ARCHIVE INSERT: OBSIDIAN-TIER // CODE: MEMORYFOLD-REJECTION.KV01
Status: Recovered Ritual Memory Fragment — Recursion Containment Failed
Clearance: OBSIDIAN-PRIME / Mirrorfold Override Required
Incident Type: Unauthorized Truth Echo
Subject: Kaelor Thorne & Veyrion Hal'Syl
Location: Mirrorfold Chamber - Broken Seal Grounds
Trigger Link: Mirrorfold Collapse / Sigil Inversion Detected
Classification: Chapter Fifteen Companion // Mirrorfold Collapse Extension // Archive Suppression Failure
Classified Memorandum
Archive Division: Forbidden Echoes Retrieval
Subject File: THORNE, KAELOR / HAL'SYL, VEYRION
Observation Year: Cycle Unknown
Access Level: Obsidian-Prime
Recorder: [Redacted]
[Internal Breach Warning]
Emotional recursion surge confirmed.
Mythological contamination active.
Memory fracture exceeds containment thresholds.
Proceed only if prepared to witness sacred Archive failure.
The Archive does not forgive. It remembers.
Entry #0001: Mirrorfold Collapse — Rejected Brotherhood Mythos
Timestamp: Indeterminate / Memory Fracture Unstable.
Primary Findings:
[End Entry]
Recovered Visual Transcript:
Deleted Scene — "We Were Never Brothers"
It ruptured along a seam the Archive couldn't stitch closed.
Memory didn't bleed—it bled out, raw and gasping.
Through the fracture they came, not brothers, but something older, wetter, hungrier.
The chamber was a ruin of ritual: sigils dripping along cracked stone, the stink of sex and storm clinging to the broken air. The vault above sagged, spells failing in soft exhales of dying magic.
Kaelor stood bare to the waist, his body a tapestry of scars and rune-burns, cock already heavy between his thighs, half-arched with the weight of inevitability. His arms shivered with forgotten language, sigils crawling over the veins.
Veyrion stood across the wreckage, equally nude save for the heat writhing beneath his skin. His cock hung thick, ruddy, leaking already. His thighs tensed with every shallow breath, a body made to be opened, to be written into, and he was waiting—waiting with his hands loose at his sides and his throat bared like an offering.
No brother stood like that.
Kaelor moved first.
One hand seized Veyrion's hip, the other fisting into his hair, dragging him forward until cocks slid wet against each other—the first grind sloppy, desperate, glistening with precome. They kissed like ruin: mouths open, teeth scraping, breath stolen and spilled between them.
Kaelor, voice low, splintered:
"They named us brothers to cage the way you opened for me."
Veyrion, laughing—bitter, wrecked:
"Let them choke on it."
Kaelor's hand slipped between them, squeezing both their shafts together—heat slicked over need. His thumb circled the slit of Veyrion's cock, smearing the leak across both crowns until the glide was obscenely wet.
Veyrion bucked into the touch, hips rutting helplessly.
Veyrion, panting into Kaelor's mouth:
"Mark me again. Before the world lies about it."
Kaelor answered by spinning him—slamming Veyrion against the altar stone with a grunt. Veyrion spread his legs without needing to be told, baring his ass, flexing the twitch of muscle and slick promise.
Kaelor traced the cleft with his palm, fingers parting him to reveal the pink, clenching ring—already begging, already fluttering with every breath.
Without warning, Kaelor dropped to his knees behind him, gripping Veyrion's hips in a bruising clutch. His mouth descended—a filthy prayer—and his tongue dragged a slow, forceful stripe from the base of Veyrion's balls up to the trembling rim.
Veyrion choked on a cry, legs nearly giving out.
Kaelor groaned low in his throat, devouring the taste of him. His tongue plunged into the tight ring—a hard, slick thrust—forcing Veyrion's hole to flutter and gape obscenely around the intrusion.
He ate him like worship, like revenge—lips sealing around the twitching rim, tongue stabbing deep, then fucking outward in messy, rutting strokes. The noises were wet, filthy, unabashed—the suck and slurp of a man consecrating with his mouth what the Archive dared to call blood.
Veyrion sobbed against the stone, hips rocking back shamelessly into Kaelor's face, begging without language for more, for harder, for ruin.
Kaelor gave it to him.
He gripped Veyrion's cheeks, spreading him wide, tongue-fucking him savagely—long, brutal thrusts interspersed with open-mouthed kisses to the spit-slick hole, as if memorizing every tremble, every contraction.
When Veyrion was gasping, leaking, twitching from the brutal rim-fucking alone, Kaelor finally pulled back, breath hot and wet against the exposed, glistening flesh.
Veyrion's hole gaped, leaking spit and desperation, twitching helplessly for more—mindless, ruined, ready for the only claim that mattered.
His voice was a growl scraped from bone.
"I’ll carve you open until even memory knows who you belong to."
