Page 59 of Orc’s Grimoire

Not from any visible source—from everywhere and nowhere, carried by the magic saturating these ancient walls. The sound makes my bones ache.

“Let them come.” His voice follows the laughter, resonating with ancient spite. “Let them burn everything. I’ve been waiting for this moment, keeper. The chaos. The destruction. The end of everything the Archive represents.”

“You’ll die with it.” I shout the words at the empty air, knowing he can hear me. “When Midori’s spell-burners finish, there won’t be anything left. Including your grimoire.”

“Will there?” The amusement in his voice is genuine. Horrible. “The grimoire has survived worse than fire, Thyra. And so have I. When the ashes settle, I’ll simply start again. I’ve done it before.”

Korrath growls—an actual growl, low and feral, tusks bared. “We need to end him. Now. Before Midori destroys our only way in.”

“The Inner Codex.” I start running again, pulling him with me. “The grimoire showed us a path. If we can reach it before⁠—“

Another explosion rocks the Archive. This one brings part of the ceiling down twenty feet ahead of us, blocking our passage with rubble and smoke.

We find another way. Then another. The Archive has become a maze of fire and falling stone, and every route to the Restricted Stacks seems to collapse the moment we reach it.

We break through into the Stacks with blood on our hands and smoke in our lungs.

The Restricted Stacks are intact—barely. Containment circles on the floor flicker with stressed magic. Several chained texts have awakened, pulling at their restraints, sensing the chaos above and wanting to join it. The bone-inlaid shelves groan with the strain of keeping their contents contained.

But the grimoire waits on its central lectern, pages thrashing, chains rattling. It’s agitated in a way I’ve never seen—not angry, but urgent. Desperate. The book that’s been my burden and my purpose for years is afraid.

It knows what Midori’s fire will mean. It knows it can burn.

“You said you’d help us.” I slam my bleeding palm onto the cover, not waiting for the book to grant permission. My blood seeps into the ancient leather—skin that was once human, pages that were once blank, now saturated with centuries of accumulated horror. “You said you wanted the Author dead. Show us how.”

The grimoire’s pages turn on their own, faster than any physical force could move them. Script crawls across the parchment, rearranging into shapes I recognize: a map. A path. A route through impossible geometries that leads to the heart of everything.

THE INNER CODEX. THE SPACE INSIDE MY PAGES WHERE HE TRULY EXISTS. ENTER THERE. FIND HIS THRONE. DESTROY HIM WHERE HE CANNOT ESCAPE.

“How do we enter?” Korrath moves to stand beside me, his blade still dripping from the fighting we did to reach this place. Another explosion shakes the Archive above us, raining dust from the vaulted ceiling. “The last time you showed us a doorway, we had to run from the Author’s entire cult.”

THIS IS DIFFERENT. THE CLAIMING HAS MADE YOU BOTH STRONGER. TWO MINDS, TWO WILLS, TWO WARRIORS. YOU CAN SURVIVE WHAT LIES INSIDE. BUT YOU MUST GO NOW, BEFORE THE FIRE REACHES ME.

Another explosion, closer than any before. I smell smoke now—real smoke, not the metaphorical kind. Midori’s flames are spreading through the Archive above us, consuming texts and archivists and Inscribed without discrimination. Fire doesn’t care about loyalty. It just burns.

“Do it.” Korrath’s hand closes around my elbow, grounding me.

The mating mark warms at his touch, steadying my racing heart. “Open the way.”

The grimoire doesn’t hesitate.

Its pages stop turning, settling on a spread that shows nothing but blackness—deep, absolute, the absence of everything. As I watch, the darkness begins to spread beyond the page, pooling in the air above the lectern, forming a doorway that wasn’t there a moment ago.

The Inner Codex. The space inside the grimoire where the Author has ruled for centuries.

Where he can finally, permanently die.

“Side by side.” Korrath positions himself beside me, blade raised, mating mark blazing beneath his torn tunic. His presence steadies me in a way I didn’t expect—not because of magic or claiming marks, but because I know what he is now. I’ve seen his darkness, and he’s seen mine, and neither of us turned away.

“We go in. We find him. We end this.”

I nod once. No more words. No more hesitation.

I take his hand in mine—not for comfort, but for coordination. Where one of us goes, the other follows. That’s the deal we’ve made. That’s the claiming we’ve sealed.

We step through the doorway.

And the world unmakes itself around us.