The annex

The torn fragment lay where Lucien had left it, lit by the weak morning sun creeping through his dormitory window. He hadn’t slept. Every time he closed his eyes, the word burned across his vision—

Threshold.

It felt less like ink and more like a wound.

He turned the page over for the hundredth time, tracing the crescent-shaped mark near the word. A symbol, a sliver of a map, half-devoured by flame. Was it a riverbend? A mountain crest? The parchment smelled of smoke, as if someone had tried to erase it from existence.

Lucien pressed his palms to his temples. “Threshold… Where did you go, Arian?”

A knock at the door startled him. He shoved the fragment beneath his mattress before opening it. Toren stood outside, arms crossed, yawning.

“You look like death warmed over,” Toren said flatly. “Did you even try to sleep?”

Lucien forced a smile. “Studying.”

Toren eyed him suspiciously but didn’t pry. “Well, you’d better not fall asleep in glyph theory. Professor Elain is brutal.”

Lucien nodded absently. He followed his roommate out, though his thoughts stayed behind with the charred parchment.

---

The day dragged in a haze. Chalk dust filled the lecture halls, runes shimmered under careful practice, and students traded hushed gossip over midterm results. Lucien moved through it like a ghost, his focus anchored only to the word gnawing at the back of his mind.

By the time classes ended, he went straight to the library. He scoured indexes, histories, geographical records. Threshold. No entry. No mention. It was as if the word had been scrubbed from the academy’s archives.

Frustration coiled in his chest. “There has to be something.”

He reached for another tome, but a voice spoke quietly from the other side of the shelf.

“You won’t find it here.”

Lucien froze. Slowly, he peeked through the rows. An older student leaned against the shelf, their robe marked with a silver insignia of the research division. Dark hair shadowed their eyes.

“What do you mean?” Lucien asked carefully.

The student gave a thin smile. “Threshold. You won’t find it in public texts. You’d need access to the Restricted Annex.”

Lucien’s pulse jumped. “So you know it.”

The smile vanished. “I didn’t say that. But I know what’s missing from these shelves. Some words aren’t erased because they’re forgotten—they’re erased because someone doesn’t want them remembered.”

Lucien leaned closer. “Why? What’s Threshold?”

The student’s eyes flicked toward the nearby tables, where scholars bent over books. “Not here. Too many ears.” They slipped a folded scrap of paper through the shelf gap. “If you’re desperate, come after dark. Third floor, Annex door. Bring no one.”

Before Lucien could reply, the student pushed away and strode off, vanishing into the crowd of scholars.

Lucien unfolded the paper. On it, a hastily drawn sigil: two intersecting circles, with a line cutting through their center.

His chest tightened. The same crescent mark from the burnt parchment.

---

Night again.

Lucien waited until Toren’s breathing steadied in sleep, then slipped out. The academy was quieter this time, though every creak of wood and sigh of wind made him tense. He climbed to the third floor, passing rows of shuttered windows and cold statues.

At the end of the hall stood the Annex door. Heavy oak, etched with warning wards. Restricted Archives – Entry Forbade.

Lucien reached for the handle.

The door clicked open before he touched it.

A draft spilled out, carrying the scent of parchment and iron.

Inside, the Annex was vast, the shelves darker, thicker, laden with tomes bound in cracked leather. Strange crystals hung from the ceiling, casting dim blue light.

“Here.”

The older student emerged from the shadows, holding a lantern. Their expression was grim now, stripped of earlier calm.

“You shouldn’t be here,” they murmured. “Neither of us should. But you asked about Threshold. And once you know, there’s no going back.”

Lucien’s throat was dry. “Tell me.”

The student led him deeper into the stacks, until they reached a case bound with iron chains. With practiced ease, they pried a loose panel aside and drew out a book no thicker than Lucien’s hand.

They set it on the table.

The title was worn away, but the first page bore that same sigil—the crescent with the cut line.

Lucien leaned over it, heart pounding.

The student whispered: “Threshold wasn’t a word. It was a place. An ancient door, older than the empire itself. They say it lies buried in the outer wilds, sealed by the Founders. A door that doesn’t open into another room, but into something else entirely.”

“Something else?” Lucien echoed.

“Beyond. Where mana bends. Where laws fail. Where knowledge devours those who seek it. That’s why the records were burned. To keep fools from searching.”

Lucien’s hands trembled on the page. “Arian… he went there, didn’t he?”

The student’s gaze flickered. “If he did, then he crossed the Threshold. And those who cross… never return.”

The words struck like ice. Lucien shook his head fiercely. “He’s not dead. I know it. Someone left me this—” He stopped, realizing too late.

The student’s expression hardened. “Someone gave you a fragment?”

Lucien swallowed, suddenly wary. “Why does it matter?”

“Because if you have it, then you’re already marked.”

The lantern flame sputtered, shadows lurching across the shelves. A noise echoed in the hall—heavy footsteps, getting closer.

The student’s face went pale. “We’re not alone.”

Before Lucien could react, they slammed the book shut, thrusting it back into his hands. “Hide it. And leave. Now. If they catch us, it’s over.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll delay them. Go!”

They shoved him toward the rear stairwell.

Lucien stumbled into the dark, clutching the book and the torn parchment both, heart hammering. Behind him, voices rose in the Annex—sharp, commanding. A scuffle. The crack of magic splitting wood.

Lucien ran.

He didn’t stop until he reached his dormitory, breath ragged, sweat beading his brow. He shoved the book beneath his mattress with the fragment, chest heaving.

The echoes of the student’s words gnawed at him: Those who cross never return.

He sank onto his bed, fists clenched. No. That couldn’t be true. Arian wasn’t gone. Not yet.

Lucien closed his eyes, whispering into the silence: “If you crossed the Threshold… then I’ll cross it too. And I’ll bring you back.”

The room lay still, but the word pulsed in his mind—Threshold—like a heartbeat not his own.

•••