Pushing open the heavy wooden doors of the Leode Library, I was met with the familiar scent of aged parchment. The large room was quiet as expected, the only sounds being the soft shuffling of papers and the occasional cough of others immersed in their book.
My gaze fell upon Robin at the front desk, who was meticulously packing up a stack of books. Her glasses perched on her nose as she worked, and her attention was completely absorbed by the task at hand.
"Good afternoon," I greeted her as I approached.
She looked up, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Ah, Eli. Good to see you again. You've come at an interesting time. I'm just in the midst of rearranging some of our collection of language books. They're all so interesting to read and good to learn. Oh, well never mind that, what shall it be today?"
"I just need to go to the staff room," I replied, my voice steady.
She nodded, understanding the routine. "Of course, Eli. Feel free to take your time."
Once in the back room, I began to browse through the shelves. The books were organized meticulously, and I moved methodically down the aisles, searching for a title that had caught my attention.
But the shelves were vast, and I knew it could take hours to locate the exact book I was looking for. I needed a shortcut, a way to speed up the process. I touched my palms to my clothes, allowing myself to focus my energy and will on them. I then activated my ability and allowed myself to picture a fractured future in front of my eyes from the view of my clothing.
In the fracture that flashed before me, I saw a particular shelf, my arm reaching out and plucking a book from its place. The image was static, frozen in time, but it was clear enough for me to recognize the title and the shelf number.
With the scene imprinted in my mind, I made my way to the indicated shelf. And there it was—the book I had seen, waiting for me as if it had been expecting my arrival.
I reached for the book and pulled it out, the spine creaking slightly as the aged pages shifted. Dust billowed into the air, and I had to suppress a sneeze as I opened the cover.
The book was old, its pages yellowed with age and wear. A few of them seemed to cling to the spine, threatening to come loose with the slightest movement. I handled it delicately, turning the pages with care.
And then, as if fate had a different plan, a loose page slipped free from the book and began to flutter to the ground. Instinctively, I reached out and caught it before it could fall completely.
The page felt delicate between my fingers, the paper aged and brittle. As I looked at it, I realized that the writing on it was in a completely foreign language. Strange symbols and intricate lettering filled the page, forming words that seemed both foreign and ancient.
My heart quickened with excitement and a touch of frustration. I had been diligently studying Alexei's Language book, and thankful I had started to grasp the ancient arcanist languages. Although mastering it was still beyond my current grasp, I would be able to translate most of the page.
With a determined exhale, I mentally thanked Alexei for his guidance, and I focused on the symbols before me. I began to recognise the symbols on the page, faint echoes of my studies. The more I concentrated, the more the meaning of the text started to emerge from the fog of unfamiliarity.
My eyes then fell on the date at the top of the page. "12th of May, 548." It seemed to be a reference point, a date that held some significance in the context of the text. Could this be a diary or a record of some sort?
I began to skim over the symbols that I could make out and half pieced together some kind of diary entry.
[12th of May, 548.
"It doesn't look too good. Both Cris, born from ash, and I can't see this turning out well. This eternal night has been cast for far too long. The sky's unending veil hangs heavy like the ink of a midnight talon. A cruel reminder of the current time's stagnation.
The shadows of the four have been whispering secrets of further eldritch forces lurking at the edges of our worldview, their presence casting an ominous pall over the war-torn lands. When will they finally descend and end this ongoing battle?
The battlegrounds have become a canvas of eerie darkness, where the clash of swords is accompanied by unsettling whispers from the void. Every step forward is laden with the weight of uncertainty, and I can only hope that the impending dawn will bring an end to this relentless conflict."]
The words on the page painted a vivid picture of a world in turmoil, a time of eternal night and unending conflict. The author's words spoke of an eternal night, of shadows whispering secrets, and a war-torn land, locked in an unending battle.
I tried to piece together the fragments of information as I read, my mind racing to connect the dots. Cris, born from ash? What did that mean? And who was the author referring to as "I"? If only this wasn't a lone page.
["I am yet grateful I don't have to bare witness to the horrors of the battle. The back lines have been treating me well thus far from the comfort of my abode. Yet I must continue onward or my aspirations shant see the light.
This endless night shall pass in due time."]
The date at the top of the page caught my attention once again—12th of May, 548. It was a date from over a century ago, far before as Zhiff had mentioned in passing the current year being somewhere around 1800 or just above back when we first met at the library.
