Page 29 of The Alien in the Archive (Galactic Librarians #1)

29

THORNE

T here’s been a strange and unexpected side effect of writing my own history: remembering things I hadn’t realized I’d forgotten.

The pages of my Borean Chronicle sit open on the desk, half-filled with memories that seem to emerge from nowhere. Some are vivid–faces, voices, moments frozen in time. Others are hazy impressions, shadows flickering at the edge of my consciousness.

I’ve been so full of self-loathing that I’m not sure if I was able to remember the first victims of Borealis, those who lived on other continents…then those who failed to recognize the grand design of the Borean Empire, who pushed back against it.

There was a moment before it all went wrong when we could have stopped it.

We didn’t.

For centuries, I’ve wandered the stacks without thinking much of their design. The architecture is a seamless blend of styles, ancient and alien, with spiraling columns and intricate carvings. There’s so much clutter on the shelves that sometimes it’s easy to forget the Obscuary is made of something other than books.

But today, I wander. Alone and unafraid, I move deeper into the Obscuary.

Here, the ceilings stretch impossibly high, at times disappearing into darkness, while the floors shift into stone so smooth it feels like walking on glass. This place has always had odd qualities, a palimpsest of centuries, of languages, cultures. And this…it’s familiar. If I look only at the floor, I can imagine myself walking the halls of the Boreal Academy.

It wasn’t until recently—until Page—that I began to notice the patterns. Merati gold, Skoll stone, Borean frostglass. A union of disparate cultures, aimed at the same goal: learning.

I stop dead in my tracks, and a path is illuminated in my memories from a time when there wasn’t quite as much dust in the halls, grime on the skylights. When voices mingled before translators, when we taught each other our languages.

I was one of them, wasn’t I? One of the scholars who dreamed of creating a sanctuary for knowledge, a place where the secrets of the universe could be preserved and shared. But something went wrong. The memories are still fragmented, but I know this much. I was there .

And when I came here, fleeing my own planet, it was because I’d been here before.

“Thorne?”

I come back to myself, realizing I’ve been sitting in my chair this entire time, daydreaming. Page’s voice pulls me back into the moment, and I turn to see her standing in the entry to my alcove when I didn’t even realize she’s opened it. A skylight behind her has her short hair glowing like a halo around her, eyes glimmering faint silver.

Stunning .

Sometimes, there’s no other way but to describe her with poetry. I am, in fact, hopelessly tangled in her .

“You…when did you get here?” I ask.

“Just now, but the bookcase was already open. I figured it was an invitation.”

I glance down at Ashlan, who did very little to protect our home.

Traitor.

Page tilts her head, studying me. “What’s going on? You look…off. Are you okay?”

I let out a disbelieving laugh, though my smile fades quickly. She looks genuinely concerned, and I need her to know that I’m fine…but I also need to follow the path from my mind.

“I remembered something,” I say, standing up and taking her hand. “Something important. Will you come with me?”

Page hesitates a moment, her thoughts whirling around me, and I remember our last conversation: This is the last time you’ll leave this room without being well and thoroughly fucked. I take her chin and look into her eyes, and she swallows hard.

“I don’t make promises I don’t intend on keeping,” I murmur. “But it needs to wait. Later…later, I’ll give you everything you’ve been craving.”

She lets out a harsh breath, then nods. “Lead the way.”

We go back through the bookcase door and close it behind us, then we move into the depths of the Obscuary.

Ashlan scampers ahead, his glow illuminating the path. The light dances over discarded papers, vines erupting from beneath the floor, more and more clutter. We’ve walked here before—this is where I taught her to fly, where I guided her toward the Labyrinth—but now…it sparks something. Distant memories.

We pass the entrance to our reading nook, not stopping. Page reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it, and I glance back at her.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m…my mind is a bit scrambled today,” I mutter. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Okay,” she says. “You don’t have to.”

We venture further…where the shelves turn from wood to stone, to glass . Borean frostglass, forming the shelves, the lamps that have long gone unlit. It still shines clean and bright in the skylights, glimmering with undertones of blue and violet.

My chest clenches at the sight, the sight of the frostglass pulling something loose inside me, something I hadn’t realized was buried. Memories…fragments of sensation. The cool hum of Borean ships beneath my feet, before they were repurposed for warfare; the sound of voices speaking in my native tongue.

Page’s grip tightens. “I’m with you,” she whispers.

