The first thing Aiden noticed was the silence.
Not the peaceful kind that makes you sigh in relief.
No—this was the wrong kind. The kind that pressed on your lungs, crawled into your ears, and whispered: you don't belong here.
When he opened his eyes, the world wasn't a world at all.
Endless marble stretched beneath his feet, polished so bright he saw himself staring back. Above, shelves reached into forever, their spines stacked with books that groaned and whispered like they were alive. Some were glowing, some chained, some… breathing.
Aiden muttered under his breath:
"Yeah, sure. Totally normal library. Just missing a Starbucks corner."
He staggered forward, clutching his head.
His thoughts were shredded—like someone had torn pages from his mind and left only scraps. No home. No family. No history. Just his name. Just Aiden.
And the library.
Then came the whisper.
"Read…"
Aiden spun so fast he nearly tripped over his own shoes. Nobody there. Just shelves stretching forever, books rattling against their chains like impatient dogs.
His throat went dry. He could feel it—something was pulling him. Not to the glittering tomes that looked vaguely holy, not to the pretty safe-looking stuff.
No. Straight to the creepy shelf in the shadows. The one every gamer knows you don't click on unless you're speedrunning death.
There it was.
A book bound in black leather, scorched as if it had survived fire. Its title erased, its rusted chain coiled tight, the lock shaped like jagged teeth.
Aiden's hand trembled.
Every survival instinct screamed walk away, idiot. But then the whisper slithered inside his skull:
"Read me, and I will give you power. Read me, and you will not vanish."
Vanishing? That sounded… bad. Worse than bad. Like "deleted from existence, no respawn" bad.
He laughed, but it was shaky.
"Cool. Guess I don't really get a choice, huh?"
His hand reached out.
The chain snapped like jaws, and suddenly the air caved in around him. Black smoke coiled around his arm, searing cold and burning hot all at once. He screamed as words—glowing, violent—carved themselves into his skin, crawling up his veins, branding his chest.
He fell to his knees, choking. His blood felt like it was being rewritten, his flesh torn apart and stitched back with words instead of muscle.
"Read. Accept. Become."
Aiden's heart stopped. For a moment, he swore he was gone. Dead.
He drifted in a void of ash and paper, pages swirling like vultures.
And then he saw it—an endless throne, shattered and bleeding, crowned with shadows. No king, no god. Just a shape with too many eyes. Watching. Always watching.
The shadow leaned closer.
"You are mine now, Reader."
Aiden screamed—
—and when he opened his eyes again, he was back on the marble floor, smoke rising from his skin.
The book lay open beside him, blank now. Every letter had burned itself into him.
His chest throbbed with two heartbeats.
One his.
One not.
He dragged himself upright, staring at his reflection. Not the same boy anymore. His eyes sparked faint violet. His soul felt… occupied.
The silence returned.
Not empty. Not passive.
It was waiting. Watching.
The first trial had only just begun.
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Author's Note:
Hey Readers 👋 Thanks for checking out Archives of God! This is my first real project here, and I'm pouring heart, sleep deprivation, and maybe too much coffee into it. If you're enjoying the cursed vibes, please drop a comment, add it to your library, and throw some power stones my way ❤️ It'll keep me alive (unlike Aiden).
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