Chapter 5: The Forgotten Language

The glass city stretched endlessly before Aiden, an empty labyrinth of reflections. Each street seemed to lead him deeper into the heart of this shimmering wasteland, yet no matter how far he walked, there was no sign of life—no other travelers, no creatures, nothing but the eerily beautiful structures that caught and distorted his every movement.

But something drew him further, a faint glimmer of hope. He couldn't explain it, but he felt a pull toward the city's center. He reached a massive, crystalline tower that shot up into the swirling sky like a jagged needle. It was taller than anything he had seen so far, its peak disappearing into the mists above.

At the base of the tower, an entrance awaited—tall and arched, with carvings that looked almost like letters, though none that Aiden could recognize. Yet, as he stared at them, a strange sense of familiarity washed over him, as if he had seen these symbols before in some forgotten dream.

He pushed the heavy glass doors open and stepped inside.

The interior was vast and silent, the walls lined with shimmering shelves that held ancient books—each one bound in a material that looked like woven starlight. The light inside was different too, softer, almost alive, bathing everything in a faint glow.

Aiden moved closer to one of the shelves, his fingers brushing the spine of a book. The title shifted before his eyes, the letters rearranging themselves, refusing to stay still. He pulled the book from the shelf, its weight light in his hands, and opened it.

Inside were symbols—strange, twisting lines and shapes that made no sense to him. Yet, the longer he stared at them, the more they seemed to move, writhing across the page as if alive. His mind strained to grasp their meaning, but they remained elusive, just beyond the edge of his understanding.

You are not ready.

Aiden flinched at the sudden voice in his head. He looked around, but the room was empty, silent but for the soft rustle of pages in the gentle breeze that seemed to come from nowhere.

"What do you mean?" he asked aloud, his voice echoing off the crystalline walls.

There was no answer, only a sudden coldness in the air.

Determined, Aiden flipped through the pages, hoping for a clue, something that could guide him. He knew instinctively that these books held the key to his escape—if only he could unlock their meaning. He remembered the guardian's words: The key to returning home may not be what you think.

Suddenly, as he turned another page, the letters stopped moving. They arranged themselves into words—words he could understand.

The Forgotten Language binds this world. To speak it is to command the realm. To master it is to transcend it.

Aiden's heart raced as he read the line again and again. This forgotten language, the one that had seemed so foreign moments before, was somehow tied to the power of this world. If he could learn it, maybe he could find a way home.

But then the letters shifted again, twisting into new shapes. This time, they formed a warning:

The cost of knowing is greater than the cost of forgetting.

Before Aiden could decipher more, the air around him shimmered, and the book suddenly slammed shut in his hands. The entire room darkened, and he felt a presence—something ancient and powerful—stirring in the tower.

The shelves began to vibrate, and the air thickened with tension. Aiden stuffed the book into his bag, his heart pounding. He didn't know what was coming, but he had learned enough in this world to know when it was time to run.

He turned and sprinted for the door.

Just as he reached the threshold, a deep, rumbling voice echoed through the tower.

You cannot take what is not yours.

The walls of the tower began to close in, and the air itself seemed to turn hostile, pressing down on him like a weight. Aiden pushed through the door and ran down the glass street, not daring to look back. The ground trembled beneath his feet as if the city itself was rejecting him.

But he didn't stop running.