Luminara - Chapter Twelve: Iria Solenne - Wattpad

Luminara

by NaturesQueen_

Luminara

YOU ARE READING

Luminara

Fantasy

They say the gods saved the world.
They lied.
Now the dead are speaking through forbidden bells, empires are bleeding secrets, and a forgotten force beneath reality is beginning to remember itself.
Zafira Kain was never meant to hear the truth.
But...

# ancient
# dark
# fairycore
# fictional
# mythical
# whimsical

                                                  The Grand Archivum of Solaryn was beautiful in the way certain lies were beautiful.
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That was Iria Solenne's first thought every morning when she crossed beneath its marble arch and stepped into the Hall of Lanterns. Sunlight poured through the immense glass dome overhead, breaking itself across gold leaf murals of the Aethari descending from the heavens with their hands open in blessing. White columns rose like petrified light. Their capitals had been carved into stars, flowering branches, and spirals so delicate that visitors often stood beneath them with tears in their eyes.
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To the faithful, the Archivum was the heart of civilization.
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To scholars, it was the memory of the world.
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To Iria, it was a mouth.
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A lovely one, certainly. Elegant. Intelligent. Perfectly shaped for swallowing whole histories and smiling afterward.
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She moved through the morning hush with three copied registers balanced against her hip. Her robes were modest by Archivum standards, layered ivory and deep blue with thin gold stitching at the cuffs, fine enough to announce her rank but plain enough to avoid accusations of vanity. A bronze key hung from a cord at her throat. Ink stained her fingertips no matter how often she scrubbed them.
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A junior scribe nearly collided with her at the western stair.
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He stopped so abruptly that the loose pages in his arms shifted forward like startled birds.
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"Historian Solenne," he said, breathless. "Forgive me."
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Iria looked at the stack he was carrying, then at his face.
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Jalen was nineteen, perhaps twenty, with warm brown skin, anxious eyes, and hair braided unevenly enough that she suspected he had done it himself without a mirror. He had been assigned to western duplicates two months earlier and still treated every misplaced comma as if it might personally summon the High Curator.
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"You are forgiven because you look terrified," Iria said. "And because if you drop all of that, I will be forced to help you gather it, which would ruin both of our mornings."
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Jalen gave a strained laugh.
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"I was looking for you."
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"That is rarely good news."
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"No," he admitted. "It is not."
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He shifted the pages under one arm and offered her a folded memorandum sealed in blue wax.
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The mark pressed into the wax belonged to the western records office.
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Iria felt the morning sharpen.
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"That came through official channels?"
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"Yes."
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"And unofficially?"
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Jalen lowered his voice. "Through half the copyists downstairs."
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She broke the seal as they climbed the stair together.
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The memorandum was brief.
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Far too brief.
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Field irregularities reported in the Marrowick district. Census records unstable. Local memory degradation exceeds expected contamination thresholds. Awaiting instruction from High Curator Selene Arctis. All duplicate ledgers to be surrendered for corrective review.
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Iria stopped on the stair.
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Marrowick.
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That was the Dominion name.
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She read the phrase again.
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Expected contamination thresholds.
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The Archivum had a gift for making horror sound like paperwork.
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"What have you heard?" she asked. + Jalen glanced at the passing scribes before answering. + "That pages are changing on their own." + She resumed walking. + "That sounds like the sort of rumor bored apprentices invent when the ink stores run low." + "I thought so too." + "But?" + "But Tovan from correction saw a birth ledger fade while he was holding it. Five children listed on one page. He looked away. When he looked back, only two remained." + Iria did not answer. + Jalen continued more quietly. + "They say the High Curator took military escort west. They say an abandoned village was found with supper still on the tables. No bodies. No blood. Just doors open and spirals carved everywhere." + Iria's fingers tightened around the memorandum. + "Anything else?" + He hesitated. + "Say it, Jalen." + "They say a general refused to surrender a witness to the Archivum." + That did make her look at him. + "Which general?" + "Nyambe." + The name settled between them with unexpected weight. + Kaelor Nyambe. + Even in the Archivum, where soldiers were often discussed as instruments rather than men, his name carried shape. A strategist. A loyalist. Honorable, according to those who admired him. Difficult, according to those who preferred obedience without questions. + Iria folded the memorandum. + "Rumors rarely survive inside this building unless someone powerful benefits from letting them breathe." + Jalen swallowed. "Do you think it is true?" + "I think if the Archivum is calling it contamination, someone has already decided who must be blamed for it." + They reached the western catalog chamber, where Iria spent most of her days pretending to maintain approved records while quietly preserving earlier versions in places the correction teams rarely checked. + The room was long and cool, lined with walnut shelves and iron cabinets. Tall windows overlooked an inner garden where white flowers bloomed in perfect circles around a fountain shaped like an open book. Scribes bent over desks beneath hanging lamps. The air smelled of paper, lamp oil, drying ink, and glue. + At the central table waited Archivist Merrow. + He was narrow shouldered, older, and dressed in severe gray robes buttoned to the throat. His light brown skin was lined from decades spent frowning at badly handled documents. Silver threaded his hair. He wore immaculate gloves, even when turning pages, and had once told a noblewoman that careless fingers had ended more civilizations than war. + He did not look up when Iria entered. + "You are late." + "I arrived on time and was delayed by bureaucracy pretending to be urgent." + "That is still lateness." + "Then I shall correct it in the record." + The corner of his mouth twitched. + For Merrow, that was laughter. + He slid a ledger toward her. + "Western census duplication."