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#### A Night Like Any Other
"The absurd is born of this confrontation between the human need and the unreasonable silence of the world." —Albert Camus
The library was empty. Silent. Not the kind of silence that felt temporary or fleeting, but the kind that seemed to stretch endlessly, as if it had always been there and always would be. It was a silence so profound that it seemed to swallow the very concept of sound, leaving behind only the faintest echo of existence. The rows of bookshelves stood like sentinels in the dim light, their spines lined with titles that whispered of worlds far beyond this one. The air was thick with the scent of old paper, a musty yet comforting aroma that clung to every corner of the room. It was a scent that had become as familiar to me as my own breath, a constant companion in a life that often felt devoid of connection.
I sat in my usual corner, a small nook tucked away from the main aisles, where the light from the overhead lamps barely reached. My fingers traced the spine of *Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince*, the familiar texture of the book's cover grounding me in the moment. The pages were worn, the edges slightly frayed from countless readings. It was a book I had returned to time and time again, not just for the story it told, but for the escape it offered. In its pages, I could forget the emptiness that seemed to follow me like a shadow, the gnawing sense that I didn't belong—not here, not anywhere.
Outside, the world moved on without me. People existed, laughed, loved. They lived lives filled with purpose and meaning, or at least the illusion of it. I simply watched. I had always been an observer, never a participant. My presence was tolerated, but never sought after. To others, I was cold, detached, too absorbed in books and philosophy to be normal. I had accepted it long ago. My mind was my own universe, a labyrinth of thoughts and ideas that no one else seemed willing to explore. And if no one wished to enter it, so be it. I had learned to find solace in solitude.
And yet…
Her.
Hell is empty, and all the demons are here,
I whispered to the void when she disappeared.
The people I see, the air I breathe,
Are echoes of a world that's lost its sheen.
The voices of hell are calling me,
A symphony of sorrow, a cursed melody.
What's the purpose of heaven when my angel is gone?
What's the reason for living when hope feels withdrawn?
I seek her presence, but she left me in despair,
A hollow world, a soul laid bare.
The shadows of her absence haunt my nights,
Dragging me deeper into the unknown's fright.
Bless my soul, for I loved her—
The one who became my universe, my center.
I wrote herpoems, each line a plea,
To capture the light her unknowingly breathed into me.
Her resence was a beacon, piercing my dark,
A fleeting warmth, a fleeting spark.
But she never noticed, how could she?
To her I was a shadow, a silent devotee.
Another face in the crowd, another nameless sigh,
Lost in the sea where dreams go to die.
So I remained silent, my heart locked away,
Behind a mask of indifference, I withered each day.
Now the demons dance where her light once shone,
And I wander this hell, forever alone.
What's the purpose of heaven when my angel is not here?
What's the reason for living when all I feel is fear?
The shadows of her absence are all that remain,
A haunting refrain, a never-ending pain.
I exhaled, rubbing my temple as exhaustion crept into my bones. The weight of the day—of every day—pressed down on me, a relentless force that seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment. Perhaps Camus was right. The universe didn't care. Life had no inherent meaning. And yet, despite the absurdity of it all, I still clung to stories, to books, to the faint hope that somewhere, in some reality, things could be different. That somewhere, I could find a place where I belonged.
I glanced at my watch. Past midnight. The library would close soon, but I wasn't ready to leave. Not yet. The thought of returning to the emptiness of my apartment, to the silence that awaited me there, was unbearable. Here, at least, I was surrounded by the remnants of other lives, other worlds. Here, I could pretend, if only for a little while, that I was part of something greater.
My eyelids grew heavier, the words on the page blurring together. Just a short rest… just a moment…
Darkness swallowed me whole.
---
#### The Voice in the Void
[System Activated.]
A chime echoed through the abyss, pulling me from the depths of unconsciousness. It was a sound unlike any I had ever heard, both foreign and familiar, as if it had been waiting for me all along. My eyes snapped open, but what I saw was not the library. It was not anything I could name or comprehend.
I was floating in an infinite void, a sea of shifting stars and swirling ink. There was no ground, no sky—just an endless expanse of nothingness. The darkness was alive, pulsating with a strange energy that seemed to seep into my very being. I tried to move, to orient myself, but there was nothing to grasp, nothing to anchor me. Panic surged through me, but it was quickly replaced by a strange sense of calm. This place, whatever it was, felt… inevitable. As if I had always been meant to find myself here.
Then, the voice came.
"Choose a world."
The words weren't spoken. They simply existed, resonating within me like an undeniable truth. There was no source, no direction from which they came. They were just there, filling the void with their weight and significance. I didn't question them. I couldn't. They felt as natural as breathing, as if they had always been a part of me.
A menu materialized before me, glowing letters hovering in the dark. The options were few, but each one carried a weight that seemed to press against my chest.
*One Piece. Lord of the Rings. Solo Leveling. Harry Potter.*
I inhaled sharply. This wasn't a dream. The realization hit me like a tidal wave, crashing over me and leaving me breathless. The void, the voice, the menu—it was all real. And if it was real, then the choice before me was real too. A choice that would change everything.
My eyes lingered on the last option. *Harry Potter.* The name alone was enough to stir something deep within me, a longing I had carried for as long as I could remember. If this was real, if I could truly enter a different world… then let it be his world. A world of magic, adventure, and purpose. A world where I could be more than just an observer. A world where I could belong.
I reached out. My fingers brushed against the glowing name.
The void collapsed.
---
#### The Forgotten Brother
Pain.
Not sharp, but deep. It wasn't the kind of pain that came from a wound or an injury. It was the kind of pain that seemed to come from within, as if my very existence was being rewritten, reshaped into something new. It was a pain that defied description, a sensation that seemed to exist outside the realm of the physical. I gasped, air flooding my lungs as my eyes flew open.
I wasn't in the library anymore.
A dimly lit room surrounded me, its wooden walls old and slightly cracked. The air was thick with the scent of dust and parchment, a familiar yet foreign aroma that made my head spin. A small, creaky bed beneath me, rough sheets tangled around my legs. The room was sparse, almost barren, with only the barest necessities. It felt… lived in, but not loved. A place of survival, not comfort.
I sat up sharply, my heart pounding in my chest. Something shifted beside me.
I turned my head—and froze.
A boy sat on the edge of the opposite bed, his glasses slightly crooked, messy black hair falling over his forehead. His green eyes—identical to mine—stared back at me. There was no mistaking who he was. Even if I hadn't seen his face a thousand times before, even if I hadn't read about him in countless books, I would have known. The lightning bolt scar on his forehead was unmistakable.
Harry Potter.
But he wasn't looking at me like I was a stranger. He wasn't looking at me with curiosity or confusion. He was looking at me like I was someone he had known forever. Like I was someone he had shared a lifetime with.
"...Brother?"
The word sent a jolt through my spine. It wasn't just the sound of it, though that alone was enough to make my breath catch. It was the way he said it, the way it seemed to carry the weight of a thousand unspoken memories. Memories that weren't mine—not originally. Yet they felt real. They felt like they belonged to me.
Images flashed through my mind, fragments of a life I had never lived. A childhood spent in the cupboard under the stairs. Whispered conversations in the dark. Protecting each other from Dudley's bullying. I knew these moments. I could feel them, as if they had happened to me. Because they had. In this world, in this reality, they had.
I was Harry Potter's twin brother.
And in that moment, I understood—this was no longer a dream. This was my reality now.
And my new life had just begun.
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#### End of Chapter 1.
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