Next Step

The library was dark, the only light spilling in from the streetlamps outside. Ash moved quietly, gloved fingers brushing along the spines of ancient books, some half-disintegrated, others preserved too well for their age. The weight of the book in his satchel was a constant reminder both a shield and a threat.

Here we are again, he thought dryly. Another night in a crumbling library, hunted by maniacs in robes. Really living the dream.

Ellen's voice echoed in his mind: Miren's work wasn't entirely erased.Finding it was the next step. Surviving long enough to understand it was the real challenge.

He stopped at a section marked Esoteric Histories and pulled out a thin volume. The cover was plain, the title faded. As he flipped through it, the book in his satchel seemed to warm, a faint pulse beneath the leather. He hesitated, breath hitching. It wasn't the first time it had responded to something, but each time it did, a question resurfaced:Is it protecting me, or controlling me?

Ash almost laughed low, humorless. Paranoia, exhibit A.But the truth was, the thought had been eating at him for days. If the book was a weapon against the Keepers, why did it feel so… alive?

Ash settled at a corner desk, the light dim and flickering. He spread out the pages Lyle had given him scattered notes from Everett Miren's research, barely legible. Most were crossed out, burned at the edges, or blurred with water damage. But a phrase caught his eye, repeated in different scripts:

The Custodians of Truth are themselves deceived.

He frowned, tracing the words with a gloved finger. Miren's notes detailed the Keepers' rituals ancient, binding, but flawed. The descriptions were fragmented: a council of thirteen, a ritual to seal "unwanted truths," a device capable of rewriting memory on a massive scale.

But it was the final line that chilled him.

There is a flaw in their binding a truth too dangerous even for them to see.

Ash leaned back, fingers drumming the table. Rationally, he knew he should be grateful for this lead. Practically, he couldn't ignore the voice in his head:Or maybe this is just another trap. Another manipulation.He almost laughed again. Classic. Even when I find what I'm looking for, I'm convinced it's a setup. Truly, mental health goals.

His fingers tightened over the notes. It wasn't just about survival anymore. The realization was slow, bitter, seeping into his thoughts. The world he had devoted his life to studying—the one he thought he understood was a facade. His pursuit of history, of knowledge, had always been driven by the desire to know; to uncover truths buried by time.

But now? The truths he uncovered were dangerous. Not just to him, but to the fabric of reality itself. The Keepers didn't just guard secrets they curated them, deciding which parts of history deserved to exist.Control history, control reality. The idea left a bitter taste in his mouth. For someone who had spent his life chasing truth, the notion was intolerable.

And yet, the irony was palpable. All those years lecturing about the sanctity of history, and now he was one revelation away from being erased by a bunch of occult historians with memory-wiping powers.Brilliant career move, really. Should've stuck to writing dull monographs and arguing with colleagues over footnotes.

But beneath the bitter amusement, another motive lurked: the desire to see behind the curtain, to rip away every lie, not just for the world's sake, but for his own. To prove that his life's work hadn't been a lie. That he hadn't been chasing shadows.

Oh, sure, his mind added cynically. Risk everything to prove your life's not a joke. Healthy.

Unconsciously, his hand drifted to the book. Its cover was warm, thrumming faintly, like a heartbeat. Ellen had called it an anomaly something even the Keepers couldn't erase. But the notes suggested something darker.

One passage, half-burnt and cryptic, read:The book was not made to resist but to contain.

Contain what? The power to rewrite reality? The flaw Miren spoke of? Or something else entirely?A theory, half-formed and dangerous, surfaced: What if the book was a failsafe?A last resort by someone who had foreseen the Keepers' rise, a way to ensure that their control could never be absolute.

But that meant… whoever created it was either dead or erased, and the book itself was a lure. Not just a shield against the Keepers but a test to see who would defy them, who could bear the weight of the truth.His mouth went dry. Was that why it responded to him?

Great, he thought darkly. So it's either a key to saving the world or a trap designed to expose idiots like me. Comforting.

A noise in the hall snapped him back. Footsteps measured, deliberate. Ash killed the lamp, heart pounding, and flattened himself against a shelf. The book's warmth intensified, almost burning.

A shadow passed by, a figure robed and hooded, gloved hands tracing the spines of books. Ash's breath hitched. The robed figure paused, head tilting. For a heartbeat, Ash thought he was seen.

Then, the figure moved on, the footsteps receding. Ash exhaled, slumping against the shelf, pulse racing.Too close. Too damn close.

When he was sure the figure was gone, Ash unfolded the last note. The name scrawled across the bottom was barely legible, but it was there: Everett Miren Atrium of Whispers.

A place, then. Or a title. Another lead to chase before the Keepers caught up.He gripped the book tighter, jaw clenched. There was no going back now, no way to unsee what he'd uncovered. The past was a lie, rewritten and curated. The future was a question of who could control the narrative.

If they want to erase me, Ash thought darkly, they'll have to catch me first.

He stood, sliding the book back into his satchel, and headed for the door. Shadows stretched long in the lamplight, the library cold and silent behind him. The next step was clear: find the Atrium of Whispers, uncover Miren's truth, and survive long enough to make it matter.

But beneath that resolve, a quieter thought gnawed at him:Or maybe they've already won and you're just playing your part in their story.