「The Eternal Library」A Garden Of White Tulips

Two years prior.

"His father passed two days after Hoku disappeared," Jiang Hao began. He spoke with a calm, yet weighted tone. "Perhaps his father had sensed his end was near. After nineteen years of silence, he called me."

"And what did he say?"

"He asked me to find his son," Jiang Hao paused and took a deep breath. "My brother said Hoku could be difficult but that he wasn't a bad kid at heart."

"A curious way to describe a boy who skips school and runs away at every opportunity," the physician remarked. His own voice teetered between skepticism and dry amusement.

Jiang Hao's gaze diverted, though his posture remained measured. "It might stem from his early years. He's been passed between foster homes since birth."

"And his mother?"

"He never knew her."

The physician gave a succinct nod and adjusted his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. 

He proceeded to scribble something on a slip of paper before glancing back.

"You've likely been informed of the injury he sustained in the accident."

Jiang Hao nodded, "I have."

"It's… unusual," the physician added. There was a puzzled hook in his comment. 

"There's no evidence of direct trauma to the brain—only superficial cuts along the hairline and one near the right eyebrow. The scars, however, appear older. They weren't caused by the fall."

Jiang Hao inclined his head, offering no response beyond the silent weight of acknowledgment.

The physician leaned back, removing his glasses. For a moment, his eyes drifted toward the corner of the room, as though he was considering something outside the present conversation.

"If you're able," he said at last, "introduce some structure into his life. A routine. A focus. Art, perhaps. Reading. Boys like him sometimes find solace in stories, in imagining lives beyond their own. You could buy him a few books from the shop—his birthday is soon, isn't it?"

. . .

A week later, Jiang Hao brought Hoku to his home.

A week later, Hoku turned sixteen.

"I took the liberty of packing a few things from your father's house," Jiang Hao said, placing a carefully taped box in front of his nephew. 

Hoku realized earlier that his tone and movements were matched with a steady demeanor as though he was trying to gauge a reaction from him.:

Jiang Hao chuckled softly and continued to speak lightheartedly, "The place looked ransacked. You didn't have a single piece of clothing left. Only this… broken locket."

He extended a thin silver chain toward Hoku. At the end of it dangled an oval-shaped locket, its surface worn and tarnished.

Hoku carefully cupped it in both hands, the cold metal pressing into his palms. The chain spilled over his fingers, glinting in the muted light.

"Broken?"

"The hinges are bent out of shape, and there's a crack on the glass inside," Jiang Hao said. "It looked like it meant something, so I brought it for you. I think it may have belonged to your mother, though I am not entirely sure."

Hoku gazed at the locket, then quietly brushed a thumb over the rusted surface.

"Twenty-three," he suddenly murmured.

Jiang Hao tilted his head. "Pardon?"

"There's a number engraved inside—twenty-three. In Roman numerals."

The revelation seemed to waver in the room for a moment, without an answer. 

Hoku turned the locket over and inspected it with a focus that bordered on reverence.

"Did the hospital tell you anything about my mother?"

"The doctor mentioned her name," Jiang Hao replied, his tone softening. "Hokori. Your mother was a foreigner from Japan."

"Japan?"

Jiang Hao nodded, stepping closer into the doorway of the library. 

Hoku followed his uncle's gaze, and his eyes widened a little as they took in the expanse of books lining the walls. 

He'd never seen so many books in one place.

Without taking his eyes away from the shelves he asked curiously, "How old am I?"

"Sixteen, as of today." Jiang Hao folded his hands behind his back. "I don't know how your father celebrated your birthday. I imagine this must feel strange, so I wasn't going to mention it unless you asked."

Hoku's silence seemed to stretch, gradually building the tension both had discreetly hoped to avoid.

"Do you like reading?" Jiang Hao finally asked, amiably.

Hoku returned his focus, remaining unsure how to answer. 

The truth was, he didn't know what he liked. 

Everything he knew about himself came secondhand—from what others seemed to guess, and from fragments of his memory that refused to form a coherent whole.

"Yes," he said, after wavering.

Jiang Hao smiled, though there was a hint of formality in his expression that didn't go unnoticed. 

Hoku wondered if it would be better to fabricate something or even perhaps create a more distinct version of himself to present out of gratitude.

