Luthen and I traversed the cold stone corridor en route to the administrative wing, silence cloaking us like a shroud. His hurried strides reverberated with the uneven cadence of his breath, a heartbeat of urgency that quickened the tension in the air. I fell in step alongside him, though my thoughts churned malevolently with every stride--cards of fate turning, whispers concealed in shadows, and a theologian murmuring my name in the dark. 

The weight of it all pressed down, an ominous reminder that the truth could no longer languish in silence. Someone had to be informed; someone needed to halt the sinister unfolding of events. 

Yet as we approached the brass doors marked the Council Office - Level Three, an icy dread sank within me, a heaviness that rendered the very air stale and immobile, as though breath itself struggled to traverse the space.

Luthen raised his hand and rapped sharply upon the door. A clipped voice responded, its tone as cold as the stone walls encasing us: "Enter."

With a quiet resolve, we stepped into the chamber. 

Three council officials loomed behind an expansive obsidian table, their figures rigid in their immaculate robes. They resembled portraits come to life, eyes moving with a clinical detachment that chilled me to the bone. 

Mistress Thalev, the head of administrative oversight, folded her hands with a deceptive grace. "Archivist Vaerin. Archivist Luthen. You've requested an urgent audience?"

A meaningful glance exchanged with Luthen urged me to speak first. "There have been a series of...anomalies. Both in the Mirror Hall and within the upper stacks."

"Anomalies?" Mistress Thalev echoed, her voice smooth yet devoid of warmth, her gaze a frigid blade. 

"Yes," I pressed one. "Unexplained items have appeared in our quarters. Messages inscribed in unknown hands. Artifacts resembling untagged mirror fragments--"

A jarring sound interrupted me: a snap of a quill between gloved fingers."

Mistress Thalev's expression tightened, her eyes narrowing in calculative scrutiny. "Are you suggesting that unsanctioned artifacts have been illicitly extracted from the Archives?"

"No," I corrected hastily, "not taken. Delivered to us--without our consent--"

"There have been no such incidents," the man at her side interjected with chilling finality. His voice was the calm before a storm, absolute and immutable.

A furtive glance passed between Luthen and me. "Sir, with due respect, we both have encountered numerous objects. Cards. Messages. Dire warnings."

"There are no cards," he reiterated, the words dripping with derision, "nor messages."

He slid a collection of documents across the obsidian surface. "Our records reveal no irregularities in your quarters. No breaches. No unauthorized movements."

I gazed at the papers, stark against the gloom, stamped with the unforgiving Calyra seal. Each line bore the meticulous mark of authority, and yet, every one was a deceit wrapped in the guise of truth. 

"Mistress Kallith reassigned us for our protection," I insisted, the fervor of my conviction building. "She witnessed something. She understands--"

"She reassigned you," Mistress Thalev interjected coolly, "due to your impaired performance, born from recent strain."

My jaw clenched, words clawing at the walls of my throat. "That's not--"

"You were observed departing the Glass Hall in a state of distress," she continued, a smooth cadence masking her dismissal. "And archivist Luthen's whispers have echoed through the restricted aisles, disturbing the silence."

Luthen's face flushed with indignation. "That's not--I wasn't--"

As the third council member leaned closer, his shadow loomed like a specter across the table. "Do you grasp," he spoke softly, a whisper laden with threat, "how perilous rumors can be within the halls of the Calyra?"

Beside me, I felt Luthen stiffen, and my heart raced, a frantic rhythm echoing the unease that hung heavy in the cloistered air.

Rumor.

Accusation.

Hysteria.

These were the ominous words that led to the hushed reassignment of archivists to the Vaults--those shadowy depths from which no soul returned. 

"We are not spreading rumors," I asserted, though my voice wavered against the oppressive air. I loathed that tremor, a weakness in this fragile moment.

Unperturbed, the man continued, his voice a chilling echo. "Archivist Vaerin. Archivist Luthen. You stand as esteemed members of this establishment. Yet, you must grasp this: should you continue to imply that the Calyra is faltering in its dominion over its assets...you shall be stripped of access entirely."

Stripped.

Not transferred.

Not reassigned.

Stripped.

An icy silence enveloped the room, the temperature plummeting as if to reflect the dread encircling us. My breath crystallized in the air, a ghostly reminder of our peril. 

Mistress Thalev's smile was thin, brittle, and too polite, a mask hiding something far darker. "I believe," she purred, "that you both require rest. Clear your minds. Let your imaginations settle."

Her eyes turned to flint. "And do not dare pursue this matter any further."

As Luthen opened his mouth to speak, I pressed my foot into his, fierce and silent, and bowed. 

"Yes, Mistress. We understand." His understanding followed suit, and he bowed as well.

"Good," she murmured, her voice a soft caress laced with menace. "You are dismissed."

Turning to leave, the door creaked shut behind us. Just before it sealed, I caught a whispered fragment--soft, low, almost reverent--from one of the council members: "Always the mirrors choose the wrong ones..."

The door clicked into place, and Luthen's gaze bore into me, his eyes wide with fear, breath trembling in silent horror. 

"They know," he murmured. "They know precisely what transpired and feign ignorance."

"No." I swallowed hard, the weight of truth heavy on my tongue. "They feign ignorance because if we delve too far... they will ensure we vanish before we unveil the truth."

A chill snaked down my spine, the dim corridor stretching before us, its flickering lamps resembling dying stars in a darkened sky.

The Calyra had made its stance unmistakably clear. We were not to investigate. We were not to question. We were not to know.

And now? 

Now we occupied their watchful gaze.

Marked.

Watched.