Chapter Text
The Archiver must eat memories.
In the old days, when people came willingly to the Archives to tell their stories, all it took was the slightest bit of careful magic to have visitors recalling their memories in perfect detail, speaking with an ease and clarity that might have escaped them otherwise.
The Archiver found that simply phrasing their questions with intent was enough - A bit of emphasis here, a carefully chosen word there, and they would tell their tale without knowing where this sudden gift for eloquent speech came from.
But over time, the Archives grew bloated. The stories the average person would tell were becoming repetitive, with beginnings, middles, and endings anyone could predict from a mile off.
History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes, and it was sick of the same story beats.
The role of the Archiver had to change as the Archives' needs changed. Its desire for new stories was more than just a curiosity, they were the very thing sustaining the Archives; the shelves the bones and the books within were the lifeblood that sustained this entity. Memories, history, knowledge, it wanted, needed them all.
Knowledge is power after all.
But power tends to corrupt people, doesn’t it? The price of being the Archiver meant sharing in this burden, until they too hungered for memories.
Shiori wasn't the first Archiver, not by a long shot, but she was the first one to learn about the Cell. How or when it was built, or how it was kept a secret for so long she had no idea, but a former guard, troubled by what they had done there under the supervision of the warden, had come to share his burden.
Of course, Shiori asked a bit more, pulling on the thread of guilt and shame woven into his words until he had spilt every secret about the Cell he knew. When he had nothing left to offer, she ushered the dazed man out quickly, before beginning the process of closing and sealing the Archives in preparation for an extended absence away from the world. She didn't want to be there once the fellow regained his senses and realised what classified information he had shared.
Painful memories are the ones that stick, right? A lesson learnt the hard way lasts longer. And the Archives found those memories made for a more fulfilling story.
It's why the idea of the Cell fascinated the Archives and Archiver alike. It was the perfect opportunity to get so many satisfying stories, direct from the source, from those the gods had judged and deemed too dangerous to be free - yet not worthy of a quick death.
Shiori had let herself be captured after ‘foolishly wandering’ too close to the very place the gods liked to keep an eye on. The guards didn’t question her further. Why would they? No one who knew of the Cell would ever willingly come close to it.
Within her isolated cell, Shiori found herself becoming quite fond of the few inmates in her cell block, who were still eager to share their stories, even if they were out of range from the Archiver's influence. The need for human connection was stronger than any magic binding them here.
The Jewel of Emotions recalled the several wars waged in her name, and the jealousy of men. The Demon Dog Twins shared stories from the Gates of Hell, of those who crossed through and the few that attempted to leave.
All sorts of stories previously inaccessible and unknown to the Archives, drip fed to her in whispers through the cracks of the prison they were all contained in, her only source of sustenance in this place.
But more than these three, the inmate that fed her the most delicious stories was a Raven. She told Shiori stories about Hell, about her family, and how she ended up in the Cell for her singing, who drove mortals mad if the right strings were pulled. She spoke of the Cell, of how long she had been trapped down there, unaware that Shiori had been there and heard her arrival.
But what she didn't tell was the story of her broken horn. It had been glossed over, but once the Archives was aware of them, it was like a dog with a bone, salivating over the thought of getting its non-existent hands on it.
It was a story Shiori was very careful not to ask for.
The Raven was in the closest cell from her. Had she wanted, Shiori could have woven a sliver of magic into her words, in just the right way to entice the Raven to tell her story, to speak of the reason for the asymmetry on her head. But doing so would surely break the fragile trust she built over time, and Shiori was sure she would need the Raven's assistance when she finally decided she gathered enough stories from this place.
By then, the outside world would have had time to change in the eternity she spent stuck here, and stories too would have renewed themselves after the staleness she left them in.
Still, the Archives pressed further and further, avid for the knowledge of that broken horn.
It became overbearing, nearing the point of obsession. The scraps she managed to glean from the other prisoners were drowned out in the constant demand for the story of that one Raven. The Archives were slowly consuming her sanity, and with it the energy Shiori had to elaborate her escape plan. She was running out of time now, her sanity the price of holding back the Archives demands.
That night was much the same.
Night, day, the light level in the Cell stayed the same regardless. Shiori had roughly figured out that it was probably well into the evening by now, judging by how long it had been since she had heard a patrol go by.
