The university library had a distinct atmosphere at night. The clock struck nine PM, and the main reading rooms were deserted, leaving the faint hum of the overhead lights and the creak of Max Carter's metal book cart as the only sounds in the cavernous space.
Tonight, Max was assigned to organize the archives in the restricted section—a place as mysterious as its name implied. Even by day, it was an area few ventured into, and by night, it took on an otherworldly air. The towering shelves loomed like silent giants, their dark wooden frames warped slightly with age. Shadows danced along the marble floors, flickering with every buzz of the ancient lighting fixtures.
The smell of the archives was unique: a mix of aged paper, decaying leather bindings, and something metallic that lingered faintly in the air, like the tang of rusted iron. Max had worked at the library for two years now, and yet, this part of the building always managed to unnerve him. It felt untouched, as though time itself had forgotten it existed.
He wheeled his cart deeper into the labyrinthine corridors, stacking the older, worn tomes onto their proper shelves. The books here were unlike anything found in the main collection—many were written in languages Max didn't recognize, their titles faded or entirely illegible. Some covers were embossed with strange symbols, their spines cracked from centuries of neglect.
Max dusted off a particularly heavy volume, the golden filigree on its cover catching the dim light. A shiver ran down his spine as he placed it on the shelf. The air in the restricted section was warm, yet he felt a distinct chill. He brushed it off as exhaustion; working late shifts had a way of playing tricks on the mind.
As Max pushed the cart forward, his eyes wandered to one of the taller shelves. Something about it seemed... off. The bottom shelf didn't sit flush against the wall, leaving a faint, uneven gap. His curiosity piqued, Max crouched down and ran his fingers along the woodgrain, searching for an explanation.
His fingertips brushed against a latch, cleverly disguised as part of the shelf's intricate carvings. With a soft click, the latch released, and a small compartment hidden behind the shelf slid open.
Max stared, his pulse quickening. Inside was a notebook and a pen.
The notebook was bound in dark, cracked leather, its edges worn smooth as though it had passed through countless hands. Embossed on its cover was an intricate symbol resembling a tree, its branches entwined like veins. Next to it rested a pen, sleek and metallic, its surface engraved with tiny glowing runes. The runes pulsed faintly, as if alive, casting a soft light that illuminated the hidden compartment.
"What the hell is this?" Max muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
He reached in hesitantly, his fingers brushing the edges of the notebook first. The leather cover wasn't just warm—it seemed to pulse faintly, as if it had its own heartbeat. Max's thumb traced the embossed symbol on the front—a sprawling tree with branches twisting into veins—its intricate detail so fine it felt like the grooves had been carved yesterday.
He flipped it open, his breath catching as the pages shimmered. Not blank in the ordinary sense, they rippled like liquid silver, their surface reflecting faint images—his face, the dim glow of the library's lights, and something deeper, like a flicker of movement within the pages themselves. It was as if the book wasn't just showing him his reflection but studying him in return, evaluating, waiting.
Next, his attention shifted to the pen. When he picked it up, its cold metallic surface sent a shiver up his arm, contrasting sharply with the warmth of the notebook. The intricate runes engraved along its length glowed faintly, their patterns shifting and rearranging with every movement, as though responding to his touch. It was impossibly light, as if it contained no substance at all, yet holding it made his palm tingle, as though raw energy coursed beneath its surface.
Max's curiosity got the better of him. Clicking the pen, he hesitated for a moment before leaning over the notebook. The shimmering page seemed to beckon him, its surface pulsing softly in time with the runes on the pen.
With a deep breath, he scrawled his name across the page: Max Carter.
The moment his name appeared, the letters glowed brightly, their light spreading outward like molten gold. The notebook grew hot in his hands, and the pen leapt from his grip, hovering mid-air.
"What's going on?!" Max stumbled backward, his heart hammering in his chest.
The notebook and pen hovered together, spinning faster and faster as their glow intensified. The runes on the pen flared to life, spilling their light into the room like a small supernova. A deep, resonant voice echoed through the archives, filling every corner of the space.
"Welcome, Max Carter. You have been chosen as a Keeper."
Max froze, his back pressed against the cold marble wall. "A Keeper? What does that even mean?!"
The notebook and pen spun faster, merging into a single, radiant point of light. A burst of energy shot out, knocking over the book cart and scattering its contents across the floor. Max shielded his eyes as the light engulfed him, feeling a searing pain on his forearm.
When the glow subsided, Max looked down to see glowing symbols etched into his skin—patterns resembling the runes on the pen, now embedded into his arm. They pulsed faintly, as though connected to something far beyond his understanding.
