transformation had been gradual at first—subtle changes in appetite, in sleep patterns, in the way light looked different.
Then the hunger had begun.
"You can read my thoughts," the Memory Drinker observed with what might have been amusement. "Good. The transformation has begun."
"I won't become like you," Elias said, backing toward the chamber's only exit.
The doorway behind him was barely visible in the dim light—a narrow archway that seemed to lead into absolute darkness. But even that darkness looked more inviting than remaining in this chamber.
"You already are. Every memory you've absorbed, every secret you've learned—they're changing you from within." The creature stepped closer, and Elias caught a whiff of its scent. It smelled like old books and dying flowers. "But I can teach you to control it. To feed without losing yourself completely."
"Feed?"
"On memories. On knowledge. On the sweet terror of those who stumble too close to the truth." Its void-eyes fixed on him, and Elias felt something cold crawl down his spine. "You've felt the hunger, haven't you? When you touched that tome, when you absorbed Marcus's memories?"
Elias's stomach lurched because it was true. He had felt something awakening inside him, something that craved more. The memory of Marcus's terror had been intoxicating in a way that horrified him. Like the first taste of some forbidden drug that promised everything and delivered only addiction.
"The library chose you for a reason," the Memory Drinker continued. "You have the potential to become one of its guardians. To help it feed and grow."
"The library is alive?"
"More than alive. It's ancient, patient, and eternally hungry." The creature gestured to the symbols on the walls. "These are its thoughts made manifest. Its dreams of expansion."
Elias looked at the symbols again and this time, horror washed over him as he began to understand what they meant. They weren't just decorative—they were a map. A blueprint for spreading the library's influence beyond Veridian, into other cities, other countries.
Other worlds.
Elias felt his sanity slipping. The symbols seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat, and he could almost understand what they meant.
Almost.
The knowledge was right there, tantalizingly close, if he could just reach out and—
"Don't," the Memory Drinker said sharply. "Not yet. Understanding them too quickly will shatter your mind. I learned that the hard way."
"Join me willingly," it continued, "and I'll teach you to maintain your humanity while embracing your new nature. Resist, and the hunger will consume you from within."
Elias's hand moved toward his throat, where he could feel something new growing beneath the skin. Something that whispered promises of power and knowledge beyond imagining.
It felt like roots spreading through his flesh, or perhaps tendrils of some parasitic plant. When he touched it, warmth spread through his body—not the comforting warmth of sunlight, but the fever-heat of infection.
Behind the Memory Drinker, more figures emerged from the shadows. All of them had once been human. All of them bore the same translucent skin, the same network of black veins, the same void-eyes.
Some still wore the remnants of clothing—a librarian's jacket here, a scholar's robes there. One still had a name tag pinned to her chest, though the letters had long since faded to illegibility.
They had all been like him once. Seekers of knowledge who had found more than they bargained for.
"Choose quickly," the original creature said. "Vera Blackwood is coming, and she won't be as generous with her offer."
As if summoned by its words, Elias heard the sound of footsteps echoing from the corridor beyond the archway. Rapid, determined footsteps that spoke of someone who knew exactly where they were going.
Elias felt the transformation accelerating, his vision sharpening to inhuman levels. He could see the threads of memory that connected every living thing in the city above—gossamer strands of thought and experience that pulsed with their own inner light.
And he realized he was starving.
The hunger hit him like a physical blow, doubling him over with its intensity. Every memory he could sense called to him, promising sustenance, promising relief from the gnawing emptiness that had taken root in his chest.
All he had to do was reach out and take what he needed.
All he had to do was feed.