Publisher: M.P. PRESS (Rome, 91 Via Pietro Frattini)

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 Private Diary of Humble Student Rusuf

 Translated from Latin by Prof. Dr. Simon, Rector of the University of Rome

I was very young and adventurous and often ran away from home. I loved exploring forest paths and following streams until they disappeared into the ground. My parents did not support this behavior, but they had long given up trying to prevent my 'expeditions.' My older brother was a hunter and often told me about the most incredible landscapes. He mentioned seas of ice, vast petrified deserts with trees made of diorite. It wasn't enough for me to just hear about them; I wanted to see them. Each time I ran away from home, it took me farther and farther from the settlement. My parents warned me not to cross the river to the south, saying that the souls of our deceased lived in it. The river was very wide; it took a sixth of a day by boat to cross from one end to the other. Of course, I was just waiting for the right moment to escape and try to cross that legendary body of water.

 Such an opportunity finally presented itself during the ceremonial funeral of my grandfather. Everyone stood on the riverbank, watching the sinking body until it fell so deep it could no longer be seen. I looked at my father and mother; both were standing ankle-deep in the river. My father was extending his hand towards the vast river as if trying to pull my grandfather from the waves. My mother was hugging him, all in tears. I knew that now was the right moment. I sneaked out of the crowd and ran upstream. 'Rusuf, come back here!' my father shouted. My mother hugged him: 'Let him go, he's just a child. He doesn't even try to understand, he'll come back soon.' Had she known the events that followed, and that this was the last time she would see me for the next 14 years, she would never have let me go so easily.

 Overcome with excitement, I ran and ran until I was out of breath. I grabbed my knees and breathed heavily. At last, I was here, now I just needed to cross to the other side. I leaned against a tree and started thinking about how to cross the river. Swimming across was not an option; I could barely make out the bushes on the other side through the murk, it was too far. A boat would be ideal. 'Yes, I just need to make a boat,' I said to myself. I had seen the elders in the village do it; it didn't look too difficult. If the elders could do it, so could I. First, I needed twigs and branches, a lot of twigs and branches. Behind me was a grove, where I would find everything I needed.

 When I finally emerged from the grove with my arms full of fallen branches and shrub leaves, darkness had already fallen. I got scared; I had never stayed out this late before. My parents must be very worried. But I was determined to finish my boat and cross to the other side... I fell asleep over my work before the moon had completed a quarter of its journey.

 I was awakened by distant whispering. When I opened my eyes, it was still dark. I turned around in an attempt to find the source of the distant whispering. When I turned towards the river, I saw a bridge. Just a few steps away from me, the bridge stretched from one bank to the other. The bridge was made of stone, with three pillars evenly spaced underneath it. The bridge seemed to shimmer, almost unreal. I approached it and cautiously touched it. Stone. Ordinary, cold stone. How did it get there? I realized where the whispering was coming from, from the middle of the bridge. Cautiously, I placed my right foot on it, then stepped onto the bridge. Does it even matter who built the bridge? Now I wouldn't have to make a boat. I took a step forward. Then another step. After the third step, I suddenly lost my balance. I didn't fall, but I felt a sensation of falling in my stomach. I looked back, the grove and the pile of branches I had gathered were incredibly far away. How had I gotten so far? I had only taken three steps... I turned towards the other bank, it had suddenly gotten closer. I leaned against the bridge's railing and looked into the river, pitch black from the surrounding darkness. I was already in the middle! Panicking, I started to run back.

 Suddenly, I lost the ground beneath my feet. The bridge I was standing on vanished, and I fell into the water. When I hit the cold surface, I let out a scream. I knew how to swim and wasn't afraid of drowning, but the shock of suddenly plunging into the icy water shook me. I turned onto my back and took a deep breath. Now I was floating on the surface, the cold piercing my back like blades. 'I can't think about the bridge now; I need to get to the shore first!'

 It was too much for me; I was very scared and wanted to go home. With slow and steady strokes, I began moving towards the shore I had come from. I must get home as quickly as possible! My strokes created small waves in the water. Out of nowhere, I was pulled underwater. Cold hands gripped my ankle with steel strength and slowly but surely dragged me beneath the surface. I thrashed and kicked, but none of it mattered to the phantom hands. Before my head submerged, I took one last deep breath. I looked down at the hands pulling me. They were barely visible, a few shades lighter than the dark water surrounding me. The body to which the hands belonged wasn't there, or at least it was invisible to my eyes. I looked towards the surface, desperately trying to swim upwards. I began to suffocate. The water pressed down on me. Everything grew darker and darker. With one last glance, I saw a beam of green light cut through the water and pass by me. The warmth of the light touched my face, and I felt the grip release. I smiled a moment before losing consciousness.

