In the Calyra, curiosity can be a dangerous thing. Every senior archivist says that, quietly. Yes, information is sacred, but unapproved knowledge has teeth.

I attempted to concentrate on inventory throughout the day, but the warning kept nagging at the back of my mind. However, the theologians' gray lips, their whispering breath, and the way each veil in the hall responded as though the mirrors were holding in a sigh kept coming back to me. 

I persuaded myself to question Mistress Kallith about them by late afternoon. Not directly. Being direct is not how any archivist makes it through their first year. 

With my hands folded behind me and a calm tone, I walked over to her office. Knocking on the door, I waited for her answer before walking in. Her office was full of bookshelves stuffed with books and trinkets. Her desk stood strong in the middle of the room, dark wood with small engravings. 

I walked over to her desk, closing the door behind me. I took a deep breath before talking. "The theologians...Mistress. They don't seem to function in the same way as our division's academics."

She didn't raise her head. "They're not academics."

"What are they?"

"A department that is essential." Once more, she dipped her quill. "You have been tasked with documentation. Don't worry about their tactics."

This meant that discussing their methods is prohibited.

Additionally, if you ask again, you'll be sent in the Vault of Nameless Texts, where people frequently forget their own age.

I went back to my station. However, the question would not go away.

Shortly after dusk, the theologians came back. As soon as they walked in, the temperature fell, like a chilly ripple down the closed hallway. With long, methodical strokes, their cloaks whispered over the floor behind them. 

With a calm bow, Mistress Kallith welcomed them. Luthen elbowed me. "You would think that royalty had arrived."

"No," I muttered. "Royalty smiles."

He suppressed a snort.

The four figures reassumed their positions: the central figure stood between the large mirrors, two were kneeling next to the smaller ones, and one was beside the oval glass with a black veil.

The same formation as dawn. The same weight in the room. 

They started whispering right away. I paid closer attention this time. 

It was more than just rhythm. It wasn't even breath.

It was language--broken, syllable-less, sewn together like the inhalation of something too enormous to speak in vowels. 

This time, the mirrors reacted in a different way. The veils tilted instead of just trembling. In the direction of the theologians. 

With her hands clasped behind her back and her face unreadable, Mistress Kallith strolled down the hallway. "Vaerin," she called. "Here, Mistress."

"Please bring the Mirror Set Eleven list. The theologians have asked for a review."

My stomach tightened. Mistress Kallith had cautioned me twice not to touch the mirror in Set Eleven. 

Nevertheless, I crossed the hall after nodding. The towering theologian turned to face me as I got closer.

His hook sank a little, acknowledging my movement. 

He had no motive to recognize me. Throughout the entire morning session, I had remained silent. 

"Archivist Vaerin," he muttered. Not questioned. Declared. 

My breathing stopped. Mistress Kallith observed. "Go on," She snapped.

The theologian continued to stare at me after I gave her the list. His eyes were not visible to me, but I could feel them, like a hand pressed between my shoulder blades.

He raised one gloved hand and ran it over the black mirror's curtain. Just tracing its contour, not pushing it back.

Beneath the fabric, something moved. As if the mirror had let out a breath.

Mistress Kallith reiterated, "Not yet." She spoke in an overly tense voice. Nearly terrified. 

The theologian slowly withdrew his hand. Reluctantly, almost. 

"They know your name now," Luthen whispered after waiting for the figures to return to the middle of the hall.

"I didn't tell them."

He nervously tapped his pen and answered, "Of course you didn't. That's the problem."

I turned to face the black mirror again. Tight silk. Unbroken seal. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Except for the tiniest hand-sized imprint that is visible beneath the veil. Pushing outward. It was as though something inside the mirror had touched the fabric with its palm. Reaching out. 

Soon after, the theologians' solemn walk down the corridor marked the end of the session. 

Mistress Kallith turned to face us only after they had left. She said, "Don't go into the hall tonight. You'll start working again at the first bell."

"Why?" Too rapidly, Luthen asked.

She remained silent. She merely gave me a cautious, rather cruel glance. "Vaerin," she uttered tightly, "don't talk to anything that knows your name if you want to dream tonight."

Before I could reply, she departed.