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Chapter 5: The Filing Cabinet of Forbidden Realms

The moment Ne stepped into the Records Department, she knew something was wrong. Not “oops, I spilled coffee on a celestial memo” wrong. More like “why is there a sentient filing cabinet whispering Latin curses at me?” wrong.

The air was thick with dust and divine negligence. Stacks of parchment floated midair, occasionally bumping into each other like confused jellyfish. A glowing sign above the entrance read: Welcome to Records. We remember everything. Especially your mistakes.

Ne adjusted her intern badge, which now had a mysterious scorch mark from yesterday’s “accidental summoning” incident. She approached the front desk, where a bored-looking archivist with six eyes and a monocle was sipping tea from a cup labeled “Don’t Ask.”

“Hi! I’m Ne, the new intern. I was told to retrieve Form 7-Gamma for the Divine Audit?”

The archivist blinked all six eyes slowly. “Form 7-Gamma? That’s in the Forbidden Realms section.”

Ne hesitated. “Is that… bad?”

“Only if you value your sanity.”

Before Ne could protest, the archivist snapped his fingers and a drawer the size of a small moon creaked open. A gust of wind blew out, carrying the scent of ancient bureaucracy and mild regret. A staircase descended into the drawer, lit by flickering fluorescent halos.

“Good luck,” the archivist said, already turning back to his tea.

Ne took a deep breath and stepped in.

---

The Forbidden Realms section was less “ominous vault” and more “cosmic thrift store.” Shelves stretched infinitely in all directions, filled with mismatched scrolls, cursed staplers, and one suspiciously glowing paperclip labeled DO NOT TOUCH. Naturally, Ne touched it.

The paperclip screamed.

Ne screamed back.

After a brief apology to the paperclip (whose name was apparently Greg), she continued her search. Her divine-issued PDA beeped, displaying a map that looked like it had been drawn by a caffeinated squirrel. She followed the blinking dot labeled “7-Gamma,” dodging rogue memos and a floating “Employee of the Month” plaque that tried to bite her.

Halfway through, she encountered a creature made entirely of sticky notes.

“Who dares enter the Archive of Regret?” it boomed.

“Ne. Intern. I’m just here for a form.”

The sticky-note creature paused. “Oh. You’re new. Want a tip?”

“Sure?”

“Never file anything alphabetically. The letters rearrange themselves when you’re not looking.”

Ne nodded solemnly. “Thanks.”

The creature handed her a glowing scroll and vanished into a puff of office supplies.

---

Back at the front desk, Ne triumphantly presented Form 7-Gamma. The archivist raised an eyebrow.

“You survived. Impressive.”

“Barely,” Ne muttered, brushing off a rogue paperclip still clinging to her sleeve.

Just then, the floor trembled. A divine announcement echoed through the halls:

“Attention all departments: The Audit begins in T-minus 3 hours. Please ensure all forms are filed, all interns are accounted for, and no one has summoned anything they can’t banish.”

Ne’s PDA buzzed again. A new task appeared: Deliver Form 7-Gamma to the Department of Divine Miscommunication.

She groaned. “Why can’t anything be simple?”

The archivist chuckled. “Welcome to Ne Job.”