I glance back at her. I don’t have the words to express something beyond a simple thank you.

But as I look back at her, the fragments swirl faster…her face blurs, replaced for a split second by another, then another. Friends I had, students, colleagues…and somehow, I never loved anyone as I love her.

Finally, we reach the door—the door I knew was here, buried in my memories. It’s heavy, ornate, carved with an interwoven mosaic of Borean, Merati, and Skoll iconography. Unlike the rest of the Obscuary, it isn’t dusty at all; it glimmers in the middle of a dark stone wall, as if it’s speaking to us.

“This is incredible,” Page breathes. She releases my hand to step closer, her voice soft and reverent. “It’s…where’s all the dust?”

“It’s made of frostglass,” I murmur, approaching carefully. “ Borean craftsmanship; we used it for our spacecraft and orbital stations. It repels debris.”

“So…what is this?” she asks. “A ship?”

“No,” I say. “It’s…”

But I trail off as I touch the mosaic. My fingers land on the cool surface, and the sensation strikes something deep, a jolt of recognition—as if there’s ancient psychic resonance on the glass, touching my mind. Images flood through me: the glow of frostglass corridors, the hum of engines and conversation.

And with a low rumble, the door rumbles and begins to open inward.

Page grabs my hand again, and I can feel her shaking—not with fear, but anticipation. My future stands beside me, steady and breathing, even as my past pulls at me from just ahead. I thought I had nothing left to find in the cosmos—no place, no person—but she’s here.

My anchor.

Ashlan seems entirely unimpressed as he leaps ahead into the newly revealed room. It’s bright compared to the rest of the Obscuary, and Page and I both shield our eyes.

“This is…” she starts…then exhales. “Oh…”

The sight is breathtaking.

It’s a reading room, untouched by time. The air is cool and still, carrying the faint scent of paper, ink, vellum. Curved shelves line the circular space, filled with books, tablets, and scrolls, their titles written in myriad languages. A massive table dominates the center of the room, its surface inlaid with…something. A map, if memory serves.

Page steps forward beside me, her breath catching as her gaze sweeps over the room.

“Oh my God,” she whispers.

We walk together toward the table, my eyes drawn to the top. I realize it’s a map of the cosmos, labeled constellations moving outward from Yrsa’s Cradle. And there, in each one…tiny markers indicate the locations of wellsprings, and the names of the temples built around them. Sacred sites, before we destroyed them.

And covens—the ancient groups of scholars and mystics Page has been searching for.

“This is why I came here,” I murmur.

“Thorne, this is…” Page is staring down at the map, unable to look away. “How did you find this place?”

“Because I was here when it was built,” I reply, voice quiet.

She finally looks up at me, disbelieving. “What?”

I frown, reaching up to rub my eyes as I’m barraged by memories once again. They’re still chaotic and cluttered; I’ll need time to put them in order.

“Working on the chronicle, writing it all out…it’s brought very old memories to the surface,” I mutter. “Things I’d forgotten entirely, because our minds weren’t made to hold this many lifetimes. But this…” I look around, up at the ceiling, across to a detailed mosaic on the other side of the wall. It depicts a council of various species, some I don’t even recognize—possibly extinct now. “I was here. I don’t have all the details yet, but I know I was here .”

The realization stirs something within me…wonder, grief. Suddenly, I’m somehow both more and less angry at myself for my past sins.

Page takes a step toward me, capturing my attention when she takes my hand. “Thorne, you…you should be so proud of this. You helped build the Grand Library.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Pride isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

“This, though,” she says, taking my other hand, moving closer. Her eyes glimmer with an intensity that makes it impossible to look away, even surrounded by the majesty of the ancient reading room. “It’s beautiful. ”

The warmth of her touch sends a shiver through me, and I turn to face her fully.

I should be caught in the weight of this moment, the discovery of something I thought was lost forever. The past I’d resigned myself to forgetting. But as I look into Page’s eyes, everything else fades away. The wonder, the grief—and yes, even the pride—it all pales in comparison to her. To the future standing before me, more real than anything I’ve ever known.

The only being I’ve ever truly loved.

“I need you,” I rasp, voice cracking at my desperation for her.

“You’ve got me,” she replies.

Then I’m pulling her in and kissing her hard, holding her to me…and I know that it’s high time I fulfilled my promise.

The past can wait a little longer; she’s what’s important right now.