Chapter 14 Iris
IRIS
The Grand Library of M’mir gleams like a citadel of glass and runes, rising from the canyon edge in a sweep of golden light and gravitational spires.
Even after six months of working here, the place still takes my breath away—partially because it looks like someone crossbred a cathedral with a spaceship and gave it a pulse.
Everything here hums. The walls shimmer with refracted data.
The archivists wear rune-coded bands that unlock personalized access to thousands of ancient vaults.
A levitating lift carries me up through the atrium while mechanical ravens circle high above, trailing parchment from their claws like gossiping messengers of some long-dead god.
It’s beautiful. It’s prestigious. It’s everything I thought I wanted.
And I’ve never felt more out of place.
I step into the eastern wing—a rotunda strung with vines and hollowed-out moonstone shelves—and spot my boss, Davina, near one of the hovering scroll towers.
Her hair is cobalt, twisted high in a crown braid that wraps around her antlers, her skin gleaming like bronze.
She doesn’t seem to notice me as she sorts through a stack of books, brow furrowed.
“Davina,” I call softly, not wanting to interrupt her flow.
She glances over her shoulder. “Iris,” she says. “Back already? I thought you were taking a few days off to visit your friend.”
I blush at the mention of ‘my friend’—a word that doesn’t come close to describing what I have with Garrik, not now. “Yeah…I came back a little early to ask you something.”
“Hmm,” she hums, arching a brow. “You’re glowing.”
I blink. “I am not.”
“You are,” she insists, turning to face me fully. “Something’s changed.”
I hesitate, stepping closer. “I wanted to talk to you about a transfer,” I say at last. “To the Arborium Archive.”
That gets her attention.
“The Arborium is…charming,” she says, in the same tone one might use to describe a rustic barn or a particularly well-trained goat. “But it’s hardly the Grand Library.”
“I know,” I say. “But that’s kind of the point.”
She studies me for a moment longer, then gestures toward one of the curved benches tucked beneath the into the bookshelves. I follow her down, and we sit—her posture crisp and upright, mine considerably less so.
“Talk,” she says.
I exhale slowly.
Because yeah…I’m about to quit my dream job.
“The work here is incredible,” I say. “Truly. I’ve learned so much here in just six months, more than I ever could have learned on Earth. But it’s not…I don’t think I belong here.”
Her expression doesn’t shift, but her silence is heavy with meaning. Skoll culture is one of loyalty, of legacy, of earning your place through persistence and excellence. She’s not judging me—but she’s waiting for me to explain myself.
“It’s not that I don’t value it,” I continue. “The work here, the archives, the prestige—it’s everything I used to dream about. But dreams change.”
Davina’s eyes narrow slightly, though not in disapproval. She tilts her head, waiting.
“I found something in the Arborium,” I say, my voice softer now. “Something I didn’t realize I was missing.”
Davina’s brows lift. “A rare manuscript?”
I huff out a laugh. “No. A…home.”
Davina’s eyes sharpen—not in a harsh way, but in the way an archivist notices when a missing puzzle piece finally slides into place.
“A home,” she repeats slowly. Then her gaze shifts. She studies me—not the way a boss does, but the way a historian watches a record rearrange itself in real time.
“You said you were visiting a friend,” she says. “And now you want to transfer to a small, underfunded archive that’s charming at best and chaotic at worst.”
I try not to fidget. “Yes.”
Her brow arches slightly. “This friend wouldn’t happen to be the beekeeper from the Arborium, would he? Your bodyguard on Earth?”
I blink. “You knew Garrik lived there?”
“I make a point to know my staff’s history,” she says. “And I remember you two were nearly inseparable in your field files. He once carried you three miles through collapsed terrain after a shelter breach, right?”
“Only two and a half miles,” I mumble, but the blush rising in my cheeks gives me away.
The corner of her mouth lifts ever so slightly. “So it’s not just the Arborium’s charm that has you glowing.”
I squirm, but I nod. “I…I know it sounds silly, but I love him. And I want to build something with him. And…I want to belong somewhere that feels like mine. Earth never did, and here doesn’t either…but there really, really does.”
Davina exhales through her nose, slow and measured. Then she nods once and rises to her feet, her robes sweeping over the polished stone. “I can process the transfer by midday tomorrow. You’ll report to Archivist Letha in the Arborium. She’s an old friend. Strict, but fair.”
Relief floods through me—so much I almost feel lightheaded. “Thank you, Davina. Really.”
She levels a look at me. “You were always going to outgrow this place.”
That surprises me. “What do you mean?”
“You were never meant to be buried in a vault,” she says simply. “You don’t hoard knowledge—you live it. You carry it into the world. That kind of archivist is rare. Don’t lose it.”
My throat tightens. “I won’t.”
Davina reaches for a scroll interface hovering nearby and flicks it open. “And Iris?”
“Yes?”
“Next time the Arborium unearths a pre-Collapse seed archive or an alien codex bound in flower resin…” Her expression sharpens. “I expect a call.”
I grin. “You’ll be the first to know.”
Davina nods once, then turns back to her work.
And just like that, it’s done. I’m not just leaving the Grand Library.
I’m going home.