June 20th, 1983
Nicholas stared at the book for a moment.
Then, before Eliza could react, he snatched it from her hands.
"Careful," he said with a bright, easy smile that felt almost insulting now. "If the librarian saw you breaking rule two, you'd be dead."
Eliza didn't laugh.
She only glared at him harder.
"So it's true?" she asked. "You're the leader's little brother?"
Nicholas's expression barely changed.
"I kept my last name hidden for a reason," he said calmly. "I'd rather not dwell on it. Come on, let's go find your file."
He turned as if that settled it.
It didn't.
Eliza stayed where she was.
"And how do you think everyone else is going to take this?" she asked sharply. "Wren especially. You know exactly how she feels about Alexander."
Nicholas stopped.
For a second, the silence between them felt heavier than the library itself.
"I'll deal with that if it becomes a problem," he said at last, still wearing that same calm smile. "But I'd appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut."
Eliza's eyes narrowed.
"Or what?"
She stepped closer.
"What exactly are you going to do, Nicholas?" Her voice dropped, colder now. "Kill me too? Call it another sacrifice for the greater good?"
She grabbed him by the collar and yanked him down toward her.
For the first time, Nicholas's smile looked strained.
Before either of them could say anything else, a soft voice cut through the tension.
"You really should not argue in the library."
Both of them turned.
A man was approaching through the shelves.
He wore a nun's habit and long dark robes, the outfit neat and almost ceremonial, made even stranger by the lace-white gloves covering his hands. His hair was medium-length and blond, soft around the edges of a face that might once have looked gentle and almost feminine. His eyes were red—not bloodshot, but softly red, almost delicate.
And then there was his neck.
What little skin remained visible above the robe was marred by spreading gray patches. From those blotches, small eyeballs bulged outward from the flesh, each one slowly weeping black tears down his skin.
In his hands, he held a book.
Its title was visible even from a distance.
Gray North — Personal Files
Eliza felt her stomach tighten.
They both recognized the name.
Gray North.
August's quiet assistant.
His errand boy.
And apparently—
another one of the partially contaminated.
"Blessed day," Gray said softly, his voice almost gentle. "How is everyone on this beautiful morning?"
The greeting felt wrong in a place like this.
Nicholas didn't hesitate.
"Well, well," he said dryly, turning his full attention away from Eliza. "What do we have here? August's loyal little lap dog."
His smile returned—but it was colder now.
"Shouldn't you be off at your master's beck and call?"
Gray let out a quiet, nervous laugh.
"He has given me a grand test," he said. "To survive this library…" His fingers tightened slightly around the book in his hands. "I am the only one among the members tasked with this. But I'm sure that simply means he believes in me."
Eliza's expression twisted with disgust.
"That's not belief," she said flatly. "That's him throwing you in here to die."
Gray's smile widened.
Too wide.
"No," he said, shaking his head slowly. "Of course not."
The small eyes embedded in his neck blinked out of sync, black tears trailing down the gray patches of skin.
"I am one of the blessed."
His red eyes flicked between them.
"Dying… is what you are here for."
A quiet tension filled the air.
Then Gray tilted his head slightly, as if considering something amusing.
"I am curious," he continued. "I would very much like to see what becomes of you."
He took a step closer.
"So… let us travel together."
Nicholas and Eliza exchanged a brief look.
Neither of them liked this.
But neither of them spoke against it.
They simply turned and continued deeper into the maze, searching for Eliza's file.
Gray followed behind them.
Silent, at first.
Then—
he began to hum.
A soft, uneven tune that echoed faintly through the shelves.
No one spoke.
No one wanted to.
"Would you like to hear a secret?" Gray asked.
His voice was smooth as honey.
Too smooth.
Nicholas turned his head toward him, eyes narrowing.
"What?"
Gray smiled faintly.
"Those of us who have been blessed by our lord," he said, "and who were strong enough to endure his transformation… have begun to develop unusual gifts."
Eliza's stomach tightened.
"Gifts?" she asked.
Gray's smile sharpened.
"For now," he said, "we are calling them blessings."
The tiny eyes embedded across his neck began to glow.
Only faintly at first.
Then brighter.
The black tears running from them shimmered in the dim light, and before Eliza could fully understand what was happening, she felt something crawling across her skin.
She froze.
Spiders.
Small ones.
Dark, twitching, skittering things had suddenly appeared across her neck and jaw, weaving over her skin with frantic little legs.
More of them formed near her cheek.
Near her lips.
Near her eye.
They were not real.
Some part of her knew that.
And yet her body recoiled as though they were.
Before a scream could leave her throat, Nicholas's hand clamped over her mouth, sealing it shut.
Her eyes widened in panic.
The spiders kept crawling.
One reached the edge of her eyelid, its tiny legs brushing dangerously close to the wet surface of her eye.
Gray watched with open fascination.
"Remarkable, isn't it?" he murmured.
His red eyes gleamed.
"These powers…"
He tilted his head, still smiling.
"They are the true peak of human evolution."
"Stop it," Nicholas said.
His voice was low.
Cold.
"Now."
Gray only smiled wider.
"This does not qualify as violence," he said pleasantly. "So the librarian will not punish me." The eyes along his neck continued to blink, wet and watchful. "My blessing allows me to manifest the fears of those I target."
His gaze settled on Nicholas.
"I do wonder what you fear."
Before Nicholas could answer, something wet dropped from the ceiling.
A maggot.
It landed on Gray's shoulder with a soft, disgusting splat, coated in thick white slime.
Then another fell.
And another.
And another.
Within seconds, they were raining down onto him in twitching handfuls, writhing over his robes, his face, his neck. Gray let out a strangled sound and stumbled back as the larvae began to clump together unnaturally, fusing into a shifting, pulsating mass.
The mass wrapped around his throat.
A hand.
Nicholas reacted instantly, one arm pulling Eliza against him while his other hand covered her eyes.
He didn't let her see.
More maggots dropped.
They slid over one another in obscene waves, merging into the shape of a mouth near Gray's ear—lips formed from pale larvae, teeth suggested only by gaps and motion.
Then it spoke.
"Such a fun little ability," the voice whispered.
It was soft.
Elegant.
And infinitely more terrifying than Gray's.
"But fear is not a domain a wretch like you should be borrowing."
Gray's red eyes went wide.
"Who are you?" he hissed, clawing at the thing around his throat, trying and failing to keep his voice low. "Get off me—"
The maggots surged upward.
A stream of them began crawling into his ear.
Gray convulsed.
His mouth opened in a silent scream.
The thing whispered directly into him then, its voice meant for Gray alone.
When it spoke again, it did so just loud enough for the others to hear.
"You may call me Faker Mimic."
The maggot-mouth widened in something resembling a smile.
"Fear is my domain."
The hand around Gray's throat tightened.
"So unless you wish for me to crawl through your skull…"
More maggots forced their way into his ear.
"…and churn your brain into a lovely, viscous paste…"
Gray went completely still.
Faker's voice dropped to a final murmur.
"Never use that power again."
June 20th, 1983
On this day, the first official record was made of the anomalous power that A.E.G.I.S. would one day weaponize against the supernatural.
At the time, it was not yet understood.
Nor was it controlled.
It would not be until 2000 that A.E.G.I.S. began actively locating and collecting those capable of wielding it.
In later records, these abilities would be formally designated as Curses.
Those born with them would be classified as Cursebearers.