The realization hit me like a bolt. This wasn't just a random passage from a history book. It was a firsthand account, a glimpse into a past that was shrouded in mystery, well to me at the very least. The diary entry spoke of a time of darkness, of a world at war, and of an impending change that the author seemed to both anticipate and dread.
As I finished reading, a mix of emotions swirled within me—curiosity, confusion, and a sense of urgency. What had caused this eternal night? Who were the shadows of the four, and what were the eldritch forces they spoke of? And who was the author, the one who wrote these words over a century ago?
The questions were endless, and I knew that this single page was merely the tip of the iceberg. There had to be more to this diary, more to the story that had unfolded in that distant past. But for now, all I had was this fragment—a tantalizing glimpse into a world that had been lost to time.
I carefully folded the page and tucked it into my coat's inner pocket, determined that nobody would notice it has gone from an untouched book.
With the page safely tucked away, I closed the book and returned it to its place on the shelf. I then made my way back out of the restricted section and exchanged a nod with Robin as I made my way towards the exit. The setting sun cast long shadows across the floor, signalling the approach of evening.
As I stepped outside into the winter dusk, I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the fading light. The air was cool and crisp, the streets quieter now as the day transitioned into night. Lost in thought, I took a few steps forward, my mind still swirling with the revelations of the page.
And then, in a moment that felt unnatural, I collided with someone who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. I stumbled back, a jolt of surprise coursing through me. The person I had bumped into was cloaked in shadow, their face concealed by the hood of their dark cloak.
Before I could tell them to watch where they were going, the figure spoke, their voice hushed but direct, meant for my ears alone. "Beware the next few days, Ashborn. The Theatre… The outsider… Be careful."
I blinked a few times, taken aback by their cryptic nature. My heart raced as I tried to process the words. I knew about the Theatre after seeing the fractured future, but what danger awaited there in the coming days? Was the future I had seen arriving sooner than I expected? I opened my mouth to respond, to ask for more information, but the figure had already begun to walk away, their footsteps fading into the distance.
I stood there for a moment, a mixture of curiosity and unease gripping me. Who had that been? And how did they know my last name? The diary entry and now this warning—there was something larger at play, something that I had stumbled into. A divergence of my initial goal. But yet it felt important.
If I wanted to live in comfort and success in this new world, I would have to adapt even further. And in doing that, I would have to go down this path. The path of the unknown mysteries.
As the figure disappeared from sight, a shiver ran down my spine, and I couldn't shake the feeling that my world had just taken an unexpected turn. The warning echoed in my mind, a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit into the narrative I had been constructing.
With a sigh, I adjusted the collar of my jacket and pressed down my shirt, my mind racing with thoughts and questions. Who was the outsider they mentioned? And why did they feel the need to warn me, an insignificant stranger in this world?
I glanced around, the street now illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns. The town seeming to hum with an underlying energy, a current of secrets that pulsed beneath the surface. I had embarked on a journey of success, but now I was seeking answers to the enigmas that surrounded me, and it seemed that each step I took only led to more questions.
With a determined shake of my head, I decided it was time to head back. The streets were growing quieter as the night settled in, and I knew I had to get home.
I hailed a passing carriage that took me about a block away from Caius' house. I paid the fare, got out and walked in the darkness the rest of the way home, letting myself in as the front was unlocked. Caius must be home.
The front room was quiet, and I could see a dim light emanating from the kitchen. Caius was probably there, lost in his own thoughts or cooking something. I decided it would be better to not go greet him and just head straight to my room instead.
As I entered my room up the stairs, I closed the door behind me, shutting out the world beyond. The events of the day weighed heavily on my mind, and I needed a moment of solitude to process everything.
I carefully removed the folded page from my pocket, holding it delicately between my fingers. The symbols and words etched on it were like a puzzle, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. With a steady hand, I slipped the diary entry in between the pages of my language book to keep it safe. The words on the page seemed to beckon to me, promising answers to questions I hadn't even fully formed yet.
Closing the book, I set it on the small table beside my bed. The dusty tome now held a secret, a fragment of a larger puzzle that I was determined to unravel. As I lay down on my bed, the events of the day played out in my mind like a vivid tapestry, each thread weaving a complex narrative.
With an exhausted sigh, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.