"Then consider this room in your possession," Jiang Hao said, as he gestured at the towering shelves. 

"Sleep in it, read in it, do whatever you like. Just don't touch the books on the top shelf. They're fragile—some older than I care to admit, and a few cost me more than I'd like to remember."

"That isn't necessary," Hoku said quickly. "I appreciate your offer, but… they all look expensive. I'd hate to ruin anything."

The edges of Jiang Hao's composed demeanor appeared to ease further.

"Then don't," he said simply. 

"Think of this as my gift to you, for your birthday. My last partner used to call this room 'the eternal library.'" An indistinct chuckle escaped him. 

"You can call it whatever you'd like. Just think of it as a space for security. That's all it is. I rarely visit this room so you needn't worry about being intruded on."

Hoku's eyes wandered the walls, taking in the unbroken expanse of bookshelves. 

Not a single gap could be discovered in the arrangement; every hardcover sat neatly in its place.

The room was laden with countless stories; it was no wonder that anyone would call this place an eternal library.

Chapter 5

"The fire that burnt down this manor was a mistake. The manor should have been preserved after the people realized Francis Barret was a swindler. During the initial timeline, his study was plundered by authorities, and all of his files were burnt after his sentencing."

"Did the fire cause my universe to fall into a temporal disruption?""Temporal disruption? That's a new one for me."

"Just answer the question," Hoku deadpanned.

Polaris frowned, refusing to say anything for a moment.

Then, he took a long breath and answered, "That is partially correct. The fire was the beginning of a long sequence of disturbances." He hummed, scratching his head, "However, that should have been the end of it. The current creator of the timesteam managed to get ahold of non-existent records, and redraft it into the Sequel." 

Hoku's features hardened. 'So, we find ourselves here.'

. . .

Hoku approached the fire warming the parlor, carrying a crate filled with catalogs from the study.

If burning a few dozen stacks of paper would allow him to leave, he was prepared to do so without deliberation.

"Just these will do?" Hoku lifted the crate, tilting it slightly for Polaris to see.

Polaris hooked a finger near his jaw.

"About as much, yes," he said.

"Good. Then do you mind grabbing the rest from the study?"

"Technically, this is your responsibility," he said, already heading for the stairs.

Hoku dropped the crate in front of the hearth.

A few orange glowing embers reacted to the gust of the crate's force, floating up and outward in a frolic.

The fire had weakened significantly.

By some luck, a chalky wooden bellows rested atop the hearth's mantle.

Hoku grabbed it, aiming the nozzle at the faintly glowing embers.

Lifting the handle, he opened the valve, drawing in air.

As he pressed the wooden sides together, a gust rushed into the ash and kindling.

Embers brightened, casting a dull red glow over the log. A few sharp cracks followed, and then the flames roared back to life.

"You figured out how to use the bellow, I see."

Polaris's chuffed tone startled Hoku.

"Shit. Where did he come from?"

A weary sigh followed. He plunked a stack of papers next to Hoku.

Hoku's grip tightened around the single crate he had struggled to haul into the parlor, a quiet sense of defeat settling in.

Polaris nudged the pile closer with his leg, then slapped a hand on top, making the base tremble slightly.

"They don't need to burn to ash. Just keep the flames alive while you're tossing them in. Wait for one stack to catch before adding another."

He turned toward the staircase again.

Hoku threw in a handful of thick notes, watching as sparks curled upward.

Flames licked at the edges, darkening the paper to an inkish black before crumbling apart.

Ash settled thick, not unlike the first snowfall. Only instead of white, it was a tainted, pale gray.

He reached for a metal rod hanging from a rusted hook above the hearth and used it to push the remaining files deeper into the fire.

Crackle! Pop! Crackle! Pop! Pop!

Hoku glanced over his shoulder and Polaris was gone.

"Must've gone upstairs… Wonder what's up there," he muttered over the crackling fire.

If he had to guess, probably just a bunch of needlessly decorated bedrooms. Polaris had mentioned the master bedroom before heading off to find the pocket watch.

Five hours passed. Hoku tossed the last pile into the hearth.

Ash spilled onto the stone mantel. His arms ached from working the bellows each time the fire threatened to die.

The blonde man still hadn't returned or given any sign that he was still inside.

Hoku hesitated, debating whether to call out for him.

The files had all been burned, but nothing had happened.

