Chapter 1: The Forgotten Book
It was the kind of place no one visited anymore—not since the internet had taken over. Yet, Eira had always felt at home here, surrounded by the whispering presence of stories that had long outlived their authors. To her, every book was a friend, every word a promise of something waiting to be discovered.
Her hands were full with a stack of returns as she made her way to the back, where the forgotten books resided. The library's policy was clear: If a book hadn't been checked out in twenty years, it was relocated to the archives—a fancy term for the dusty, dimly lit storage room that smelled of mildew and regret.
Eira didn't mind. If anything, the archives were her favorite part of the job. They were quiet in a way that even the rest of the library wasn't. Down there, it felt like time stood still.
Balancing the stack against her hip, she nudged open the basement door with her shoulder. A faint creak echoed down the stone steps as she descended, the dim overhead bulb flickering as though it were deciding whether or not to stay on.
"Stay with me, old friend," she murmured to the light, though she wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe it was habit—she'd been talking to the inanimate objects in the library for years.
The archives sprawled out in narrow aisles that seemed to twist and turn like a labyrinth. Eira placed the stack of books on a nearby table, dusted off her hands, and began shelving them in their respective slots. It was monotonous work, but there was a rhythm to it that she found comforting.
As she reached the final book on the pile, something caught her eye. A faint gleam from the corner of the room, where the light barely reached. Curious, she approached, weaving her way through the shelves. At first, she thought it might be a shard of glass or a stray piece of metal, but as she drew closer, she realized it was a book.
Unlike the others, this one sat alone on the floor, as though someone had dropped it and forgotten about it. Its cover was black and glossy, reflecting the dim light like polished obsidian. There was no title, no author's name, nothing to indicate what it was.
Eira frowned. She didn't remember seeing it before, and she knew every inch of the archives like the back of her hand. Kneeling, she picked it up, brushing her fingers across its smooth surface. The moment her skin touched it, a strange warmth radiated through her hand, as though the book were alive.
"What are you?" she whispered, turning it over. The pages were gilded, shimmering faintly even in the poor light. She tried to open it, but the cover wouldn't budge, as though it had been sealed shut.
Frustrated, Eira pressed her palm harder against the cover. "Come on," she muttered, her voice barely above a breath. "Give me something."
As if in response, the book grew hot, and she yelped, dropping it to the floor. A sharp pain shot through her hand, and when she looked down, she saw a thin line of red trickling from her palm. A papercut. Or… something like one. But the book hadn't been open.
The moment her blood hit the cover, the room seemed to shift. The air grew heavy, pressing down on her shoulders. A low hum filled the space, resonating in her chest. She stumbled back, watching as the book began to glow faintly, the black cover now pulsing with light.
"No," she whispered, her voice shaking. She wanted to move, to run, but her body refused to obey. The light grew brighter, surrounding her in a cocoon of white-hot brilliance. Her heart pounded as the hum grew into a deafening roar. And then… nothing.
When she opened her eyes, she was no longer in the archives.
The world around her was vast and endless, an infinite expanse of shelves that stretched beyond her line of sight. Books floated in midair, their pages turning as though an unseen wind guided them. The air was alive with whispers—not human voices, but something older, deeper. She turned in a slow circle, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
"Welcome," a voice said, low and resonant, as though it came from everywhere and nowhere at once. "To The Archive."
Eira spun around, her breath caught in her throat. Standing before her was a figure cloaked in shadows, their face obscured but their presence overwhelming. Their hand extended toward her, and though she couldn't see their eyes, she felt their gaze boring into her.
"Who are you?" she managed to choke out.
The figure didn't answer. Instead, they gestured to the shelves around them. "You have been chosen, Reclaimer. The forgotten truths of this world await you."
Eira's mind reeled. Forgotten truths? Reclaimer? She opened her mouth to ask more, but the figure raised a hand, silencing her.
"The Archive does not wait," they said, their voice as unyielding as stone. "Your journey begins now."
Before she could protest, the ground beneath her gave way, and she fell into darkness.