He blinked.

Or the slow, deliberate blink of an eye that is no longer human.

“You have read the Book of Outer Sight. Now you will write the Book of Inner Truth.”

They buried him with the scroll, sealed again in its clay cylinder, and placed the entire Index Apocryphorum into a lead-lined vault. But every night since, the youngest librarian swears she hears a soft, rhythmic sound from behind the door: the turning of a page.