A creeping suspicion settled over him like a cold current.

Should he go upstairs and find him? If he left now, would something happen?

His eyes moved restlessly across the room.

'It's too quiet,' Hoku realized, gritting his teeth.

He moved cautiously, nearing the large, curved staircase.

His boot slipped forward slightly, and he realized he had stepped on something.

Glancing down, he spotted a piece of paper near the door beneath the stairs.

One of them must have dropped it. Most likely Polaris, since he had carried the files up by hand.

Hoku crouched to pick it up, flipping it over as he straightened.

Messy calligraphy covered the page. He squinted at the text. The sentences barely made sense, scrawled like the thoughts of someone slipping into madness.

His fingers tightened. He crumpled the paper into a ball.

Stepping back toward the hearth, he tossed it underhand into the fire.

It rolled over the unburned pages before settling in a pile of glowing embers.

Hoku stood still, watching over the chair in front of him, waiting to see if he needed to push it in further.

A flame, the size of a seed, sprouted from the embers.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

A deep, muffled reverberation sounded from the third floor.

Then, a familiar black creature came racing down the staircase.

"Cheshire?"

The cat darted toward him, slowing only as it slipped behind his legs.

"Damn it, now you show up? Little bastard, are you that desperate to leave?"

Polaris' voice drifted from the top of the steps, growing louder with the heavy thud of his heels.

He appeared from the railing, dressed differently. The wooden box from before was tucked under his arm.

He wore a button-down flaxen shirt with close-fitting trousers that were plain, but practical, and far less ostentatious than before.

Hoku briefly wanted to ask, 'You changed?' but there were more pressing matters.

"Happy belated birthday!"

Polaris rounded the spiral of the railing and shoved an open case into his hands.

"How did you—"

"Pick up your creature and move. The final bell is about to strike."

His tone was urgent, as he impatiently tapped a finger against his pocket.

Hoku shifted his gaze from the box to the cat, then back again.

He inspected the object that had been placed in his hands.

Its size suggested either a pocket watch or a compass, but there was no time to dwell on it.

Polaris nudged his shoulder, steering him toward the room from the illustration.

Hoku frowned. "Why are we going in there? There's no way out." He distinctly remembered, there hadn't even been a window.

"That so?" Polaris's voice carried amusement.

Hoku proceeded cautiously. As he stepped beyond the foyer, something caught his attention.

His breath hitched. "What is this?"

Light poured through the glass frames of a white door.

His pulse quickened. "How many damn doors are going to appear in this place?" he muttered.

Polaris chuckled. Though the question was rhetorical, he answered anyway.

"Hopefully, this is the last one for a while."

Dong! Dong! Dong!

A heavy toll rang out, striking deep into his chest.

Hoku's pupils contracted.

Three chimes. He'd read once that church bells tolled thrice to summon the faithful to recite the Lord's Prayer.

'Great. Nothing unusual for them I suppose.'

Something pressed against his leg.

He looked down and found Cheshire, curling his tail lightly around his ankle.

Hoku respired. "This is just like what happened before I woke up here."

Polaris's expression shifted, a trace of sympathy appearing beneath a hint of suspicion. "Is it?"

"Care to partake in a second trial?"

Hoku lifted his eyebrows. "You can be humorous even now?"

"Hasn't that been obvious? I'm a very unserious individual." Polaris's tone remained pleasant, but something in his demeanor had changed. "Though truthfully, I think it may be my way of coping. I wasn't always like this."

Hoku glanced at him before turning back to the door.

Dong! Dong! Dong!

"Beyond here is the 'garden.'" Polaris reached for the handle. Hoku stepped aside.

Light flooded through as the door swung open, illuminating the distance beyond.

Cheshire suddenly slipped past him and vanished into the light.

He paused, casting Polaris a wary glance.

Dong! Dong! Dong!

Polaris grinned before stepping back.

Hoku exhaled softly, then trailed the cat through the doorway.

His boots made contact with the pale, sandy stone path.

White tulips extended across the field in undulating waves, rising past his ankles.

A fierce gust of wind whipped from the north, prompting him to squeeze his eyes shut.

When the air settled into silence, he opened them again to find the manor had vanished.

Thus, only a boy clutching a broken compass stood beside his guide in a garden of white tulips.

The Memoir Chapter 3

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