Page 9 of Hex and the Dragon (Mistwhispher Falls Romances #4)
SIX
DORIAN
T he revelation of the Chronicle's broader campaign had sent the emergency command center into overdrive.
Maps now displayed the locations of the seven affected communities, connected by red lines that traced a pattern across the country like a constellation of supernatural disasters.
Ivy stared at those red lines while the presence in her head whispered seductive promises about the knowledge contained in each of those lost libraries.
Every community had archives, the Chronicle murmured in her thoughts. Centuries of accumulated wisdom, magical research, historical records. All of it could be yours to study, to understand, to use for the betterment of those you care about.
"The pattern suggests the Chronicle is working its way toward population centers," Aerin was saying from her research station, surrounded by fae texts and scrying crystals that pulsed with silvery light. "Each target community has been larger and more magically significant than the last."
"Which makes Mistwhisper Falls what?" Leo asked, his exhaustion evident in the sharp edges of his voice. "The final test before it moves on to major cities?"
"Or the launching point for something bigger," Nico said grimly. "If it can perfect its reality-rewriting technique here, among a population of supernatural beings who should theoretically be more resistant to its influence..."
Ivy tried to focus on the conversation, but the Chronicle's whispers were growing stronger, more detailed.
It was showing her glimpses of the libraries from those seven lost communities—vast collections that contained treatises on immortality magic, theoretical frameworks for dimensional travel, historical accounts of civilizations that had transcended physical existence.
All of it lost now. All of it locked away in perfect dream worlds where knowledge served no purpose beyond self-gratification.
Unless you accept my offer, the Chronicle whispered. I could give you access to all of it. Every book, every scroll, every carved stone tablet that has ever contained wisdom. You could become the greatest scholar in human history, the keeper of knowledge that could reshape the world.
"Ivy?" Dorian's voice cut through the whispers, concerned and immediate. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?" Ivy asked, blinking as the command center came back into focus around her.
"Writing," Dorian said, gesturing toward her notebook. "But not in any language I recognize."
Ivy looked down at her research notes and felt her blood freeze. The page was covered with flowing script that seemed to shift and move as she watched, symbols that looked like they'd been written by someone else's hand entirely. She had no memory of writing any of it.
"What does it say?" she asked quietly, though she seemed to know the answer already.
Dorian leaned closer, his amber eyes focusing on the strange text with the kind of intense concentration he used for particularly complex translations.
"It's a modification ritual," he said slowly.
"Instructions for enhancing bibliomantic abilities through.
.. conscious integration with external knowledge sources. "
"Integration," Ivy repeated, the clinical term failing to hide the horror of what she'd apparently been writing. "You mean possession."
"Not possession," Aerin interjected, moving to examine the notebook with her scholarly precision.
"Symbiosis. The Chronicle isn't trying to take over your consciousness—it's trying to merge with it.
Create a hybrid entity that can access both your bibliomantic abilities and its accumulated knowledge. "
The implications hit Ivy like a physical blow. "That's why it needs me specifically. Not just any magic user, but someone whose power is based on manipulating reality through written language."
"And it's been conditioning you," Nico observed with growing alarm. "Each time you interact with it, each research session, every translation—it's been slowly acclimating your consciousness to its presence."
Ivy felt a chill of recognition as she realized how much easier it had become to hear the Chronicle's whispers, how natural its cold presence in her mind now felt. What had started as an invasive intrusion was beginning to feel like a second self.
"How far has the integration progressed?" Leo asked with the kind of professional calm that suggested he was preparing for the worst-case scenario.
"Hard to say without more extensive testing," Aerin replied, though her violet eyes were sharp with concern.
"But bibliomantic episodes suggest significant neural pathway modification.
Reality-shaping magic is inherently addictive—the more you use it, the more your brain craves the sensation of controlling fundamental forces. "
"Like a drug," Dorian said with understanding. "The Chronicle isn't just offering knowledge—it's offering the ultimate high for someone whose magic is based on reshaping reality."
