The Arson: Library of Alexandria

Geneva woke up in the famous Library of Alexandria, her head resting on an open scroll she did not remember reading. The air was thick with the scent of parchment and oil lamps, the flickering flames casting long shadows across the ancient walls. Something felt wrong.

Then she heard it—the distant crackling of fire.

She rose to her feet, heart pounding, and peered through the grand archway that led to the main hall. Smoke curled in lazy tendrils from the far end of the library, where dozens of scholars had gathered just hours before. Panic tightened her throat.

As she stepped forward, movement caught her eye—a shadow slipping between the towering shelves, fast and deliberate. She hesitated for only a moment before following, the instinct to know, to understand, overpowering her fear.

The fire was no accident.

Someone had set it. And she was going to find out who.

The library stretched endlessly before her, its corridors and alcoves filled with the knowledge of countless generations. The fire had not yet reached this section, but she could feel its presence creeping closer, an unrelenting force of destruction. 

Geneva moved swiftly, her sandals barely making a sound against the marble floors. The shadow she had seen disappeared around a corner, vanishing into the labyrinth of knowledge.

She quickened her pace, rounding the corner just in time to see a figure slip through a side door, disappearing into the dark. The door had been left ajar, its ancient hinges groaning softly as she pushed it open. Beyond it lay a narrow passageway lined with storage rooms and locked archives, places few were allowed to enter.

Her pulse thrummed in her ears as she stepped forward, pressing herself against the cool stone wall. She could hear voices—low and urgent—speaking in hushed tones. Straining to listen, she caught fragments of their conversation.

"...must act quickly... they cannot save it all..."

"The knowledge must die with the city..."

Geneva clenched her fists. The arsonists were not mere looters; they were men on a mission, determined to see the destruction of the greatest library the world had ever known. But why? Who stood to gain from such devastation?

Steeling herself, she peered around the edge of the doorway. Two men stood by a stack of scrolls, their faces obscured by hoods. One held a torch, its hungry flame licking at the edges of a priceless manuscript. Geneva's breath caught in her throat.

She had to stop them.

Stepping out of the shadows, she grabbed the nearest object—a heavy bronze inkstand—and hurled it toward them. It struck the torchbearer's hand, sending the flame tumbling to the ground. The man let out a curse, shaking his burned fingers as the other reached for a dagger at his belt.

"Who are you?" the second man hissed, stepping toward her. His voice was thick with an accent she could not place.

Geneva lifted her chin. "Someone who will not let you destroy this place without a fight."

The first man, still nursing his injured hand, laughed bitterly. "You are too late. The fire has already begun. Even if you kill us, the library will fall."

Geneva's heart pounded. He was right. Even now, she could hear the distant roar of flames consuming centuries of knowledge. But she would not let them escape so easily.

She lunged forward, knocking over a shelf as she did. Scrolls tumbled to the floor, creating a barrier between her and the men. One of them stumbled, and Geneva seized her chance—grabbing a fallen staff from a nearby table, she swung it hard, striking the second man across the chest. He let out a grunt of pain, stumbling backward.

"Run while you can," she warned, leveling the staff at them. "Or you will burn with this place."

The torchbearer glared at her, his jaw tight, but he seemed to recognize the futility of their situation. Without another word, he turned and sprinted down the passageway, his companion close behind him.

Geneva let out a shaking breath. She had bought herself a few moments, but the fire was closing in fast. She had to get out.

Turning, she grabbed as many scrolls as she could carry, stuffing them into the folds of her robe. If she could not save the library, she would save at least a fragment of its knowledge.

Smoke billowed around her as she ran back the way she had come. Flames licked at the wooden beams overhead, and the heat was suffocating. Geneva pressed forward, coughing against the thick air. The exit was just ahead.

As she reached the grand doors, she risked one last glance over her shoulder. The library—the heart of the ancient world's wisdom—was crumbling. Sparks flew through the air like fireflies, and the scrolls that had once held the secrets of civilization turned to ash before her eyes.

A single tear slid down her cheek. Then she turned and ran, disappearing into the night, carrying the last words of Alexandria with her.