"W... Who are you?" Yanz whispered, his voice barely audible in the vast white space. The old man standing before him, with eyes that seemed to have witnessed the rise and fall of entire civilizations, offered a gentle smile.
"My name is Ileu Damian," the man said softly. "I was the strongest magician in the history of mankind."
Yanz blinked in disbelief. The words felt absurd, like something out of a child's bedtime story. Magician? He was a man of science, a genius who had mastered the complexities of time, physics, and technology. Magic? That was pure nonsense.
"Magic isn't real, old man," Yanz muttered, his tone laced with skepticism. "Are you trying to prank me or something? Because if you are, this is a waste of time."
The old man's back made a series of cracking sounds as if the weight of centuries rested upon his frail body. With a small grunt, he stretched and made a gesture as if sitting down on an invisible chair. Suddenly, out of thin air, a magnificent throne appeared beneath him—its structure elaborate and grand, seemingly made of shimmering energy rather than physical materials.
"...Huh?" Yanz's jaw tightened as his brain struggled to rationalize what he had just witnessed. This wasn't something that could be explained by any scientific theory he knew.
"I didn't expect a genius like you to say such a foolish thing," Ileu Damian said, resting comfortably in his conjured throne. "If magic wasn't real, how do you explain being in a completely different world? A world where strange beasts roam freely and the laws of nature seem... fractured?"
Yanz opened his mouth to protest, but his mind faltered. A different world? He had noticed things that didn't add up—the creatures, the strange environment, the people in white robes, the fact that he was in the body of a starving boy. Yet, in his pursuit of survival, he hadn't thought deeply about how he had ended up here.
"Do you know something?" Yanz asked, his voice sharper now, tinged with a new desperation.
The old man's skin, weathered and cracked like ancient parchment, began to crumble slightly as he sighed. "I do," Ileu replied, his tone heavy with sadness. "But I don't have enough time to explain everything."
"Why not?" Yanz demanded, stepping closer. "What is this place, and why am I here?"
A slow, amused chuckle escaped the old man's lips. "Hahaha... We're inside the book you opened. The Codex of Truth. You see, I created that book using magic. And to be clear, I am not alive, not in the way you understand. What you see before you is merely a projection—an imprint of me from hundreds of years ago probably even thousabds, i don't really know how much time has passed."
Yanz narrowed his eyes, still unconvinced. "You're saying I'm inside a book? That's ridiculous."
The old man's body began to deteriorate more rapidly now, his skin flaking away in chunks. "It seems the spell that binds this form is weakening. It's been far too long since I created it."
"Wait!" Yanz's mind raced with questions. "You said you know how I got here. If you have the answers, tell me! Who brought me here? Why—"
Ileu Damian raised a frail hand, stopping Yanz mid-sentence. His eyes were calm, even as his body crumbled before them. "I don't have much time, but listen closely. The Sky People—they are your enemies. I don't have the strength to explain their full reach, but know this: they control much more than you can imagine. They will try to stop you. They are... everywhere."
"Sky People?" Yanz repeated, baffled. "Who are they? What do they want from me?"
The old man shook his head, his skin now peeling off in great chunks, revealing the nothingness underneath. "You'll find out soon enough. I can't leave you with much... only a small piece of my magic remains—low healing. I'm passing it on to you."
Yanz frowned. " healing?"
Ileu smiled, but it was a smile tinged with sorrow. "My time is up. The spell that holds this projection is at its end. I'm afraid I can only offer you this small boon."
Suddenly, the disintegration of Ileu's form accelerated. His entire body seemed to break apart like a statue made of brittle clay, chunks of him falling away and vanishing into the white void. Yanz stepped forward, his hand reaching out instinctively. "Wait! You can't just disappear! Why am I in this world? If you know something, tell me!"
But it was too late.
The old man's body collapsed entirely, leaving only dust in the air, carried away by an unseen breeze. For a moment, the vast white room was silent, save for the rapid beating of Yanz's heart.
And then, as if the universe itself were exhaling, the world around him faded away. The white void shattered, and Yanz found himself gasping, sprawled out on the cold stone floor of the library once more. His head was spinning, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths.
He lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what had just happened. His hand instinctively went to the blue book—The Codex of Truth—which lay beside him, still glowing faintly.
But the old man was gone. And the answers he had promised were as elusive as ever.