September 17th, 11:46 PM - Veridion City, East Durbon
It was supposed to be just another night.
I had been near Veridion University for a reason an errand, something unimportant in hindsight. A former classmate had asked me to meet him near campus, claiming he needed help with something. I didn't usually entertain these kinds of requests, but there was something in his voice, an edge of desperation, that made me curious. Desperation makes people predictable. Easy to read. Easy to use.
But when I arrived at the meeting spot, just outside a closed café near the university gates, he was nowhere to be found. No messages. No calls. Just silence.
Typical.
I waited for a few minutes, watching students trickle out of the late-night study halls, their conversations blending into the hum of the city. They had their lives, their futures, their carefully laid-out paths. I had nothing tying me to this place, no reason to linger. And yet, I did.
Maybe it was the feeling. That subtle shift in the air, the sensation of being nudged by something unseen. Like a current just beneath the surface, tugging at me.
I started walking, no real direction in mind. The streets of Durbon District were quiet at this hour, the usual chatter of the city dulled to a murmur. The further I walked, the heavier the air felt thick with something I couldn't name. The neon signs along the street flickered, not in the random hum of faulty wiring, but in a pattern, like silent Morse code. A shop window reflected me as I passed, but for a split second, the reflection didn't move at the same time I did.
My skin prickled. I kept walking.
My footsteps led me toward the library, though I hadn't intended to go there.
And yet, there I was.
The library was nearly empty at this hour. The air smelled of old books and dust, the overhead lights dim. A strange quiet settled in too still, too hollow, like the entire building was holding its breath.
I wandered between shelves, fingers brushing spines without focus. And then I stopped.
A book was missing.
Not just one. A whole row had been cleared. The space between the bookshelves looked unnatural, like something had taken them, erased them, left behind nothing but the impression of their absence.
I leaned closer. The dust had settled into the empty shelf, untouched except for one place where a book had been removed recently.
A single book. Left behind.
Black leather cover, edges frayed. No title. No markings. It sat there like it had always been waiting.
I pulled it free. It was heavier than it looked. The moment my fingers brushed the cover, a sensation ran up my arm a pulse, like something alive recognizing me.
Recognition.
Not memory, not familiarity something deeper, like the book had been expecting me.
I hesitated, fingers tightening around the cover. It was warm. Not the way books absorb the ambient temperature of a room it felt like a living thing.
I exhaled slowly and opened it.
The pages were old, but the ink was clear. Too clear, like the words had been written yesterday. The first line sent a ripple through my mind, an unfamiliar pressure curling behind my eyes.
"To those who seek control, understand this: You are not the only one watching."
A shadow flickered at the edge of my vision. I looked up.
Nothing.
I turned the page.
"Power is not claimed by force, but by understanding. Influence begins where ignorance ends."
A slow, measured breath. My heartbeat steady, but my skin tense. The silence in the library wasn't normal anymore. It pressed in, thick, heavy, expectant.
Something shifted again not in the air, but in my perception of it. Like reality had just taken a small step to the left.
The words on the page moved. Not like a trick of tired eyes, not like ink settling they slithered. Rearranged themselves for the briefest second before stilling again.
I closed the book.
The moment I did, the lights flickered.
Not a coincidence.
A warning.
I placed the book under my arm and turned to leave. That's when I noticed it.
The librarian.
She was still sitting at the desk, unmoving, her posture stiff. Too stiff. The glow from her computer monitor cast a pale light on her face, but her expression was…wrong. Like a mannequin propped up in an attempt to look human. Her fingers hovered just above the keyboard, frozen mid-typing. She didn't blink. She didn't breathe.
Then, suddenly, her head twitched too fast, too sharp, like a puppet whose strings had been yanked.
A slow creaking noise filled the air as she turned her head toward me, her neck bending at an unnatural angle.
Her lips parted, but the voice that came out wasn't hers.
"You were not meant to see."
I felt the weight in my chest an instinctive warning, deeper than fear. Something primal screamed at me to move. I took a step back, gripping the book tighter.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, she went still. Her fingers resumed typing, her posture relaxed, and she blinked as if nothing had happened.
The lights steadied. The air in the room seemed normal again.
But I knew better.
I turned to leave, but as I reached the exit, something caught my eye.
The security cameras.
They had been turned every single one of them, pointed directly at me.
A chill coiled around my spine. I pushed open the door and stepped out into the night.
The city outside was the same as before, but different. The streets stretched longer than they should have. The shadows cast by streetlights seemed thicker, clinging to the edges of buildings like something alive. A faint hum, low and insidious, lingered just at the edge of hearing.
I started walking, but the feeling followed. Something was watching. And now, it knew I had seen it.