The archive settles into hush again. Bren and Kynes drift between leaning shelves, tracing spines and dust with careful fingers while Slaan keeps watch in the violet-lit hall.
Kynes
Old records love old answers. If this mark has a precedent, it is buried in someone’s bad handwriting.
Bren
And probably filed by someone who hated finding things twice.
Bren’s mouth quirks at that. Kynes gives a low, tired sound that might be agreement, might be amusement.
Slaan
The violet sheen on Slaan’s hand has faded to a thin glimmer.
Kynes
You held steady in there. Better than steady, actually. The seal answered you.
Bren
He is right. You did not just survive it, Slaan. You made it behave.
The praise hangs warm in the dust. Somewhere deep in the archive, parchment rustles softly as if the hall itself is breathing out.