The Grand Bibliotheca of Lumeria loomed over the city like a forgotten titan, its spires piercing the fog-choked skyline. Within its hallowed halls, knowledge older than the city itself lay entombed, preserved within endless rows of tomes, scrolls, and manuscripts. Scholars from across the continent flocked to its labyrinthine corridors, drawn by whispers of forbidden knowledge and ancient power.
But for Lucien Carter, the library was both a refuge and a prison.
Once, he had been a rising star among Lumeria's academic elite, a historian with a promising future and an insatiable hunger for the unknown. That was before the expedition—before the disaster that left him disgraced, ostracized, and reduced to nothing more than an archivist buried in obscurity. Now, he spent his days cataloging mundane texts, condemned to wander the shadows of forgotten knowledge while the world moved on without him.
Tonight, the library was unusually quiet. A heavy silence draped over the great hall like a funeral shroud, broken only by the occasional flutter of pages turning in the distance.
Lucien sat hunched over his desk, his ink-stained fingers skimming through brittle parchment as he traced faded records of long-forgotten trade agreements. The flickering glow of an oil lamp cast eerie shadows across his features, accentuating the exhaustion etched deep into his face.
His weary eyes drifted from the ledger before him to the towering bookshelves that lined the hall, stretching endlessly into the gloom. Despite the countless volumes housed within these walls, Lucien had come to realize that knowledge was a fickle thing—there were some truths buried too deep, truths that refused to be unearthed.
A sudden gust of wind rattled the stained-glass windows, sending a shiver down his spine. He frowned. The library's thick stone walls should have blocked out any such disturbance, yet the air around him felt... restless. Almost as if something unseen stirred within the depths of the Bibliotheca.
And then he heard it.
A whisper.
Faint, barely more than a breath against his ear.
Lucien's heart hammered in his chest as he straightened, scanning the hall for any sign of movement. But the chamber remained empty, save for the scattered silhouettes of scholars lost in their studies. He swallowed, forcing himself to dismiss it as a trick of the mind. Too many sleepless nights had left his thoughts frayed and unreliable.
But then the whisper came again.
"Come..."
Lucien's breath hitched. This time, the voice was clearer, weaving through the air like a living thing. He stood, his chair scraping against the marble floor, and turned toward the library's deeper recesses—the forbidden wings sealed off to all but the most senior scholars.
Torch in hand, he ventured forward, his boots echoing against the cold stone as he navigated the winding corridors. Dust motes swirled in the lamplight, disturbed by his passage, and the air grew heavier with every step. The whispering did not cease; instead, it grew louder, more insistent.
"Come find us..."
Lucien's grip on the torch tightened. The voice felt as though it came from the very walls, seeping into his bones and beckoning him deeper into the library's ancient heart. Eventually, he found himself standing before a section of the Bibliotheca he had never seen before—an ancient iron-bound door half-buried behind a collapsed shelf. Its surface was covered in strange, looping symbols that pulsed faintly beneath his gaze.
He hesitated. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back, to leave this place untouched. But curiosity, that insidious beast, gnawed at his resolve. Taking a deep breath, he reached out and traced a hesitant finger over the engravings.
The door groaned as it swung inward.
Beyond it lay a chamber lost to time, its walls lined with shelves sagging under the weight of books far older than the library itself. The air was thick, suffused with the scent of old paper and something far less pleasant. At the center of the room stood an obsidian pedestal, upon which rested a single book bound in cracked leather that seemed to breathe beneath the torchlight.
Lucien felt his pulse quicken. The whispers surged, wrapping around him like tendrils of smoke.
"Read..."
He stepped closer, compelled by an unseen force, and reached out with trembling hands. As his fingers brushed the book's surface, a jolt of icy fire shot through his veins, and the chamber seemed to tilt around him. He gasped, wrenching the book open, and the words within burned themselves into his mind.
Darkness flooded his vision.
Suddenly, Lucien found himself standing at the edge of an immense black sea, its surface writhing with something too vast to comprehend. The sky above churned with alien constellations that pulsed in sickly hues, and towering monoliths loomed in the distance, carved with symbols that filled him with nameless dread.
Shapes moved beneath the water. Vast, unfathomable shapes.
And then, from the depths of the abyss, a voice—deeper than the void itself—whispered into his soul.
"The Veil is thinning... and the Watchers are patient."
Lucien screamed.
The vision shattered, and he stumbled backward, the book slipping from his grasp and landing with a dull thud. He clutched his head, breath ragged, sweat dripping down his brow. The chamber was silent once more, yet the oppressive presence lingered, pressing down on him like a leaden weight.
He had seen something he was never meant to see.
With shaking hands, Lucien grabbed the book and fled the chamber, his footsteps pounding against the stone as he retraced his path through the corridors. He didn't stop running until he reached his desk, slamming the book shut and shoving it beneath his coat.
What had he uncovered?
What terrible knowledge had wormed its way into his mind?
And most terrifying of all... had something followed him back?
The hours that followed passed in a blur. He sat at his desk, staring blankly at the flickering lamp, his fingers twitching restlessly. Every shadow seemed to move, every whisper of the wind carried some dreadful promise.
At some point, he became aware of a figure approaching his desk. An elderly librarian, his expression unreadable beneath the dim glow of the lantern he carried.
"Mr. Carter," the man said, his voice gravelly. "You were seen entering the restricted wing."
Lucien's mouth went dry. "I—I was just checking some records, I didn't—"
The librarian raised a hand, silencing him. "You shouldn't have gone there. Some knowledge is best left buried."
Lucien's fingers instinctively pressed against the book beneath his coat. "You knew about it," he whispered. "The book... the voices..."
The librarian's eyes darkened. "Leave it alone, Lucien. Whatever you've seen, whatever you've heard... it is not meant for you."
With that, the man turned and disappeared into the gloom, leaving Lucien alone with his thoughts—and the weight of the forbidden tome burning against his chest.
He sat there for what felt like hours, wrestling with indecision. But deep down, he already knew the truth.
He had been chosen.
And whether he liked it or not, the whispers would never leave him.
End of Chapter 1