The Library in the Void 003

"Gods are always watching, huh?" he muttered, rolling onto his side. "Yeah, sure they are."

He closed his eyes, letting the memory fade.

---

It was just past midnight when Aimi woke up. A strange, faint humming sound filled the room, subtle but persistent. He groggily sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"What the…" His voice trailed off as he noticed the source of the light in the room.

The watch on his wrist.

It was glowing.

Aimi froze, staring at the faint golden light pulsing beneath the cracked glass face. The hands, which had been stuck at 12:03 for as long as he could remember, were now spinning wildly, faster than any clock should move.

"Okay… This is new," he whispered, panic creeping into his voice.

The humming grew louder, vibrating through his wrist and into his arm. He tried to take the watch off, but the strap wouldn't budge. It felt like it was fused to his skin.

"Come on!" he hissed, tugging at it harder. The glow intensified, casting strange, shifting shadows across his walls.

And then, as suddenly as it started, the light vanished. The room fell silent again.

Aimi sat there, breathing heavily, staring at the watch. The hands had stopped spinning, now frozen at a new time: 3:33.

"What the hell just happened?" he muttered, his heart racing.

He grabbed his phone and dialed the only person who might humor him at this hour.

---

"Do you ever sleep?" Farah's groggy voice crackled through the line.

"Farah, listen," Aimi said, pacing his room. "Something weird just happened with my grandmother's watch."

"You woke me up for this?" she grumbled.

"I'm serious! It was glowing and spinning, and now it's stuck on 3:33. This has to mean something."

Farah sighed. "It means you're losing your mind. Go back to sleep."

"No, listen!" he insisted. "Remember how my grandmother always said it was tied to the gods or whatever? What if she wasn't crazy?"

Farah was quiet for a moment, likely debating whether or not to hang up. "Aimi, you've been stressed. Your brain's probably just playing tricks on you. It happens."

"Farah," he said, his voice low. "I'm not imagining this. I felt it. The thing wouldn't even come off my wrist."

She groaned. "Alright, fine. Bring it to me tomorrow. I'll take a look. But if it's just a broken watch and you wasted my time, I'm buying you decaf forever."

"Deal," Aimi said, hanging up.

He sat back on the bed, staring at the watch again. The faint glow was gone, but the memory of it lingered, nagging at the back of his mind.

"Great," he muttered, lying back down. "Now I'm losing sleep over a stupid watch."

But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something much, much bigger.

…

Aimi woke with a start, drenched in cold sweat. His room was quiet except for the faint hum of his desk fan. The watch on his wrist was back to its usual lifeless state, cracked and tarnished. For a second, he almost believed the glowing, spinning watch episode had been a vivid dream.

Almost.

As he sat up and rubbed his eyes, a strange pull tugged at his wrist. Not a physical force, but something deeper, like an invisible thread reeling him in. He looked at the watch again.

"Don't do anything weird," he muttered.

The watch didn't listen.

The golden glow returned, brighter this time, spilling out into his dim room like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Before Aimi could react, the hands began spinning again, faster and faster, until they became a blur.

"Not again—"

A flash of light swallowed his words.

---

When Aimi opened his eyes, the world was… different. He was no longer in his cluttered apartment but standing in a vast, otherworldly space. Rows upon rows of towering bookshelves stretched infinitely in every direction, stacked with tomes of every size, color, and age. The floor beneath him was smooth marble, etched with shifting hieroglyphics that glowed faintly under his feet. The air smelled like ancient parchment and something electric, like the calm before a thunderstorm.

"Where… am I?" Aimi whispered, turning in circles to take it all in.

"This," a deep, resonant voice echoed, "is the Library of the Void."

Aimi spun around to find the source of the voice. Standing a few feet away was a figure draped in shimmering golden robes. His face was sharp and angular, with piercing eyes that seemed to see straight through Aimi. In one hand, he held a long, ornate quill that glowed faintly at the tip.

"Who are you?" Aimi asked, his voice cracking slightly.

"I am Thoth," the figure replied, his tone calm but commanding. "God of wisdom, writing, and knowledge. Keeper of this sacred place."

Aimi blinked, unsure whether to laugh or panic. "Okay… Sure. And I'm Aimi Amirul, failed webnovel author. Nice to meet you, I guess?"

Thoth raised an eyebrow. "Failed? How quaint. You have not yet begun to understand your potential, mortal."

"Yeah, well, tell that to the dozen publishers who rejected me," Aimi muttered. "Wait. Did you bring me here? What's going on?"

Thoth stepped closer, the hieroglyphics on the floor glowing brighter with each step. "You are here because you have been chosen. Your family's lineage, tied to the gods, has led you to this moment. The watch was merely the key to open the door."

Aimi glanced at the watch on his wrist, now completely inert. "Chosen for what, exactly?"

"To restore what has been lost," Thoth said, gesturing to the endless shelves around them. "Stories, knowledge, and truths that have faded from your world. It is your task to retrieve them, to reignite the spark of creativity and wisdom in humanity."

Aimi stared at him, dumbfounded. "Okay, that's… a lot to unpack. Why me? I can't even finish a decent chapter half the time, let alone save the world's lost knowledge."

"Precisely why you must rise to the challenge," Thoth said. "You lack the arrogance of certainty, which makes you adaptable. And more importantly, you care. Your actions, however small, already prove this."

Aimi frowned. "What actions?"

Thoth's eyes glinted. "The stray cats you and your companion feed. A simple kindness, but it speaks volumes. Compassion and creativity are not so different—they both require the ability to imagine beyond oneself."