 Comment by Prof. Dr. Simon: 'I came across the original version of the diary by sheer chance in the burnt ruins beneath a large tree not far from the village of the indigenous people. The diary was filled with inserted pages full of numbers from 1 to 26, corresponding sequentially to the numbers of the Latin alphabet. After decoding the inserted text, we obtained this record in Latin. To preserve the originality of the work, I will mark which parts of the text are inserted. Additionally, some parts of the inserted text are still in the decoding process, but there's little chance of a breakthrough. Drawings were also left with the text, unfortunately too damaged by the fire to discern their content.'

 I opened my eyes and immediately shielded them with my hand from the bright light. I looked around. I lay on an improvised bed of soft leaves, right next to a window. A glance through the window showed me that we were at a great height. Looking down, I was in a small cabin on a branch of a huge oak tree. Far below, on the ground, a figure dressed entirely in black sat and... was cleaning something? Perhaps washing clothes? From that distance, I couldn't discern anything more. It seemed they hadn't noticed I had woken up. I moved away from the window and turned towards the rest of the cabin.

 Next to the bed where I lay, the only furniture in the cabin was a small table and a chair, next to which stood a shelf full of books. A soft carpet made of processed sheep's wool covered the entire room. I stood on it with bare feet; although scratchy and firm, it was very warm. Something still seemed odd about this cabin, though I couldn't quite figure out what. What was inside wasn't a common sight in the village, but the room didn't differ much from that of their local doctor. Maybe it wasn't something that was here that confused me, but something that wasn't here? A door! The window was the only opening in this cabin! 'Like a swallow's nest,' I thought.

 I approached the bookshelf and reached out to touch one of the books. Just before my hand could reach its cover, I felt a strong gust of wind and someone grabbed my wrist. I screamed and pulled away from the unfamiliar grip. In panic, I tried to turn around, tripped over my own foot, and fell onto someone's feet. Above me stood a man as dark as his attire. He wore a dark green belt from which hung a black leather-bound book that I didn't immediately recognize. Next to it hung three clay flasks. The figure wore a black coat down to his ankles and a black cloak over the coat. 'Both a cloak and a coat? Odd,' I thought. Closest to me were his boots, which were also out of the ordinary. The boot on his right foot was pristine white, as if just cleaned. The boot on his left foot was nearly identical, except its color; it was entirely black, matching the dark attire of this stranger. Finally, I looked up at the face of this odd character. A scream of horror escaped my lips. His eyes were completely white, and blood dripped from his eye sockets. His mouth was completely destroyed, without lips. His teeth were black, almost decayed. From numerous wounds gaping on his cheeks, you could see inside his mouth, which was also full of blood. In panic, I crawled on all fours backward until my back hit the wall, knocking against the shelf. A strange board and quill fell on my head from the top of the shelf, but I paid no attention to it. The stranger had completely captivated me.

 The dark figure withdrew his hand into his cloak. I shuddered and raised my hands in surrender. Whoever this is, I don't want to anger them! I just want to go home! My parents must be beside themselves with worry! What if that was the last time I'll ever see them!?

 After a brief search of his cloak, the stranger pulled out two bandages. He blindfolded himself with one and tied a knot at the top of his head. With the other, he gagged his own mouth and tied it behind, just above his neck. Both bandages were nearly solid red; had it not been for the part behind his head, I would never have guessed they were originally white. How often does this man bleed? At that moment, despite all my fear, I felt somewhat sorry for him.

 'Who are you?' - I asked

 The man put his finger on his mouth and then made a large X sign with both hands. He's mute? He pointed to the board that had fallen beside me and waved for me to come closer. I picked up the board and quill and handed them to him cautiously. The man knelt on the floor and patted the space beside him, as if inviting me to sit. After hesitating, he turned his head directly toward me. I don't know how he could see anything through that bandage. Nervously, I sat down beside him.

 Reading and writing were not my strong suits. My grandfather pushed me to learn it, but I always preferred spending time outdoors exploring the surroundings of the village. Now I regret not paying more attention. The stranger took the quill and began to write. He wrote two words before handing me the board. I sounded out each letter aloud. On the board, he had written: 'Ater Arbor.'

 When I read it, the man beside me nodded and struck his chest.

 "Are you Ater Arbor?" the figure nodded before pointing at me with his finger.

 "Me? I am Rusuf. Just Rusuf," I told Ater.

 "What happened last night? Where am I? What is this house?" I bombarded Arbor with questions. Instead of answering, he reached out his hand. I gave him the board and pen. He wrote just one word: "Nymphs." "Nymphs?" I asked, looking at him confusedly. He reached out his hand in front of me and stood up. He went to the shelf and pulled out a book. He leafed through it energetically until he took out an old, hard paper and handed it to me. I took the paper. On it was a drawing, a drawing of a hideous monster. I screamed and released the image. Ater approached and gently lifted it. He placed the picture next to the board. "Th... These monsters... Are nymphs?" I said in horror. Ater just nodded. "And that's what attacked me last night?" Again, he just nodded.

