Page 54 of The Alien in the Archive (Galactic Librarians #1)

54

THORNE

F or centuries, the Obscuary was a tomb. A labyrinth of forgotten knowledge buried beneath dust, shadow, and silence. I was part of that silence, a ghost haunting its halls. I never imagined I’d return to it as anything else.

But now, the Obscuary breathes.

The reading room is bright—light spilling in from glow lamps and carefully placed projectors. The air hums with quiet conversation and the murmur of scribes working, their fingers flying across digital slates as they record each new revelation. Tables are littered with open scrolls, brittle books, and shattered seals I once thought no one would ever break again.

The weight of history is here, tangible and alive.

I sit at the largest table, surrounded by curious scholars who are trying (and failing) to look like they’re not gawking. Every word I speak is recorded, every gesture followed, as though I might vanish at any moment and take their precious knowledge with me. Some stare at me with outright reverence—others with suspicion .

I don’t blame them.

The document in front of me is brittle, the edges flaking under the protective light of the archive lamp. It’s written in old High Borean, a formal language most of the Empire abandoned well before even the Skoll Rebellion. We used this language to exchange encoded letters at one point in time, when things were already becoming tenuous. To me, the curling script is as familiar as breathing, though the sight of it still feels like a punch to the gut.

It’s a ledger—a record of construction materials delivered to the original Obscuary. I trace the lines with my fingertip, the words flooding back to me.

Alabastri stone from Borealis. Bronze mined in the Nyeri’i Trinity…

The Trinity. Rhyss’s voice comes back to me unbidden, a reminder of the Nyeri’i Cataclysm. I exhale through my nose and push forward. There’s a purpose to this now. There’s meaning.

Davina stands at the head of the table, watching as I translate aloud. Her presence, as always, is steady. She takes notes, occasionally asking clarifying questions, though I sense she already knows more than she lets on. A few younger scholars whisper furiously between themselves, eyes wide with awe. I catch snippets of their thoughts—disbelief, excitement, reverence—though they’re drowned out by the work in front of me.

“This section,” I murmur, gesturing at the bottom of the page, “mentions a collaboration agreement. The Merati stoneworkers, the Skoll metallurgists, and the Borean Magisterium were all involved. It’s…a joint commission.”

Davina’s eyebrows lift. “You’re certain?”

I glance up at her. “I wrote it,” I reply dryly.

The youngest scribe audibly gasps. I almost smirk.

Almost .

Davina’s lips twitch, and I feel Page’s approval ripple through the bond even before I sense her presence.

She’s here.

I don’t turn immediately, but the moment she steps into the room, my focus sharpens like a blade. I can feel her again, steady and warm, anchoring me. She always does. When I look up, her eyes meet mine across the room. She smiles softly—so small no one else notices, but I do.

The hum of conversation continues, the scholars lost in their discussions, oblivious to Page weaving between the tables until she’s next to me. She sets a thermos down in front of me without a word, her fingers lingering on it.

“Earl Grey,” she says quietly. “You’re overdue for a break.”

I reach for her hand instead of the tea, letting my fingers brush over hers. “I missed you,” I murmur.

“I know,” she replies softly, squeezing my hand before pulling up a chair beside me. “Davina says you’ve been scaring the undergraduates.”

“I have not,” I say, though I glance at the gawking scribe and immediately revise the statement. “Not intentionally.”

Page laughs, and it’s a sound that fills the hollow spaces in me. I lean back slightly, watching her sip tea from her own cup as she looks over the document I was translating. She pretends to read it, but I feel her mind circling something else.

I know her well enough to wait her out.

“You’re busy,” she says finally, “but I think we should talk about the ceremony.”

The Elixir Ceremony.

I blink, startled by how much the thought of it fills me with warmth. With want.

Davina raises her head at the word “ceremony,” looking curious but polite enough not to interrupt. Page ignores her, turning her full focus on me .

“It doesn’t have to be soon,” she continues, setting her tea down, “but we can’t wait forever. The bond already feels permanent to me, but…”

“But we need to make it real,” I finish for her, my voice quiet. “For both of us.”

Her face softens. “And for your survival.”

I don’t like the reminder, but she’s right. The Elixir Ceremony isn’t just symbolic—it will strengthen the bond between us, ensuring that I remain anchored to life itself. I spent so many years frozen between existing and dying that the thought of permanence feels almost too much to hope for.

But I want it. I want her.

I reach for her hand again, lacing my fingers with hers. “Whenever you’re ready,” I say softly. “I’ll be there.”

The words mean more than they should. It’s not just about the ceremony—it’s about everything we’ve fought for to get here. For her, for me, for the Obscuary and the truths hidden within it.

We sit like that for a moment, a strange calm settling over the space between us.

Davina clears her throat gently, not unkindly. “You can discuss the details of your…ceremony later,” she says with mild amusement, “but I need Thorne to finish translating this ledger.”

Page sighs dramatically, leaning back in her chair. “Don’t let her work you to death.”

“Impossible,” I remind her, earning an exasperated look. “I’ve had one foot in the grave for years.”

“Not funny.”

“Not inaccurate.”

