The man who stepped out of the shadows didn't look like a killer. He looked like a schoolteacher who'd lost his classroom but kept the patience. Clean coat. Neatly trimmed beard. A folder in his hand, thick and stamped with red wax.
But the air around him bent slightly, like it was nervous.
Kyren froze halfway through a swing.
"That's not a bounty hunter," Chiyo said. "That's worse."
The man stopped just inside the flickering circle of light.
"I'm not here to fight," he said. "I'm here to correct a distortion."
Kyren raised an eyebrow. "You mean me?"
The man nodded. "You've become unstable. Uncontained. Contagious."
He opened the folder. Inside wasn't paper—it was glass. Shards. Thin slivers, each glowing with red lines and symbols.
"I'm called The Archivist because I work with fragments," he said. "Not stories. Not timelines. People. Thoughts. Emotion. I fracture them. Re-index them. File them into silence."
Chiyo raised her staff. "He's a memory sculptor. He doesn't kill. He shatters who you were until nothing's left but a shell."
Kyren gripped his spear. "So, mind-breaker."
"Think of me as your final draft," the Archivist said, and dropped the folder.
The glass exploded outward.
---
Shards floated midair, orbiting the Archivist like moons.
Each one reflected a piece of Kyren's life. A half-formed thought. A scream. A laugh. A moment of doubt.
Kyren blinked. "Those are mine."
"Yes," the Archivist said calmly. "And soon they won't be."
Then the glass moved.
---
Kyren dodged the first shard—it streaked by, humming, leaving a burn across the air.
He spun his spear up and blocked two more.
Each one that hit sparked pain—not physical. Emotional.
Suddenly, he couldn't remember the first time he held the spear. That image was gone.
Chiyo shouted from behind. "He's stealing you!"
Kyren growled and forced himself forward.
The shards adjusted.
One slammed into his shoulder—he gasped.
He remembered less.
> "Technique Three!" the spear spirit shouted. "Use the laugh!"
Kyren inhaled.
And let himself laugh.
---
Not a strong laugh. Not bold. Just tired. Crooked.
But it shook something loose.
A ripple of red light exploded from his chest.
> Technique 3: Breakpoint Discharge
The laugh caught on the glass.
The shards flickered. Some cracked. One split and mirrored Kyren back to himself.
That's when he struck.
Spear arcing wide. Red afterimage trailing behind. The echo lashed out alongside him.
The Archivist dodged—but not fast enough.
Kyren's blade clipped his ribs.
Ink and light spilled from the wound.
The shards dropped.
Chiyo followed up, slamming her staff down into the floor and kicking a piece of broken tile straight into the Archivist's leg.
He faltered.
Then vanished—shards evaporating into fog.
---
Kyren stood shaking, half his memories flickering like a dying screen.
"I… forgot something," he whispered.
Chiyo caught him. "You held onto enough."
He looked down at the spear. The grip was warmer now. Familiar. Real.
> "He tried to overwrite you," the spirit murmured. "Didn't work."
> "Because your story? It laughs back."
---
That night, Kyren sat with Jamo, staring at a wall.
"You forget anything important?" Jamo asked.
"I forgot the soup recipe."
"Oh no."
Kyren smiled. "I remember you, though."
Jamo nudged him. "Then we're good."
> "For now," the spear added. "But next time? Don't forget how to hit harder."
Kyren stood.
"Then let's make sure I never do."