It would have been the perfect opportunity to work on her escape plan, but instead she was stuck fighting once again with the craving of the Archives for more stories, stubbornly gritting her teeth even as the occasional hiss of pain slipped out.
She was so focused on just trying to think through rising demands in her head, she almost missed the faint whisper. A soft voice, laced with concern but still so melodious and entrancing that Shiori, had it not been for the dampening effects of the Cell’s wards, thought in that moment she would have followed to Hell and back for the brief relief it brought.
“Archiver, I can hear your groans all the way through the walls. Tell me, is there anything I can do to ease your pain?”
Shiori straightened on her throne, shifting against the magical binds that kept her bound. It had been a struggle to keep dancing around the question, refusing to cross that thin line the Archives pushed her towards. What other story could she ask the Raven to tell?
Shiori hesitated, mouth half open with the unvoiced question, but before she could so much as blink, the Archives surged forward, digging cold spikes of ink in her brain, her ears ringing as the dark and bitter liquid flooded her mouth, coating her tongue and teeth, pushing the words outside, almost spilling them on her lap, through the wall, to the Raven.
Dripping in her ears, no I can’t ask, any other question please
poisoning her brain, we need her to trust us if we want to escape
forcing her to she doesn’t want to talk about her horn
Ask. something, anything else-
“What do you miss most, from the outside world?”
Immediately, Shiori bit her tongue, coppery blood mixing with the taste of ink, but it was too late. The Archives heavy handed charm made its way through the walls, dampened by the magic wards of the Cell but still filtered through, reaching for the Raven in the next cell.
The next second, alarms blared from the corridor. The guards on duty barged through her cell door, heavy magic bindings ready for her, and Shiori was quickly restrained, the magic of the artifacts trapping her, locking her mouth, preventing her from speaking, and emitting a loud perpetual humming as the Chief Warden walked inside.
“Incident controlled, Chief,” one of the guards saluted as he entered. “Prisoner 001 under control, magic-dampening bindings established in response to an unchecked surge in magical energy from this cell. Still estimating the damage caused by this manifestation, but there appears to be no structural damage to the integrity of the room or the throne.”
The guard was quickly acknowledged with a wave of the hand from the Chief Warden, who came directly forward to face Shiori, muzzled and bound to her throne.
“Well then, if there appears to be no damage, perhaps it was just a…slip of the tongue.” He squinted at her.
Shiori smirked from behind the muzzle. When she first arrived, she had managed to surreptitiously question the guards a few times. As food was brought to the prisoners she would strike with seemingly innocuous questions and a curious tone.
The nicer guards humoured her, the rest ignored her. But when she felt herself becoming weaker, she became desperate. The stories they were willing to tell were barely appetizers for the Archive’s appetite.
She had started asking for more, trapping the guards in place with a barrage of questions that had them talking until their throats were dry and no sound could escape them.
But she had overplayed her hand in her desperation, being forced to rely on the prisoners around her for stories as the guards stopped bringing her the food she no longer needed.
Still, she relished in knowing how many secrets she had got the Warden to spill before he realised what she was doing. They had an…understanding. She had quite a few of the Warden’s more shameful secrets up her sleeve, but she wouldn’t spill them without good reason. And the Warden knew better than to give her one…
Yet some of her internal gloating must have shown through, as the Warden scowled at her. “But then comes the question of punishment…” her hands tightened imperceptibly on the arms of the throne as he tapped his chin a few times, humming in thought.
“How long can we leave the restraints on before having to fill out an incident report about the prolonged use of restraints? 24 hours?” He smiled as the guards with him nodded in assent.
“That should do nicely. Let her think about her actions for a bit.”
The man turned around, a small smirk on his face, but as he was about to step out of the cell, he paused with his hand on the door, turning his head to throw one last jab at his prisoner.
“You’re lucky I’m busy with the induction process. You might see some new faces patrolling these halls soon. I’ll be sure to tell my replacements exactly how to best deal with you.”
The door shut behind him and the guards with a heavy thud. In their absence, the cell was almost silent, aside from her own breathing and the background magic buzzing away.
If the Raven was trying to speak, she couldn't hear it over the droning noises in her ears. Her question would have to remain unanswered. Even the Archives’ rage at being interrupted mid-meal had been muted by the amplified wards.
She let her head drop backwards against the throne, the dull thump unnoticeable over the sound of the wards. Her headache had eased slightly without the Archives drilling into her skull, and finally with some peace and quiet, she began to plan.
I need to get out of here.