The study was tucked behind two towering shelves, half-hidden like the library itself was trying to swallow it. The moment we stepped inside, the air grew warmer and thicker, like the room had been sealed for years.

  If the reading chamber had looked cozy before I blew holes in it, this place looked ancient.

  Amber lamps flickered overhead.

  Stacks of parchment were piled everywhere.

  Maps, diagrams, and sketches were pinned to the walls…

  Except none of them matched the hallways we had walked.

  The maps twisted, shifted, warped, like the library was changing too fast for even the Archivist to keep up.

  The dwarf trudged to the rickety chair behind his desk and sank into it with a groan. He grabbed a quill, stared at it as if he’d forgotten what it was, then tossed it aside.

  “Aye,” he muttered. “Somethin’s wrong with this place.”

  He gestured for me to sit on the stool across from him. It looked like it would collapse under a stiff breeze. I sat anyway.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer right away. His fingers drummed on the wooden desk, leaving faint ink smudges behind. His round spectacles glowed softly in the lamplight as he stared at the warped maps.

  “The library’s sick,” he finally said. “Sicker than I’ve ever seen.”

  He nodded at the shelves behind me. “Books movin’ on their own. Rooms rearrangin’ without permission. Lights flickerin’ even with full mana reserves. Whisperin’ in the dark. And worst of all…” He tapped his temple. “…my own mind slippin’.”

  I swallowed. “You forgetting me back there… that wasn’t normal?”

  He snorted bitterly. “Boy, I may forget books, not people. And even then I remember the books five minutes later.” His beard rustled as he shook his head. “No. That was the library. Twistin’ me thoughts. Pullin’ threads loose.”

  The hairs on my arms stood up. “Why would it do that?”

  He leaned back in his creaking chair, hands clasped over his stomach. “That’s the part that keeps me awake at night. Because libraries don’t go rotten on their own. Somethin’ must be causin’ it. Somethin’ hidin’ in the stacks. Somethin’ crawlin’ where no creature should ever crawl.”

  A cold pressure settled over the room. The lamps dimmed. The pages on his desk fluttered without wind. Ink trembled inside the jar.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Then:

  PING.

  A system window snapped open in front of me.

  Secret Objective Revealed

  Secret Objective:

  Discover the Being Corrupting the Living Library — and the Archivist.

  When the window faded, the dwarf was staring at me. Not at my face, but slightly above it.

  “Yer eyes just flickered,” he whispered.

  “My what?”

  “Yer status window. I can’t read it, but I can see the glow.” He leaned forward, voice dropping to a gravelly murmur. “That means the dungeon’s trustin’ ye with somethin’ it won’t tell me.”

  I shifted in my seat. “Trust” didn’t feel like the right word.

  “Wait, you’re aware this is a dungeon?” I asked.

  “Of course I am,” he replied.

  “Wait. So you know about the Dream Dungeon.”

  “I do.”

  “And you know this is just a floor of the Dream Dungeon?”

  “Correct, son.”

  “So are you real? Did the dungeon trap you here?”

  The dwarf chuckled. “Am I real? Boy, what is real? The word ‘real’ has such a subjective meanin’, doesn’t it? There are books here that categorize angels as real, yet I’ve failed to touch one in my almost two centuries of life.”

  “But… all of this is made up by the System, isn’t it? Even you?”

  “And that makes me not real?”

  I thought about it, but before I could answer, he continued.

  “I wake up in this same library every day. I tend to my duties. Arrange some books and go back to sleep. That, to me, is as real as it gets. Wouldn’t you say so, my boy?”

  I stayed silent. I didn’t have an answer. At least not one I wanted to say out loud.

  “Anyway, where were we? Ah, yes. The library is sick!”

  The dwarf stood with surprising strength and slammed both fists onto the table. “We find the source o’ the rot,” he growled. “Before this place eats my memories clean out o’ my skull.” He pointed toward the hallway. “And before it decides to take yers too.”

  A chill slid down my spine like a cold breeze whispering through the aisles. The shelves groaned in response.

  “Right,” I said, nodding, deciding then and there that I would take on the Secret Objective. “Any clues on where I can begin searching for this entity terrorizing your library?”

  “I do have an idea. I could take ye there, but in the condition I’m in I won’t be much help to ye in a fight. Ah, yes, take this.”

  The dwarf whistled, a soft, calming tone, and a book flew off the shelf.

  My dungeon PTSD kicked in and I readied my bat.

  “Relax, boy, this bookling here won’t hurt ye.”

  The bookling floated next to the dwarf and opened itself. Inside, neat letters formed:

  “HI MY NAME IS LEXI, LOVELY TO MEET YOU”

  “This here, as ye can see, is Lexi. She’ll guide ye in the library. I’ll mark the spots—”

  He paused, frowning. “What was I sayin’?”

  “Mark the spots.”

  “Aye! Aye, that’s it.”

  I put my bat away and sat back down.

  I stared at the floating bookling. “Amazing. Hi, Lexi. I’m Mike.” I gave her a little wave.

  A hand was drawn immediately on the page and waved back at me.

  “Cool…” I said.

  The dwarf finished scribbling something onto a small slip of parchment and handed it to Lexi. Her pages glowed a warm gold for a moment, then the parchment dissolved into light and sank into her spine.

  “Alright, she’s ready,” the dwarf said.

  “Cool. Leave it to me.”

  I stood, Lexi floating at my shoulder, and headed toward the doorway. Before stepping out, I paused.

  I’d half-forgotten I could Inspect people, so I glanced back at the dwarf and focused.

  A window appeared.

  Name: Orsik Deepdelver

  Level: 9

  Role: The Archivist

  Designation: NPC

  There it was.

  NPC.

  The word hit harder than I expected. My chest tightened, just a little.

  “…Boy, are ye alright?” Orsik asked, noticing my expression.

  I turned fully to him. “Orsik.”

  He straightened in his chair. “Yes, Mike?”

  I swallowed once. “I promise I’ll fix your library. Okay?”

  For a moment, his eyes softened behind his enormous spectacles. Then he smiled, warm and weary and proud.

  “I trust ye will, son.”