The BL System Won't Let Me Rest!

The library had no entrance.

Rin discovered this when he turned around and found only a wall of pale stone where the black door had been. Eryndor stood a few steps behind him, examining the strange silver lines that ran between the floor tiles.

Neither of them spoke.

They had passed through the door expecting answers. Instead, they had entered a place that seemed to exist outside every rule they had encountered.

Books floated between towering shelves. Some were chained shut; others whispered as they drifted past. At the far end of the hall, a staircase wound upward into darkness, its steps disappearing before reaching the ceiling.

And in the center of the library stood a black pedestal.

Upon it rested a single white feather.

Rin approached cautiously.

The moment he drew near, every book in the hall snapped shut.

Eryndor immediately moved beside him. ”I dislike places that react to your presence.”

”That’s becoming a very long list.”

”At least this one has the courtesy to warn us.”

The feather lifted from the pedestal.

It hovered between them, turning slowly in the air. A thin line of golden light appeared along its edge, and a voice emerged from somewhere deep within the shelves.

”Identity confirmed.”

Rin froze.

The voice continued.

”Origin: unrecorded.”

A pause followed.

”Designation: returned soul.”

The feather darkened.

”Correction status: impossible.”

Eryndor frowned. ”What does that mean?”

”I’d be delighted to find out.”

The feather suddenly split into two pieces. One drifted toward Eryndor, while the other stopped before Rin.

A name appeared across each fragment.

ERYNDOR.

RIN LEE.

Rin’s stomach tightened.

The name was written in the language of his old world, not the ancient script that filled the sanctuary. He recognized every letter.

He had not seen his name written this way since arriving in this strange realm.

Eryndor looked from his feather to Rin’s.

”Your name is different from the one in the old records.”

Rin forced himself to remain calm. ”People have more than one name.”

”Do they?”

”Sometimes.”

”Convenient.”

”Very.”

Eryndor gave him a suspicious glance but did not press further.

The two feathers drifted together, their edges touching. A sudden gust swept through the library, sending loose pages spinning across the hall.

Every page bore the same symbol.

The mark of the first covenant.

Rin watched as the pages gathered above the pedestal and formed a vast, floating circle.

Inside it appeared an image of the original sanctuary.

He recognized the seven chairs, the shallow pool, and the white tree beneath which the first bearer had surrendered his name.

But this memory was different.

The first bearer was standing.

Across from him stood Aelion.

Not the voice hidden inside Rin’s mind, nor the distant figure preserved in a fading memory. This Aelion looked young, with golden eyes and a dark expression that Rin had begun to associate with unbearable regret.

”You cannot keep doing this,” the first bearer said.

Aelion looked toward the seven chairs.

”I have to.”

”You have already surrendered one future.”

”And it wasn’t enough.”

”You cannot save everyone by giving the World another piece of yourself.”

Aelion’s hands tightened at his sides.

”Then tell me what else I should do.”

The first bearer stepped closer.

”Let them choose.”

The memory shattered.

Rin staggered backward, his head suddenly filled with a sharp, unfamiliar ache.

Aelion’s voice came from within him.

That conversation never happened.

Rin steadied himself against the pedestal.

You remember it.

I remember the choices that followed.

Then what am I seeing?

Aelion did not answer immediately.

Something the World buried.

Before Rin could ask more, the floating pages scattered. One settled at his feet.

Unlike the others, it contained no ancient symbols.

Only a sentence.

THE LIBRARY PRESERVES WHAT THE WORLD CANNOT AFFORD TO REMEMBER.

Eryndor picked it up.

”Then perhaps the answers are here.”

He turned the page over.

A second sentence appeared.

THE FIRST BEARER WAS NOT THE FIRST TO BE ERASED.

The floor shuddered.

Far above, the staircase began to descend, each step unfolding from the darkness until it reached the ground before them.

A figure appeared at its highest point.

The woman wore a long grey robe, and a narrow band of silver covered her eyes. Her hair was braided with tiny metal rings that chimed whenever she moved.

She descended without touching the steps.

”Visitors,” she said. ”How unusual.”

Eryndor stepped forward. ”Are you the keeper of this place?”

”I was.”

”What happened?”

”The World changed the meaning of my duty.”

She reached the bottom of the staircase and turned toward Rin.

”And now it has sent me a problem it cannot solve.”