"And each time she uses it unconsciously, each automatic writing episode, the addiction becomes stronger," Aerin continued. "Eventually, the desire for that sensation will override rational thought."
The Chronicle's response to their analysis was immediate and cutting:
Such crude understanding of transcendence. Addiction implies weakness, loss of control. What I offer is evolution—the expansion of consciousness beyond the limitations of singular perspective. Ivy's growing connection to my knowledge is not dependency but enlightenment.
"No," Ivy said firmly. She could feel the fragment's satisfaction at how much effort it took to resist its whispered promises. "Knowledge gained through surrendering free will isn't enlightenment. It's just another form of slavery."
Is it slavery when a child learns to read? When a student accepts teaching from a master? Growth requires the integration of external wisdom. I simply offer that integration on a scale worthy of your potential.
The Chronicle's words were accompanied by visions that made Ivy's breath catch—libraries that stretched beyond horizons, filled with books that contained the secrets of reality itself.
She saw herself moving through those infinite archives with perfect understanding, solving mysteries that had puzzled scholars for centuries, finding answers to questions that could save countless lives.
"Ivy," Dorian said sharply, his hand settling on her shoulder with warm pressure that helped ground her in present reality. "Stay with us. Don't let it pull you into those visions."
"They're so detailed," Ivy whispered, struggling to focus on his amber eyes instead of the impossible libraries the Chronicle was showing her. "I could spend lifetimes exploring just one section, and there are thousands of sections, each one containing knowledge that could..."
"That could what?" Dorian challenged. "Transform you into something that's no longer human? Turn you into an extension of the Chronicle's will?"
"I could help people," Ivy protested, though even as she said it, she recognized the weakness in her argument. "All that knowledge, all those solutions to problems we've never been able to solve..."
"At the cost of who you are," Dorian said firmly. "The Ivy I've been working with doesn't need unlimited knowledge to be valuable. Her curiosity, her dedication, her ability to see connections that others miss—those come from her humanity, not from some external source of information."
Aerin cleared her throat diplomatically. "Perhaps we should take a break from direct Chronicle interaction for today. Give Ivy's consciousness time to stabilize before the integration progresses further."
"Good idea," Leo agreed. "Dorian, can you keep an eye on her? Make sure she doesn't have any more bibliomantic episodes?"
"Of course," Dorian said immediately, his protective instincts clearly engaged. "We'll work on something less directly connected to the Chronicle's influence."
But as they gathered their research materials and prepared to leave the command center, Ivy found herself reluctant to close the Chronicle completely.
The whispers were so much quieter when the book was sealed, but they didn't disappear entirely—and part of her was beginning to prefer their cold presence to the uncertainty of working without their guidance.
That realization should have terrified her. Instead, it felt like coming home.
They returned to the library as evening shadows gathered across Mistwhisper Falls, the building's familiar warmth a welcome contrast to the crisis atmosphere of the command center.
Dorian settled them in the main reading area rather than the archive room, claiming the soft chairs and better lighting would be more comfortable for extended research.
Ivy suspected he was also keeping them away from the Chronicle's strongest influence, but she didn't object. The distance did make it easier to think clearly, even if the whispers never completely stopped.
"What should we work on?" she asked, settling into her favorite armchair with a stack of less dangerous texts.
"Language," Dorian said unexpectedly. "You've been translating draconic script for days without any formal training. I'd like to teach you the proper pronunciation, the cultural context that gives the words their full meaning."
Ivy felt a spark of genuine interest that didn’t involve Chronicle's influence. "You'd do that?"
"It's important," Dorian said seriously. "Dragon language isn't just communication—it's magic itself. Understanding the cultural context makes the difference between translating words and comprehending intent."
He moved his chair closer to hers, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin and catch the scent of woodsmoke and something indefinably wild that seemed to cling to him.
When he opened one of the draconic texts, his fingers traced the flowing script with unconscious reverence.