Deep within the archives, the air grew colder and sharper.
The lights flickered like wavering flames, casting mottled shadows across the towering bookshelves, their glow so faint it seemed ready to extinguish at any moment. The walls were thick with dust, mingled with the scent of ancient pages, exuding an old, oppressive aroma that made one unconsciously hold their breath. Ethan followed Silas, stepping carefully; each footfall sounded unusually loud in the silent space, like a bell tolling an invisible warning.
Turning a dim corridor, Ethan's gaze was drawn to an iron cabinet unlike any other. It towered above the surrounding shelves, heavier and more imposing. Intricate chains wrapped around its surface, each engraved with dark purple symbols that pulsed faintly, like veins glowing under the weak light.
At the center of the cabinet, four chilling letters were etched:
SHADOW DOSSIER
Ethan froze in his tracks and whistled softly, "Now that's a name… the final boss of the archives?"
Silas immediately stepped in front of him, his tone for the first time clearly sharp and forbidding. "Do not approach."
"What, what's inside? Your team's awkward group photos?" Ethan quipped, forcing a strained smile to lighten the tension.
Silas's gaze was like an ice blade, low and commanding: "This is the highest-level forbidden dossier. Any unauthorized viewing will trigger its seal, even erasing the soul itself."
Ethan blinked, his smile stiffening for a moment before he shrugged. "Erase the soul? So no second chance at death. Truly user-unfriendly regulations." He tried to mask the rising fear with humor, yet his eyes couldn't help lingering on the iron cabinet.
The symbols on the Shadow Dossier seemed to respond to his gaze, quivering slightly, as though an unseen force were breathing, whispering. A strange familiarity surged in Ethan's chest—a sensation of being watched, being drawn toward something—that made his spine tingle.
He took an involuntary step forward, drawn almost irresistibly to the cabinet. The moment his fingers touched the chains, a deep, unfamiliar voice echoed in his mind:
"Veil…"
The call seemed to emerge from the abyss, piercing the depths of his soul. Ethan's heart jolted, as if gripped by invisible hands.
"Ethan!" Silas's voice snapped sharply, tinged with warning and anger.
Snapped back to reality, Ethan realized he had subconsciously moved closer, almost touching the chains pulsing with eerie light. Cold sweat ran down his forehead. He stepped back hastily and forced a smile: "Relax… I was just seeing if this cabinet could double as a wardrobe."
Silas's gaze remained icy and unyielding, silent for several long moments. Ethan felt a foreboding sense rise within him, as if he had brushed against a sealed secret, causing his every breath to lighten instinctively.
As they left the archives, Ethan couldn't resist glancing back. The iron cabinet stood silently in the shadows, its dark purple glow pulsing like a hidden life. Light and shadow played across the interlaced chains and symbols, as though countless eyes were watching him, sensing every breath and heartbeat.
In his mind, the low whisper repeated, as if emanating from the depths of the cabinet across time and space:
"Veil…"
The voice carried an uncanny familiarity, simultaneously strange and dangerous, stirring memories of his past—death, betrayal, the Bureau, and untouchable secrets.
His fingers traced the air as though drawing the outline of the symbols, trying to touch that unseen power, yet feeling unprecedented pressure. The ink mark on his chest pulsed faintly, warning him: the Shadow Dossier was more than just a file—it was something connected to his very soul.
Ethan murmured, voice barely audible: "The Shadow Dossier… is it… connected to me?"
Before his words faded, a faint echo seemed to respond from the archive's depths, both an answer and a warning. A hidden chill rose from his feet, crawling up his spine to the crown of his head, as though someone—or something—was watching him, lurking within the faintly trembling symbols, an ancient will long waiting.
His breathing quickened. He clenched his teeth, forcing down the unease, thinking: None of this is a coincidence. The Shadow Dossier, the whispering symbols, the ink mark—were they all arranged in secret, for a purpose he had yet to understand?
He lowered his head and traced the lines of the symbols again in the air. Each contact felt like communicating with an unknown presence. The subtle sting heightened his awareness, but curiosity and instinct compelled him to stay.
"Perhaps… it wants to tell me something." Ethan whispered, his eyes reflecting a mixture of determination and fear.
Night deepened. Only the iron cabinet remained still in the archive. Its dark purple glow pulsed like a heartbeat, like a whisper. Ethan stepped closer, the ink mark on his chest reminding him—no matter how dangerous the future, no matter how terrifying the truth, he must face the secrets behind this cabinet.
"Ronan… or rather, who are you really…" he murmured, eyes steady.
The Shadow Dossier seemed to wait—for his answer, for his choice.