Rin crossed his arms. ”I’m beginning to get tired of being called a problem.”

”Then stop being one.”

Eryndor looked at her in disbelief.

Rin blinked.

The woman tilted her head.

”An unexpected sense of humor. I had almost forgotten what that felt like.”

”What do you want from us?” Rin asked.

”To know which of you has come seeking the truth, and which has come seeking an excuse.”

Neither boy answered.

The keeper smiled faintly.

”Good. At least you understand the question.”

She extended one hand toward the floating pages.

They rearranged themselves into a map of the library. At its center lay a small chamber marked by a black circle.

”The original record is incomplete,” she explained. ”The World has removed the passage that describes its creation. Without that passage, the record cannot explain why the returned soul exists.”

”Can you restore it?” Rin asked.

”No.”

”Then why bring us here?”

”Because I cannot restore it. But you may be able to read what remains.”

Her attention shifted to Eryndor.

”And you may be able to remember what was taken from you.”

Eryndor’s expression hardened.

”I’ve had enough of people deciding what I should remember.”

”Then decide for yourself.”

The keeper stepped aside, revealing a narrow passage between the shelves.

At its end stood a door made from dark glass.

No name marked its surface.

Only a single question.

WHAT WOULD YOU SACRIFICE TO REMAIN YOURSELF?

Eryndor stared at it.

Rin knew what the question meant to him. Every memory they had uncovered had shown someone making a sacrifice on his behalf. Aelion had surrendered his future. The first bearer had surrendered his name. The Gods had taken those choices and used them to bind the people they claimed to protect.

Eryndor had spent his life being told that his existence came with a price.

He was tired of paying it.

”I won’t sacrifice anyone else,” he said.

The keeper nodded.

”Then you understand more than the first bearer did.”

She turned toward Rin.

”And you?”

Rin looked at the question on the door.

He thought of Earth, of the life that had ended without explanation. He thought of the story he had once read, the characters he had believed were fictional, and the impossible reality that had swallowed him.

He thought of Aelion, whose voice had followed him through every forgotten place.

”I want to know why I’m here,” Rin said.

”That is not an answer.”

”It’s the only one I have.”

For the first time, the keeper seemed satisfied.

”Then enter.”

Eryndor pushed the door open.

Beyond it lay a circular chamber containing a single desk and an empty chair. On the desk rested a thick book bound in silver thread.

The cover was blank.

Rin approached it, and the silver thread loosened by itself.

The first page contained a single line.

THIS RECORD BELONGS TO THE ONE WHO EXISTS OUTSIDE THE WORLD.

His hands went cold.

The next page turned.

HE WAS NOT SUMMONED.

Another page.

HE WAS NOT CHOSEN.

Another.

HE WAS NOT CREATED BY THE GODS.

Rin could hear his heartbeat.

The final page opened.

HE WAS BROUGHT HERE BECAUSE SOMEONE INSIDE THE WORLD ASKED FOR HELP.

Silence filled the chamber.

Rin slowly raised his head.

”Who?”

The book’s pages began turning backward, faster and faster, until they became a blur of silver and white.

Then they stopped.

A new name appeared.

Not Aelion.

Not Eryndor.

Not any name Rin had seen in the ancient records.

KAELITH.

Rin stumbled away from the desk.

The name struck something deep inside him, something that belonged neither to his present life nor to the memories he had witnessed.

For one brief instant, he saw a vast throne room beneath a blood-red sky. A dark-haired man stood alone among broken pillars, his hand outstretched toward someone who was fading from his grasp.

Then the vision vanished.

Rin could barely breathe.

Inside his mind, Aelion spoke.

Now I understand.

Rin gripped the edge of the desk.

Understand what?

Why the World erased the original record.

The silver thread around the book tightened.

Aelion’s voice grew quieter.

Because Kaelith was never supposed to remember you.

Rin stared at the name.

Before he could demand an explanation, the blank cover of the book filled with new writing.

THE FIRST MEMORY HAS BEEN RESTORED.

Then, beneath it:

THE SECOND BEARER IS AWAKE.

The chamber doors slammed shut.

From somewhere far beneath the library, a voice answered the book.

A familiar voice.

Deep, cold, and filled with a grief so old that it seemed to have outlived the world itself.

”Rin.”

Eryndor turned sharply toward the door.

Rin could not move.

The voice spoke again.

”I finally found you.”