The deep voice returned, calm and authoritative, cutting through the haze of Max's thoughts like a blade.
"I am the Nexus System, a gateway between worlds. You are now a Keeper, tasked with repairing collapsing fictional realms."
Max blinked, still clutching his arm where the glowing runes were etched into his skin. The faint heat of the markings seemed to seep into his veins, sending a strange, rhythmic pulse up his arm. "Collapsing realms? Fictional worlds?" His voice rose with each word, his disbelief spiraling into panic. "This is insane!"
The voice didn't waver, as steady as the hum of the portal in front of him.
"The notebook is your portal. The pen, now part of you, grants you abilities to influence the narrative threads within these worlds. You are uniquely suited for this task due to your creativity and imagination."
Max shook his head violently, his mind grasping at fragments of logic that didn't exist. "I don't understand!" he shouted. "Why me? I didn't sign up for this! I didn't ask for this!"
The voice softened then, its tone less like a command and more like a reassurance.
"You were chosen because your stories hold potential, even if you do not yet see it. Your imagination is a rare gift, capable of restoring balance to fractured worlds. But there is much you do not yet understand. In time, you will learn."
Max stared at the glowing runes on his arm, their patterns shifting faintly, almost alive. His chest tightened as memories of sleepless nights flooded his mind: the endless edits, the crushing fear that his work wasn't good enough, the harsh reviews that made him question if he was wasting his life. Why would anyone pick me? he thought bitterly. I can't even write a book people like.
None of it had prepared him for this.
The notebook, which had hovered silently in front of him, flipped open with a sudden gust of unseen wind. Its pages turned rapidly, the sound echoing unnaturally in the silent archives, until they stopped on one filled with shifting, glowing symbols. The runes on Max's arm flared brighter, pulsing in perfect rhythm with the page, as though tethered to it. The light from the runes spilled onto the walls, casting intricate, hypnotic patterns that moved and flowed like living ink.
"Your first mission awaits," the voice intoned. "Step through."
Max's eyes darted to the page as the swirling symbols began to merge, coalescing into a shimmering, liquid-like surface. The page expanded, stretching outward until it no longer resembled a page at all but a glowing portal suspended in the air. Its energy radiated outward, humming faintly as the library around Max seemed to dim, its familiar surroundings swallowed by the intensity of the light.
He stumbled backward instinctively, his breath shallow and ragged. "Come on, really Liam?! You just had to jinx me with a portal?" he exclaimed, his voice shaking. "This can't be real."
The Nexus System's voice returned, calm yet unyielding.
"The worlds depend on you, Max Carter. Without your intervention, the chaos will spread—through other stories, and eventually, into your own reality."
Max froze, his pulse thundering in his ears. "My reality?" he echoed. The words hung heavily in the air, each syllable sinking into him like stones.
The idea of fictional chaos spilling into the real world was absurd—and yet, standing here in the glow of the portal, with the warmth of the runes etched into his skin and the impossible weight of the notebook hovering before him, it didn't feel absurd. It felt terrifyingly real.
Every instinct screamed at him to run. To leave the notebook and its impossible magic behind, to shove this entire night into the deepest corners of his mind and pretend it never happened.
But something else stirred deep inside him.
It wasn't courage—at least, not the kind of courage Max had read about in the heroic tales he adored. It was something quieter, older, buried beneath years of doubt and fear. It was a spark of the boy who had spent hours lost in books, dreaming of grand adventures and heroic quests. The boy who had once believed he could write his own adventures, create his own worlds.
Max clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as his trembling legs carried him a step closer to the portal. The air around it hummed louder now, a magnetic energy that seemed to pull him forward. He glanced at the notebook, its pages still glowing, and at the runes on his arm, which pulsed like a second heartbeat.
He swallowed hard, his mouth dry. "Why do I feel like I'm going to regret this?"
The Nexus System's voice returned, steady and emotionless.
"Regret is irrelevant. Purpose is not. Step through."
Max let out a shaky laugh, more for himself than anyone else. He reached out hesitantly, the tips of his fingers brushing the surface of the portal. It wasn't cold or hot but something in between—an almost electric sensation that prickled against his skin. The swirling light shifted, reacting to his touch, as though the portal was alive and waiting for him.
Taking a deep breath, Max muttered, "Here goes nothing," and stepped forward.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the world dissolved into light.
For a brief, disorienting moment, Max felt weightless, like he was floating in a sea of pure energy. The glow of the portal enveloped him completely, its hum growing louder until it was the only sound he could hear. Shapes and colors twisted around him, folding and unfolding in ways that defied logic.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.