Alex adjusted his bag strap as he felt for the familiar shape of his laptop. He was not sure how he had suddenly decided to carry it along—spontaneity had that comforting feeling to him. It tied him to rationality in chaos. Before him was the massive archives of the old library. Forgotten knowledge was what it spelled; dusty and mysterious secrets lie in wait.
Inside was stuffy, and the stench of aged paper and mildew hung thick over everything. Sconces cast flickering lights up and down the walls but could barely pierce the shadows. Alex hesitated a moment to scan around, each of his steps reverberating in the silent hollow.
He moved to the main desk in the middle where an elderly librarian slumped over her ledger. Sharp old eyes darted up at him.
"Looking for something specific?" she asked her voice raspy yet laced with curiosity.
"Yes," said Alex, but steady. "Records from late 1980s, about any information there may be linked to a Viktor Asmund name."
The look didn't even flinch as she spoke up but Alex would note that grip tightened on a pen. "Specific name," said the librarian; and she paused in a cautious line of questioning that sounded almost guarded.
"It's important," Alex said, leaning in slightly. "I believe he's tied to some. events I'm investigating."
After a moment of silence, the woman stood and gestured for him to follow. She led him through winding aisles of towering bookshelves, eventually stopping at a locked section of the archives. Retrieving a key from her pocket, she unlocked the gate with a metallic scrape.
"Section D. Restricted records. Take only what you need and put everything back," she advised. "I'll be at the desk if you need assistance."
Alex nodded his thanks as she shuffled off. Once inside, he surveyed the room, its shelves laden with crumbling folders and yellowed manuscripts. He found the section labeled "1985-1990" and began his search.
He pulled out a file with the asterisked *Asmund, Viktor*, and set it down on a convenient table. He fired up his laptop to take notes. The material was sparse and chilling. Viktor Asmund was noted as a historian who focused on occult artifacts. A document detailed an artifact he was supposed to have stolen—the "Crimson Seal," this one supposedly able to offer visions of the future.
Alex furrowed his brows. The word rang a bell. He scrolled through saved notes and stumbled upon references about the Crimson Seal in the journal he had decoded months ago. But the pieces weren't forming a pretty picture.
Digging deeper, something rustled from the corner, making him lift his head off the papers in front of him. He was scanning the area, but nothing there. The archive was silent, eerily so, once again.
He dismissed it as paranoia and went back to work. He typed furiously, cross-referencing every lead he could find. Hours went by, and his concentration was so intense that he didn't notice the soft creak of the door opening behind him.
It was only when a shadow fell over the table that Alex froze. His heart raced as he looked up. A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, its face hidden in the dim light. "Who's there?" Alex demanded, his voice quivering slightly.
The figure advanced, and Alex saw an individual of probably middle age, with graying hair and a sharp, angular face. In his long coat, the man carried an air of authority.
"You have been digging into dangerous matters," the man said, his voice even but menacing. "Matters best left buried."
"Who are you?" Alex asked, instinctively sliding his laptop closer.
"My name is irrelevant," the man replied. "What matters is that you stop. Viktor Asmund's story isn't yours to uncover."
Alex's mind raced. This man clearly knew more than he let on. "What are you trying to hide?"
The man's eyes narrowed. "The truth can be a burden, boy. Walk away while you still can."
Before Alex could even think of a response to the man, he was gone, disappearing into the distance as his footsteps faded away.
Alex sat silently in stunned amazement. Whoever he was, he just confirmed what Alex needed to be on the right track-and what he sought to know was far more dangerous than he had ever imagined.
Determined, Alex packed his things and left the archive. As he stepped into the night, the weight of his laptop seemed heavier than ever. It wasn't just a tool anymore; it was his lifeline, his weapon in the fight for answers.
He looked back toward the library, the dark windows there like empty eyes watching him walk away. Whatever was ahead, Alex knew one thing: there was no going back now.