The knock came exactly once.
Not loud. Not hesitant.
Intentional.
Seraphina looked up from where she sat near the window, fingers loosely folded in her lap. She had learned the rhythms of the stronghold quickly—guards came in pairs, servants announced themselves softly, council summons arrived with formal warning.
This knock belonged to none of those.
"Enter," she said calmly.
The door opened without sound.
The man who stepped inside did not look like a threat.
That was the first thing that unsettled her.
He wore neutral robes—neither council black nor house colors—cut simply, without ornament. His hair was neatly bound at the nape of his neck, his face unremarkable enough to slip from memory if one wasn't paying attention.
But Seraphina was always paying attention.
"My lady," he said, inclining his head just enough to be respectful without being submissive. "Thank you for agreeing to see me."
"I don't recall agreeing," she replied.
A flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—passed through his eyes.
"Forgive me," he said smoothly. "I should have said thank you for not refusing."
She gestured to the chair opposite her. "Sit."
He did.
Not cautiously.
Comfortably.
That was the second thing.
"I am Archivist Corin," he said. "Independent. Appointed."
"By whom?" Seraphina asked.
He smiled faintly. "By necessity."
She studied him in silence.
Archivists were meant to record history, not interfere with it. They observed wars, catalogued bloodlines, preserved forbidden texts. They did not visit political prisoners in restricted strongholds.
Unless something had gone wrong.
Or something had awakened.
"And what necessity brings you here?" she asked.
Corin folded his hands on his knee. "Understanding."
She laughed softly.
"Then you're in the wrong place."
"I disagree," he said gently. "You are the only place."
The sigils along the walls pulsed once—faint, curious.
Seraphina felt it immediately.
"You're allowed to ask questions," she said slowly. "Not provoke reactions."
Corin glanced at the sigils, then back to her. "I'm not provoking. I'm observing."
"That's worse."
He smiled again.
"May I?" he asked, gesturing vaguely toward the room.
"You may look," she replied. "Touch nothing."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
He rose and walked slowly along the perimeter, eyes tracing the sigils—not with awe, but familiarity. His gaze lingered on one near the eastern wall.
"That one was added last night," he said casually.
Seraphina's posture did not change.
Her blood went very still.
"Was it?" she said.
"Yes," Corin replied. "Adaptive enchantment. Rare. Older than the current council."
He turned to face her.
"They don't use those unless they expect evolution."
She tilted her head. "You speak as though you disapprove."
"I speak as someone who has seen what happens when they're wrong," he said.
Silence stretched between them.
Seraphina broke it. "You're not here to interrogate me."
"No."
"To threaten me?"
"No."
"To extract information?"
Corin considered. "Not directly."
"Then why are you here?"
He returned to his seat.
"To confirm a timeline."
Her lips curved faintly. "And what timeline would that be?"
"The one they refuse to say aloud," he said quietly.
The sigils dimmed slightly.
Listening.
Corin leaned forward just a fraction.
"Tell me," he said, "when did the dreams begin?"
Seraphina's breath did not falter.
"Which dreams?" she asked.
"The ones that don't belong to you."
A subtle pressure filled the room—not magical, but emotional.
Expectation.
She held his gaze. "I don't dream."
Corin nodded, as if that answered something.
"That's earlier than expected," he murmured.
She stood.
The movement was unhurried, but it shifted the balance of the room.
"You are dangerously close to overstepping," she said. "Archivist or not."
"I know," he replied calmly. "That's why they didn't send a councilor."
She paused.
"They?" she echoed.
Corin looked at her steadily. "There are… disagreements."
That was the third unsettling thing.
Not that disagreements existed—but that he admitted it.
"You've read about my family," Seraphina said.
"Yes."
"You've studied Nightborne history."
"Yes."
"You believe you know what I am."
Corin hesitated.
"No," he said carefully. "I believe I know what you are not."
Her eyes sharpened.
"And what would that be?"
"You are not a recurrence," he said. "You're not a remnant."
He inhaled once.
"You're an interruption."
The word settled heavily between them.
Seraphina crossed the room slowly, stopping directly in front of him.
"Be very careful," she said softly.
Corin looked up at her—unafraid.
"I have been," he said. "For most of my life."
She searched his face for deceit, for ambition, for fear.
Found none.
Only certainty.
"Why now?" she asked. "Why come to me now?"
"Because the stronghold has started responding," Corin said.
Her pulse ticked once.
"How?"
"The lower wards have stirred," he said. "They haven't done that since before the purge."
A pause.
"Since before the Nightborne were silenced."
Seraphina straightened.
"You're lying."
"No," he said. "I'm late."
The sigils flickered.
Not warning.
Recognition.
She felt it then—a faint echo in her chest, the same sensation she'd felt in her dream. Corridors. Doors. Waiting.
"You were never meant to awaken yet," Corin said quietly.
The room went very still.
Seraphina smiled.
A slow, dangerous curve of her lips.
"Awaken what?" she asked.
Corin stood.
"I can't answer that," he said.
"That's inconvenient."
"Yes," he agreed. "But intentional."
He inclined his head again, deeper this time.
"They're watching us now," he added softly. "More closely than before."
"Good," Seraphina said. "I'd hate to disappoint them."
Corin moved toward the door, then paused.
"One more thing," he said without turning. "If they offer you a choice soon—"
"They won't."
"They will," he said. "And it will be a lie."
The door opened.
"Archivist," she called.
He glanced back.
"Next time you come," she said, "don't pretend you're neutral."
A hint of a smile touched his mouth.
"Next time," he said, "they won't send me."
The door closed behind him.
The sigils pulsed—once, twice—then settled into a configuration Seraphina had never seen before.
She stood alone in the chamber, blood humming quietly beneath her skin.
"They're arguing about me now," she murmured.
Not afraid.
Not yet.
Somewhere deep within the eastern stronghold, something ancient shifted again—slowly, patiently—adjusting to her presence.
And this time, it felt like anticipation.