The City That Prays to Pages

The city of Velgard loomed in the distance, carved into the bones of a mountain and veiled in spires. From the road, it looked like a cathedral built from black stone and forgotten sins.

The people here worshipped the written fate. Not as metaphor, but as religion. They called it The Codex Divine—a sacred book said to record all that was, is, and will be. Those who read it claimed visions. Prophets were born from it. Wars were started because of it.

In the original story, Velgard appeared briefly, only as a footnote: a city that rejected Kaelion’s dominion and was left to rot under its own dogma. I had always felt it deserved more. Now, it was our destination.

Kaelion, Sera, and I arrived at dusk, cloaked and unannounced.

Sera walked beside me, arms still wrapped in bandages. She had not tried to escape since we left the forest. Nor had she spoken more than a dozen words. Her silence was not fear. It was calculation.

The kind of silence I recognized in people who were rewriting themselves.

We passed through the gate without issue. No one recognized the prince beneath his worn traveling cloak. The guards cared little for faces; only weapons and threats. We offered neither.

The streets of Velgard were narrow and winding, lit by hanging lanterns filled with flickering glyph-flames. Every door bore a parchment seal. Every window glowed with whispered chants.

Words had power here.

Real power.

***

We checked into a quiet inn near the outer ring of the city. Kaelion took the room upstairs, alone. Sera and I shared the smaller one downstairs. It had only one bed, but she made it clear she preferred the floor. I didn’t argue.

That night, I stayed awake reading every pamphlet and parchment posted along the walls. Most were prayers, etched in meticulous ink. One in particular made my stomach twist:

“He who defies the Codex shall find his body broken and his memory erased.
He who denies the Scriptum shall vanish between the chapters.”

It wasn’t just faith here.

It was fear.

***

Morning arrived with bells. Not chimes, but deep, resonating tones that echoed through the city like the heartbeat of a sleeping god.

I stepped out onto the street. Sera followed, silent as ever. Kaelion met us at the corner, already cloaked and carrying a satchel of coin and documents.

“We’re going to the library,” he said.

“How do you know where it is?” I asked.

“I dreamed of it,” he said. “Pages turning. Eyes watching. Then a door opened.”

Sera tilted her head. “You’re certain it wasn’t a trick?”

He shrugged. “I stopped doubting the impossible when the sky bled text.”

***

The Archivum Sanctis stood at the heart of Velgard. A tower of black marble that spiraled toward the sky, carved with endless scripture. Monks in gray robes drifted in and out, each carrying scrolls bound in chains.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and reverence. No voices rose above a whisper. The floors gleamed, not from polish, but from worn footsteps of generations.

A monk greeted us, eyes sunken behind round glasses.

“Pilgrims?” he asked softly.

Kaelion nodded. “We seek knowledge.”

The monk gestured toward a staircase. “Then climb. But know this: the Codex shows what it wishes. No more. No less.”

We ascended.

***

The chamber at the top was circular. Empty but for a pedestal. Upon it sat a book bound in red leather, its edges frayed but pulsing faintly with golden light.

The Codex Divine.

Kaelion stepped forward. The moment his fingers brushed the cover, the room darkened. The air thickened.

Then the pages turned.

Words bloomed across them like veins crawling over flesh.

“Kaelion of the West. Fated Tyrant. Last of the Dragon Line. Slayer of Kings.
Betrayed by blood. Crowned in fire. Doomed to madness.”

He didn’t flinch.

Then the page flipped.

“Riven Ilhart. Squire to the Broken King. Servant of Fate. Anomaly.
Timeline deviation detected.
Expulsion recommended.
Status: Rejected.
Observation: Active.”

My blood ran cold.

The Codex was aware of me.

It had decided not to erase me—yet. But it had not accepted me either.

Sera stepped forward, staring at the page.

“Why would it let you stay?” she whispered.

I shook my head. “Because I’m still part of the story. I just changed how it begins.”

Kaelion closed the book.

“Then we need to write how it ends.”

***

As we left the tower, the monks watched us without blinking. One of them followed silently behind until we crossed the plaza. Then he turned and vanished into a side alley.

Sera whispered, “They will report us.”

“I know,” I said.

“What now?”

Kaelion looked up at the sky. The script had not appeared again.

“We find the Oracle,” he said. “The real one. Not the book. The voice behind it.”

I frowned. “There is no Oracle. That part was metaphor.”

Kaelion’s eyes met mine.

“Then you wrote poorly,” he said, smirking.

That night, the city trembled.

A new message bloomed across the stars above.

“Chapter Divergence Accelerated. The Architect Awakes. Prepare for Consequence.”

We had pulled too far from the script.

And something—someone—was waking up to correct us.