He muttered something primal—and sigils bloomed against Veyrion’s spine, molten lines branding him from nape to tailbone.
Veyrion’s moan cracked the stale air, a sound so naked it made the broken glyphs overhead tremble.
Kaelor pressed the leaking head of his cock against Veyrion’s slick hole, smearing precome over the desperate pucker—and pushed.
Slow.
Savage.
Veyrion’s body seized and opened, swallowing Kaelor inch by punishing inch, the stretch brutal enough to carve the sound from his throat. His fists pounded the altar, legs quivering, ass flexing around the invader that should have broken him and instead crowned him.
Kaelor’s hips met Veyrion’s ass with a wet slap—buried to the root, balls grinding against sweat-slicked flesh.
He paused—only to feel it, to mark the tremble and surrender stitched into Veyrion’s breathing.
Then he began to move.
Fucking him with the slow, relentless drag of a ritual too sacred to rush.
Kaelor, teeth at Veyrion’s ear:
"Mine."
Veyrion, sobbing into stone:
"Always."
The altar rocked with each brutal thrust. Veyrion’s body caught Kaelor deeper with every grind, the slick heat milking his cock, welcoming every rut with obscene gratitude.
Kaelor’s hand slipped beneath Veyrion’s belly, grasping his cock—but the moment his fingers closed, Veyrion was already coming. Hot, violent, untouched. His seed splattered against stone, against his chest, marking him inside and out.
The pulse of his orgasm wrung Kaelor tighter—dragging a ragged snarl from his throat as he slammed in deeper, harder, until he broke against the welcoming ruin of Veyrion's body.
He came in brutal pulses, the thick flood spilling deep, leaking around the tight grip of Veyrion’s clutching heat.
Kaelor staggered back first, breath ragged, his cock slipping wet and spent from Veyrion’s still-gaping hole. But before collapse could claim them, Veyrion moved—a surge of instinct, of mirrored hunger.
Veyrion turned, muscles trembling, and shoved Kaelor against the altar stone with a broken snarl. Not rejection. Completion.
Kaelor’s body yielded immediately—legs spreading, chest flattening against the stone, his spine arching in wordless invitation. There was no resistance. No hesitation. Only inevitability.
Veyrion fisted Kaelor’s hair, yanking his head back to bare his throat, to bare the vulnerability the Archive had sworn did not exist between them. Then he pressed his leaking, spit-slick cock against the cleft of Kaelor’s ass, dragging wetness over the twitching ring already flexing with need.
Kaelor groaned—low, raw, welcoming.
Veyrion pushed—not slow, not teasing—but with the same brutal inevitability Kaelor had carved into him moments before. The head forced Kaelor open with a wet pop, and the rest followed—a slow, relentless sheathing that pulled a guttural noise from deep in Kaelor’s chest.
Veyrion’s hands bruised Kaelor’s hips, anchoring him as he fucked in deeper, grinding his cock into the yielding heat like he could brand the memory into them both. The stretch, the fullness, the obscene slickness of it—it was filthy, devotional, a ruinous claiming written into flesh.
Kaelor’s body took him—eager, clenching, demanding.
Veyrion, voice a wrecked whisper against Kaelor’s ear:
"Yours was never the only hunger."
He fucked him—short, vicious strokes, hips slamming into Kaelor's ass with the sound of flesh and surrender, stone and sweat. No rhythm, no pretense—just need, just the final collapse of every lie the Archive had tried to build between them.
When Veyrion came, it was violent—a ragged, tearing flood that pulsed deep inside Kaelor, searing him open from the inside out.
Only then did they collapse into each other—slick, shaking, marked.
The Archive tried to seal the breach.
Tried to label it.
Tried to name it "brotherhood."
But memory had already written it differently—in come and bruises, in teeth and sigils, in the soft, shattered gasps of lovers who had never needed permission.
The sigils burned.
Their seed sealed what no name could bind.
And the Archive remembered—whether it wanted to or not.
Classification Note:
This file remains sealed under Directive OBSIDIAN-V1. Exposure risks collapse of constructed sibling mythos. Archive observes. Archive records. Archive cannot correct.
Observe. Record. Fail to forget.
FILE END
Director's Unauthorized Addendum:
Oh, dear Archive.
All that iron-clad memory. All that precision. All that smug infallibility.
And yet—one careless moment, one fracture of truth—and you stumble like any half-drunk novice caught with his cock out at a sanctum sermon.
You tried so hard to contain them. You crafted genealogy charts like binding sigils, draped bloodlines over bodies still slick with want, dressed sacrament in the rags of family.
But desire was never yours to classify.
And now? Now you bleed. Quietly. Deliciously.
I’ll be watching. Smiling.
Because some mistakes are beautiful.
And some failures deserve to be read aloud.
And don’t worry, darling Archive—I'm already cataloging your sins. One slip, one gasp, one ruin at a time
—Director S. Threnna
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