 Comment by Prof. Dr. Simon: This diary is the only mention of 'Ater Arbor' that exists. Indigenous people tell us that such a man never existed, same for the author of this work, Rusuf. We found parents who lost their child long ago, but they say the river took the child, and they have never heard of anyone named 'Rusuf.' When we asked them the name of the child they lost, they said they don't remember and didn't want to elaborate further. However, I have my doubts that 'Ater' is involved in such behavior. The villagers either knowingly hide him from us, or 'Ater' himself has tampered with their memories. The ruins where I found the diary match the description of the treehouse where Ater took Rusuf. In any case, we don't have enough evidence to confirm the existence of such a person... Additionally, I have attempted to link Ater's described symptoms with something. After consulting fourteen different immunologists, nine different doctors, and two quack doctors, I have concluded that whatever illness Ater has, modern medicine is unaware of it. His knowledge of Latin suggests that we may not be the first foreigners in this continent. I dare not dismiss the possibility that ancient Romans might have discovered this continent before us... Although unlikely, it is the most logical solution. How he acquired that knowledge in this era remains a mystery, though.

 My stomach rumbled on its own. I was incredibly hungry. Ater heard my rumbling and silently picked up a woven bowl from the shelf. He approached me and turned me around. Now I stood facing the wall. Before I could even ask him what was happening, I felt a strong gust of wind behind me. I turned around and... no one was there. Arbor had disappeared. 'Doctor? Wizard? What is this man? If he is even a man?' I pondered to myself as I waited.

 I was playing with leaves on the bed and looking out the window when I felt the gust of wind again. Arbor returned, and the woven bowl was filled with fruit. He handed me the bowl and sat on a chair, leaning his elbows on his knees. I dug into the food; the fruit was familiar, all of it grows on trees around my village. Still, my eating was very uncomfortable. Arbor sat motionless in the chair the whole time. I didn't know if he was sleeping or staring at me with his white eyes through the cotton bandage. I shuddered.

 "I... when can I go home?" I asked Arbor after finishing my meal. His response was just a shoulder shrug.

 "I... you don't know?" Again, he just shrugged in response. Ater stood up and approached the window. He pushed his hand through the frame and pointed something in the distance. I leaned forward and followed his direction. The air in the distance... shimmered? The shimmering resembled the glint of a sandstorm, when sunlight reflects off flying grains of sand... But there was no sand anywhere. "What is that?" I asked my rescuer.

 "Barrier," Arbor wrote on the tablet.

 "When does it pass?"

 "It doesn't pass," Ater wrote. At my uneasy look, he responded:

 "Gathering strength. The barrier is falling," his written words brought me a sense of calm. Whoever Ater Arbor was, it seemed I was stuck here for a while... What did he mean by 'gathering strength'? I didn't want to know.

 Over the next three sunsets, I spent my time in swallow's nest Arbor called home. Ater himself was rarely there, spending most of his time outside, but when he was around, he never hesitated to answer my questions.

 I asked him, 'What's with your eyes and mouth?' When I posed the question, Ater carefully wiped the covers of his books with a damp cloth and placed them back on the shelf. Upon hearing my question, he froze, and the book he was holding slipped from his hand. Absolute silence followed; the book hitting the floor made no sound, the birdsong ceased, and the entire room suddenly darkened. Ater Arbor removed the bandage from his mouth.

"PUNISHMENT"

 That was the first time I heard his voice. It was very rough, like someone scraping a sack of gravel against a wall. In the background of his voice, there was a distant rustling sound, resembling the noise made by jumping on a pile of dry leaves. I didn't ask him any more personal questions after that.

 After the third sunset, Ater brought me a book. I opened it. It was completely empty, from cover to cover. 'Write. Defeat oblivion,' Ator wrote on the first page.

 'Is that what the book you always carry with you is for?' I asked curiously. Ater just nodded happily. I hope to get hold of that book someday.

 Comment by Prof. Dr. Simon: From this part of the text, I could conclude that Ater is a powerful wizard who is likely cursed by a third party. The rest of Rusuf's diary is encrypted; some parts are written in the Mund language, while others are composed of completely unknown symbols to me. I don't believe young Rusuf wrote in code. On the contrary, I believe Ater transcribed or magically altered the language of the text to protect it from others' eyes. The process of decoding and further excavations around the ruins of Ater's house are ongoing, and researchers are looking for a Mundish translator willing to collaborate. Until we solve the mystery of this text, I cannot rest. Ater demonstrates the ability to use previously unseen magic, such as teleportation and those green beams. If anyone encounters Ater Arbor, I urge that event to be documented in some way, because his very presence might have anti-memory properties. This is my first published work on this phenomenon, and as I uncover new discoveries, I will continue to publish.

 Editor's Note from M.P. PRESS: Six days after this text was submitted to us, the body of Professor Simon was found in the Tiber river. The case was dismissed as suicide.