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Night settles outside. The windows high above the Archive turn black. The lamps brighten again. Someone's stomach growls. Loudly. Cassian slowly raises one hand. "Mine." No one laughs. Mostly because all of ours answer a second later. Even Rhyven's. That earns a surprised grin from Cassian. "I didn't know Chiefs got hungry."

Rhyven doesn't look up. "We don't."

Cassian blinks. "That was clearly your stomach."

"Your stomach is lying?" I add.

"Apparently."

Nyra snorts into her notebook. A few minutes later Professor Neris disappears upstairs. None of us notices until she returns. She isn't alone. Two kitchen assistants follow behind her carrying trays. Soup. Fresh bread. Cheese. Fruit. A steaming kettle. The smell alone makes me realize how hungry I am. Professor Neris sets everything down. "No food near the documents."

Caelen immediately stands. "I'll clear a table."

Within seconds, all five of us are moving. Books stacked. Maps rolled. Ink covered. The work pauses for the first time all day.

We eat standing around a narrow wooden table near the entrance. No one speaks for almost a full minute. Not because conversation has ended. Because the soup is too good. Cassian breaks first. "I think I forgot food existed."

Nyra nods solemnly. "I briefly considered eating parchment."

Professor Neris raises one eyebrow. "I would've advised against that."

"It was only a brief consideration."

I tear another piece of bread. My eyes drift toward the main tables. Toward the piles of journals waiting for us. "I don't think we're going to finish." The admission slips out quietly. No one answers immediately.

Finally Professor Neris does. "No." I look at her. "We aren't." She says it without bitterness. "We're trying to preserve enough." The words settle heavily over the table. Not everything. Enough. Enough to continue. Enough to remember. Enough to fight ignorance.

After we finish eating, everyone instinctively turns back toward the Archive. Professor Neris stops us. "No." We all freeze. She points toward the lamps. "They need oil." Toward the windows. "They need opening." Toward us. "And you..." Her eyes linger on each of us in turn. "Need ten minutes."

Cassian looks scandalized. "We just took ten minutes."

"You ate." She smiles slightly "That was survival."

The five of us step outside together. Cool night air washes over us. The Academy is almost unrecognizable after spending an entire day underground. Stars cover the sky. Somewhere in the distance, dragons roar. Not alarm. Conversation. The sound echoes through the mountains surrounding Varethia. I close my eyes for one long breath. Gods... I'd forgotten what fresh air smelled like. Beside me, Nyra stretches until her shoulders crack. Cassian groans. "I've become eighty years old."

Caelen pats him on the shoulder. "You complain like it."

Cassian looks at him. "I'll remember this betrayal." Caelen shrugs. "I doubt it."

Rhyven has wandered a few steps away. Looking toward the western wards. Watching. Always watching. His posture changes almost imperceptibly. Not relaxed. Never relaxed. Just ness burdened than inside the Archive. I follow his gaze. The wards shimmer faintly against the darkness, beautiful enough that anyone who didn't know better would mistake them for stars resting on the horizon. Holding. For now. Behind me, Professor Neris quietly extinguishes the lights in the entrance hall before calling us back inside. "Come."

Tomorrow would be another long day. And somehow it already didn't feel like enough.

Sunday begins before sunrise. No one mentions how little we slept. No one needs to. The dark circles beneath Cassian's eyes speak loudly enough. Nyra's braid is noticeably crooked. Caelen has rolled his sleeves twice without realizing they're uneven. Even Professor Neris looks tired. Only Rhyven appears exactly the same. Composed. Awake. Impossible.

I decide I dislike him just a little for it.

The second day settles into a rhythm even faster than the first. Cassian disappears into another maze of shelves. Nyra's system has somehow expanded to cover nearly half the central table. Professor Neris silently replaces empty ink bottles before anyone asks. Caelen continues moving through the Archive like a commander inspecting a battlefield. No corner escapes his attention. No one sits too long. No one skips water. No one leaves without him noticing. He's becoming increasingly unbearable.

By midday my handwriting has deteriorated into something barely recognizable. I stare at the page. "...Did I write this?"

Nyra glances over. "Mostly."

"It looks terrible."

"It looks tired." She gently slides another journal toward me. "Try this one instead."

I frown. "I haven't finished—"