Page swats me gently on the arm before standing. “I’ll leave you to it,” she says. “I need to catch up with Thalara about the cataloging. ”

Her fingers trail along my shoulder as she passes, and when she’s gone, I find it harder to concentrate. The ledger in front of me feels heavier now—not because of its content, but because I’m thinking of her. Of the life we’re building out of the rubble of my past.

An Elixir Ceremony…and this bright, endless future.

I want to show her so much.

Hours later, the work begins to wind down. The glow of lamplight softens as scholars filter out of the reading room, satchels heavy with notes and revelations. Davina finally calls for a break, her antlers dipping with fatigue as she gathers her things. The room empties slowly, leaving me amidst the scattered pages, the air still heavy with the scent of ink and age.

I stand slowly, my body aching in a way it never did when I was more shadow than flesh. My muscles protest the movement, a dull soreness lingering in my bones. I press a hand to my chest, feeling the faint pulse beneath my skin—a steady rhythm I’ve only begun to get used to.

Life.

It’s strange how such a simple thing can feel so profound.

I step out into the hallway, where the air is cool and crisp compared to the stillness of the reading room. And there she is.

Page is leaning against the wall, her arms crossed, one foot tapping lazily as though she’s been waiting for me for hours. Ashlan is perched smugly on her shoulder, his silver fur sleek and glowing faintly under the lights. He chirps the moment he spots me, a bright, impatient sound, like he’s telling her, See? I told you he was coming.

Page turns her head at the noise, her expression softening when she sees me. Relief, mischief, something even deeper flashes in her gaze.

“Took you long enough,” she teases.

“I was working,” I reply, deadpan.

“You were showing off,” she counters, pushing away from the wall.

I don’t argue, because she’s right. Seeing the awe in the scholars’ faces as I translated forgotten languages and unlocked texts that had been dormant for thousands of years…it stirred something in me. Not pride, exactly, but a quiet satisfaction. A sense of purpose, of usefulness, that I haven’t felt in millennia.

Page steps into my space, and the bond between us flares to life the moment I brush a hand down her arm. The warmth of it lingers, humming beneath my skin.

“How was your presentation?” I ask.

“Good, good…” she pauses. “Everyone is anxious for more information from the reading room, but I told them we’re working as fast as we can. Meanwhile, I’m scouring my sources for anything else about the Lost Expeditions.”

I look at her sidelong. “Is that what you call our private activities? Scouring your sources?”

She snorts, then goes quiet as we walk the halls of the Obscuary. Finally, Page looks back up at me.

“Do you think Davina will let you take a break long enough to plan the ceremony?” she asks, her voice quieter now, but still playful. She tilts her head, watching me like she already knows the answer.

“She’ll have to,” I murmur. “I’ll make her.”

Page arches a brow, the corner of her mouth curling into a grin. “You’ll make her, huh? You do know who you’re dealing with, right?”

“I do.” I lean closer, my voice dropping low. “I’ll still win. ”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “I’ll hold you to that, Thorne Valtheris.”

The sound of my name on her lips hits me like a spark. It’s not a name that carries shame or weight when she says it.

It’s mine again, because of her.

I lean down, pressing my forehead gently to hers. Her eyes flutter closed, and I let my own drift shut, sinking into the moment. The world is quiet here—just her, just me, just the bond between us that hums with certainty.

“We’ll plan it soon,” I promise, my voice a low whisper. “For you. For me.”

“For us,” she corrects softly.

The word hangs in the air, sinking deep, settling somewhere inside me that still doesn’t quite believe any of this is real. For us.

I think back to the lonely shadows I used to haunt, the centuries of silence, the weight of mistakes I couldn’t bear to face. All of it led me here. To her. To this chance to build something new—something lasting.

I let out a slow breath, resting one hand lightly at the curve of her waist. “For us,” I echo. And this time, the word feels permanent. Like stone laid in the foundation of something unshakable.

Ashlan chirps again, breaking the stillness, and Page pulls back just enough to glance at him. “Oh, relax,” she mutters at the lumivix, her smile still soft as she turns back to me. “He thinks you’re taking too long to kiss me.”

I huff a laugh, shaking my head as I press my lips to hers. It’s a slow kiss, soft but steady, like we’re promising each other something that doesn’t need words. And maybe we are.

When we part, Page tugs lightly at the front of my shirt, just enough to make me follow her. “Come on,” she says, her voice a little breathless. “Let’s go home. You can tell me how you impressed all those scholars with your ancient Borean wisdom. ”

I smirk faintly. “It wasn’t hard. They’re easily impressed.”

“Oh, really? Arrogant much?”

“You’re the one who told me to show off.”

Page laughs, and for a moment, it’s just us walking side by side, Ashlan perched like royalty on her shoulder. For all the shadows still lingering on the edges of our lives—for all the work ahead—this moment feels like light.

I have Page. I have purpose. And now…I have a chance at something I never thought I deserved.

Something for us.

For this life we’re building, one step at a time.

The End...

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If you loved Page's intellect and Thorne's complete and utter obsession with his fated mate, you don't want to miss The Viking in the Vault, Book Two in the Galactic Librarians series.

Read on for a sneak peek!