The air in the library reeked of burnt parchment and iron. Lira’s boots scuffed the marble floor as she stepped deeper into the archives, her fingers brushing the spines of books that hummed faintly, like sleeping creatures. The shelves stretched into darkness, their tops vanishing into a ceiling she couldn’t see. She had been here before—years ago, when her father still walked the halls—but the place had changed. The symbols etched into the stone walls now pulsed with a sickly green light, and the air tasted of rust.
“This isn’t possible,” she muttered, pressing a palm against a shelf. The wood was warm, almost alive. She remembered her father’s voice, low and urgent, warning her never to enter the archives after dusk. But the note he’d left—scrawled in his jagged script—had said *Come to the library. Bring the lantern.* The lantern was in her satchel, its glass cracked from the fall she’d taken earlier that night. She didn’t know why she’d followed the note. Maybe it was the way the words had seemed to bleed from the page, or the fact that her father had vanished three weeks ago, leaving no trace except this.
A creak echoed through the vault. Lira froze. The sound came again, closer this time, like a door grinding open in a house long abandoned. She pulled the lantern from her satchel, its flame flickering wildly as if afraid of the dark. The light revealed a figure standing at the far end of the aisle—a silhouette against the glow of the green symbols. It didn’t move.
“Hello?” Her voice was too loud, too sharp. The figure tilted its head, and Lira saw the glint of metal where its eyes should be. A blade? A mirror? She tightened her grip on the lantern. “Who are you?”
The figure stepped forward. The green light deepened, and Lira saw the face—her own, but older, wearier, with hollows beneath the eyes that mirrored her own. The doppelgänger raised a hand, and the books around them burst into flame, their pages curling into ash. Lira stumbled back, coughing as smoke filled the air. The figure didn’t speak, but its mouth moved, forming words she couldn’t hear. Then it vanished, leaving only the scent of burning paper and the sound of her own ragged breaths.
She ran.
The library shifted as she moved, corridors twisting into new configurations, staircases spiraling into nothingness. Her lantern cast jagged shadows on the walls, and the green symbols pulsed faster now, as if reacting to her panic. She found herself in a chamber she didn’t recognize, its ceiling a mosaic of stars that blinked out one by one. At the center stood a pedestal, and on it lay a book bound in black leather, its cover etched with the same symbols as the walls. Lira hesitated. The air here was heavier, charged with something she couldn’t name. She reached out, fingers brushing the cover—and the world exploded into light.
When she opened her eyes, she was outside. The library’s doors stood open, revealing a sky streaked with crimson. The air was warm, too still. A voice echoed in her mind, not spoken but felt: *You have seen what must not be seen.* Lira turned. Her father stood a few paces away, his coat torn, his face gaunt. He didn’t look surprised to see her.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he said, his voice rough with exhaustion. “This place… it doesn’t let go of those who enter.” He stepped closer, and she noticed the faint glow beneath his skin, like light trapped in glass. “But you’re here now. That’s all that matters.” He reached for her, but the ground shuddered, and the library’s doors slammed shut behind her. The sky darkened, and Lira realized the stars had gone out.
The green symbols flared one last time, then died. The library was gone, leaving only a field of ash and the sound of her father’s breaths. He pulled her into an embrace, his grip tight, desperate. “We have to leave,” he whispered. “Before it’s too late.” But Lira didn’t move. She looked down at her hands, now glowing faintly with the same green light that had marked the library walls. The book was gone, but its presence lingered in her bones, a weight she couldn’t shake. She didn’t know if they were safe. She didn’t know if they ever would be.
The field stretched endlessly, empty and silent. Her father’s grip tightened as the first stars reappeared in the sky, their light cold and distant. Lira closed her eyes, listening to the echo of the library’s final breath. Something had changed. Something had been set in motion. And she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to stop it.
