Elara stood in the empty reception room, Julian's final, cold words echoing in her mind.
"…you possess the value to be 'used.'"
Before she could process the full meaning behind that statement, Julian had already turned, gesturing with his eyes for her to follow. He didn't lead her back to the stone cell, but down another corridor and to a heavy oak door.
This appeared to be the Archive's office area. The room was still minimalist, but it held a more personal atmosphere. A massive ebony desk dominated the space. The wall behind it was lined with a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, though it held no ordinary books—only rows upon rows of metal archive boxes, each with complex labels and serial numbers. A faint, mixed scent of old parchment and antiseptic hung in the air. The entire room, like its owner, was suffused with order, calmness, and an oppressive weight.
Julian walked behind the desk and sat down. He didn't retrieve any documents, but simply watched Elara with those probing eyes that seemed to see through everything.
"Before you make a decision, there is something I want you to see," he said, activating a terminal on the desk and turning the screen toward her.
Displayed on it was her own personal profile: date of birth, educational background… there was even a photograph from her university days. At the bottom were her parents' names, Allan and Leanna Vance, along with their official police status: "Missing/Deceased" for seven years.
"I ran a background check on you the moment you set foot in the Archive," Julian stated, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "Your parents were not ordinary people, Elara. Like you, they were members of the 'Echoic Community.' Their disappearance was not a Mundane world accident. It was a part of this world."
He turned off the screen and steepled his fingers on the desk, a chess master in complete control of the board.
"I cannot simply give you the answers," Julian said. "Because even I do not know the entire truth. Your parents' research touched upon one of our world's greatest taboos. Their trail was deliberately and completely erased."
The hope that had just kindled in Elara was instantly doused with ice water.
"However," Julian's gaze sharpened, "while the trail may be cold for others, it may not be for you. You possess the same resonant talent that they did, passed down through your bloodline. You are the only one who might be able to find clues within the 'Emotional Echoes' they left behind. The police can't find them because they are searching in the wrong world. We can't find them because we are missing a critical 'key'—and you, Elara, are that key."
He pushed a black leather folder across the desk toward her.
"You now face a choice." His voice grew colder than before, leaving no room for negotiation.
"Option one: Sign this agreement. Join the Archive. Become one of us. We will offer you sanctuary and train you to control your power, transforming you from a victim drowning in 'noise' into a hunter who can interpret 'echoes.' The Archive's missions will be your training ground; its resources, your armory. We will point you in the right direction, provide you with intelligence, and let you personally hunt for the trail your parents left behind."
He paused, then stated the price that came with this option.
"Of course, this also means you must sever all ties with your past. The souvenir shop your parents left you is your last and most obvious connection to the Mundane world. It must be dealt with. We will, in your name, commission professionals to liquidate its assets and cut that thread. The moment you sign this agreement, the Elara Vance who was a shopkeeper will be considered 'dead.' That is the first price of becoming a hunter."
Then, he delivered the second option, a judgment stated with absolute, clinical detachment.
"Option two: Refuse. In which case, as the Warden of the Archive and leader of the Wardens, I will fulfill my primary duty. You are a 'risk source of the highest level.' To uphold the Concord of Silence, I will classify you as an 'S-Class Sealing Object' and place you in permanent isolation. You will spend the rest of your life in a room identical to the one you first woke up in—safe, silent, and slowly forgotten by the world in ignorance and despair."
Elara stared at the black folder on the desk. She knew it contained the rest of her life.
She thought of the lonely, gray years she had spent just trying to avoid pain. She thought of the small shop, filled with sunshine and cheap trinkets, the last warm memory her parents had left her. Now, she would have to discard it with her own hands.
She then thought of how, after her parents disappeared, she had desperately, fruitlessly picked up the things they left behind—her father's favorite pipe, the book of poetry her mother read most often. She could feel the echoes left on them, the plain, warm fragments of days gone by: a lazy afternoon, a sigh of contentment, a fleeting moment of joy. But within these trivial, everyday emotional remnants, there was never any clue about their final moments. No fear. No struggle. No goodbye. It was as if their lives, in some ordinary instant, had simply… stopped, leaving nothing behind. That was what haunted her most. She could hear their past whispers, but she could never find their final screams.
Permanent imprisonment, or a chance to uncover the truth. It wasn't much of a choice at all.
"I…" Elara's lips were dry. She licked them, then raised her head. For the first time, the confusion in her eyes was gone, replaced by the grim determination of someone pushed to the absolute edge. "I need a pen."