Back to Reality 005
Hours passed, though time felt meaningless in the void. Aimi tried again and again, penning stories of small kindnesses and their ripple effects: a child sharing their lunch, a blacksmith repairing a stranger's sword for free, a bird feeding its injured fledgling. Each time, Thoth dismissed his work without a second thought.
"You write like you're painting by numbers," Thoth said after rejecting Aimi's fifteenth attempt. "Where is the soul? The conviction?"
Aimi threw down the quill, frustration boiling over. "What do you want from me? I'm trying my best here!"
Thoth's eyes glinted, unimpressed. "Is this how you approach all your writing? Giving up the moment it challenges you? No wonder you have yet to succeed in your world."
The words stung, but Aimi knew they were true.
---
As the hours dragged on, distractions began to creep in. Strange noises echoed through the library—soft whispers and phantom laughter that made Aimi's skin crawl. Books would fall from shelves, their pages flipping open to cryptic messages in languages he didn't understand.
At one point, he saw a shadow dart across the corner of his vision. He turned, heart racing, but nothing was there.
"Focus," Thoth's voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"I'm trying!" Aimi snapped, gripping the quill tightly.
But it wasn't just the distractions. Doubt clawed at him, whispering insidious thoughts into his mind.
What if you're not good enough?
What if you fail again, like always?
What if this story doesn't matter at all?
Aimi shook his head, trying to drown out the noise. He stared at the blank parchment, the emptiness mocking him.
"I don't know what to write," he muttered.
"Then write what you know," Thoth said. "Truth comes not from invention but from reflection."
---
Aimi closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. His mind wandered back to the small alley where he and Farah had fed the stray cat. The way its eyes had lit up with cautious gratitude as it took the food. The way that small, fleeting moment had made Aimi feel, as if he'd done something that mattered, even if only to that one creature.
He began to write.
This time, the words came slowly, hesitantly at first, but with growing confidence. He wrote of a child in a famine-stricken village who shared their last piece of bread with a hungry sparrow. The sparrow, grateful, spread seeds across the barren land. From those seeds grew a lush forest, which in turn saved the village.
As Aimi wrote, the parchment glowed brighter with every word. The hum in the air grew louder, resonating with an almost musical quality. He poured his heart into the story, recalling every moment of kindness he'd experienced, every small act that had left a lasting impact.
When he finally set down the quill, the parchment shone with a golden light.
Thoth approached, his expression unreadable. He picked up the parchment, reading the story in silence. The library seemed to hold its breath.
Finally, Thoth nodded. "You have done well."
Relief washed over Aimi, and he slumped back in his chair. "Thank god—uh, I mean, thank you."
Thoth didn't react to the slip. Instead, he handed Aimi a scroll. The moment Aimi touched it, a surge of warmth and inspiration flooded his mind. Images, ideas, and words danced in his thoughts, more vivid and vibrant than ever before.
"What is this?" Aimi asked, staring at the scroll in awe.
"Divine inspiration," Thoth said. "A gift for your efforts. Use it wisely, mortal. Your journey is far from over."
Aimi nodded, clutching the scroll tightly. For the first time, he felt a glimmer of hope—not just for his writing but for himself. Maybe, just maybe, he had what it took to make a difference.
The library around him began to blur, and Aimi realized he was being pulled back to his world.
"Wait!" he called out. "What happens next?"
Thoth's voice echoed faintly as the light consumed him.
"You write the next chapter."
---
Aimi's eyes fluttered open to the sound of birds chirping outside his window. For a second, he stared blankly at the ceiling, his mind a jumbled mess. His desk was cluttered with papers and his laptop hummed softly, still on from the night before.
"Was that… a dream?" he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his temples. But as he stretched, his hand brushed against something on the desk.
It was the scroll.
Golden and faintly glowing, it looked as out of place as a UFO in a parking lot. Aimi froze, his heart skipping a beat. He picked it up carefully, half expecting it to vanish into thin air. But no, it was real. Solid.
"Holy crap…" Aimi whispered. "It wasn't a dream?"
He stared at it for what felt like ages, the memories flooding back: the library, Thoth, the trial. It was overwhelming, surreal. He needed to talk to someone.
---
Aimi met Farah later that evening at their usual spot, a cozy little diner that smelled like fried chicken and freshly brewed coffee. She was already there, sitting in their favorite booth by the window, scrolling through her phone.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said as Aimi slid into the seat across from her.
"Farah, you won't believe this," he began, pulling the old watch from his pocket and placing it on the table dramatically.
She raised an eyebrow. "Uh, it's your grandma's weird old watch. I've seen it a million times."
"No, listen." He leaned in, lowering his voice like he was about to spill state secrets. "Last night, it glowed. And then it teleported me to this insane library. I met Thoth, the Egyptian god of wisdom. He gave me a trial, Farah. A freaking trial! And—"
Farah burst out laughing, nearly spilling her iced coffee. "Okay, okay, stop. I can't. Are you seriously telling me you met an ancient god? Aimi, maybe your grandma's craziness is genetic."
"I'm not joking!" he said, pulling out the scroll. It still glowed faintly, though not as brightly as before. "Look at this! He gave me this after I passed the trial!"
Farah squinted at it, unimpressed. "Looks like one of those fancy souvenir scrolls they sell at tourist traps."
Aimi groaned, leaning back in frustration. "You're impossible. Why would I make this up?"