The Bookkeeper moved with a fluid grace, gesturing for Wallace to follow him out into the vast, labyrinthine library. The ancient scent of parchment and ink filled the air, and towering shelves cast long, shifting shadows. The library felt less like a sanctuary of forbidden knowledge and more like a gilded cage—one that Wallace was being slowly drawn into.

  “Before we get started,” Wallace began hesitantly, “can you at least tell me how Jonathan and Sabrina’s date is going to go?”

  The Bookkeeper chuckled softly. “Since I’m going to work you to the bone, consider this a freebie,” he replied. “However, I won't say too much since this is a freebie. I would recommend leaving your office empty tomorrow around one o’clock.”

  Wallace frowned. “Why? Can you elaborate?”

  “Sure,” the Bookkeeper said with a light, almost amused tone. “Jonathan will enter the room with Sabrina in a wheelchair. He’ll ask you to heal her—she’ll need help with a few….issues. Expect difficulty walking on her part and a bite mark on her neck.” He chuckled again.

  Wallace’s face flushed with a mix of shock and embarrassment. “What the….they’re really going to…….?”

  “People who hunt monsters have great stamina,” the Bookkeeper replied with a mirthful laugh.

  After a brief pause, he shifted the conversation. “Now, onto my request.”

  Wallace’s tone grew low and measured, tinged with weariness from the revelations. “So, what is it you want?”

  Leafing through a small stack of papers with deliberate slowness, the Bookkeeper finally looked up, his eyes twinkling with unspoken mischief. “I want you to bring Iris Blackwell and Alice West here.”

  “Why them?” Wallace asked coolly. He’d learned not to be easily manipulated by the Bookkeeper’s riddles.

  The Bookkeeper’s smile widened, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. “I have a book for them,” he said softly, his voice laced with a sinister undertone. “Don't worry—the debt has already been paid.”

  Wallace’s temper flared. Gripping the Bookkeeper’s collar tightly, he spat, “What the hell do you mean by that? Who would buy a book from you for two kids?”

  Unruffled, the Bookkeeper maintained his unnerving calm. “I refuse to say who paid for Iris. As for Alice… it was her father—her real father.”

  Wallace’s face darkened with disbelief. “Her real father? No one knows who that is. She was abandoned on the steps of an orphanage! What kind of man is her real father?”

  A secretive glimmer passed through the Bookkeeper’s eyes. “I know who he is, but some things, Wallace, are better left secret.”

  Seething, Wallace muttered, “I’m getting sick of your secrets.”

  The Bookkeeper’s smile grew wider, but his tone sharpened like a knife. “And why should I be the only one with secrets? You never told Nikolai that you were the one who killed his soon-to-be wife.”

  The accusation hit Wallace like a physical blow. His grip faltered. “I—I had no choice,” he stammered, guilt and old wounds flaring. “She became a frenzied… there was nothing I could do.”

  The Bookkeeper’s smile remained unchanged. “I know. And yet, you chose to hide it. Now, be a good dog and fetch those two girls. I’ll be waiting.”

  “Bastard,” Wallace muttered as he stormed out, fists clenched and anger simmering in every step.

  The moment Wallace stepped out of the library, he found himself in the lounge where Iris and Alice were absorbed in a cartoon—a nonsensical show featuring a talking sea sponge flipping burgers.

  “I hate that man so much,” Wallace muttered under his breath, his voice tight with barely contained fury.

  Iris glanced up, her usual bright smile, undimmed by his frustration. “Oh, Wallace! How are you feeling after yesterday?”

  With a weary sigh, Wallace shook his head. “My day’s only getting worse. Come on—I need the two of you. Follow me.”

  Alice, ever shy, lifted her gaze from the flickering screen. “Where are we going?” she asked softly.

  “The library,” Wallace replied with a hint of reluctance. “Don’t worry—it’ll be fine as long as you’re with me.”

  The door creaked open, revealing once again the vast, seemingly endless expanse of the Bookkeeper’s library. Wallace led the way, his steps heavy with exasperation, while Iris and Alice followed closely behind. He paused at the threshold, taking in the enormity of the library. Behind the imposing Bookkeeper’s desk, the shelves stretched into shadowy infinity, rendering time and space meaningless in that surreal domain.

  “Welcome to my library,” The Bookkeeper intoned warmly, his voice rich with a strange foreboding. “I’m pleased to greet you both.”

  Iris’s gaze lingered on him longer than comfort allowed. Something was unsettling about the Bookkeeper—his calm, almost omniscient presence, as if he held secrets that even she had yet to uncover. What unnerved her most was his ease in the face of uncertainty, as though every twist in fate had already been written down, waiting for her to decipher it.

  Before anyone could sink further into their private thoughts, a sudden flash of movement drew Iris’s attention—a purple butterfly, shimmering in the dim light, fluttered delicately into view. Alice’s eyes glazed over instantly, her expression turning blank as if she were hypnotized by the insect’s ethereal beauty. Without a word, she drifted after the butterfly, her movements slow and dreamlike as she vanished into the deeper recesses of the library. The towering shelves seemed to shift and close around her, swallowing her whole.

  “Alice!” Wallace shouted, panic lacing his voice. But it was too late—Alice was gone, lost amid the twisting corridors.

  Whirling on his heel, Wallace turned to the Bookkeeper, his frustration evident. “What are you planning?”

  The Bookkeeper chuckled softly, his tone unnervingly calm. “Oh, Wallace, you’d better go find her. Who knows what dangers lurk within this library? The deeper you go, the more unpredictable it becomes.”

  Wallace’s jaw clenched, his anger rising as he spat, “You’re the worst.” Without another word, he dashed into the maze-like aisles, the rows of shelves warping and twisting as if deliberately designed to confound him. Every step echoed his determination and dread in equal measure.

  With a casual snap of his fingers, the Bookkeeper closed off the back of the library, sealing Wallace’s frantic chase in the distance. The sounds of Wallace’s pursuit faded into the labyrinth, leaving the room to fall silent once more. The Bookkeeper’s gaze then shifted to Iris, his expression softening into something akin to paternal concern.

  “Please,” he said, his voice both gentle and commanding, “take a seat.”

  A plush chair appeared behind Iris, seemingly out of nowhere—its leather soft and inviting, yet laced with an unsettling air. Something about it felt like a trap in plain sight. Despite her instincts screaming caution, she couldn’t resist its pull.

  As she settled into the chair, she immediately felt its weight—luxurious yet suffocating, as if woven with the very threads of her fate. The Bookkeeper’s enigmatic smile and sharp, knowing gaze met hers.

  Leaning forward, his fingers steepled, he asked in a low, echoing whisper, “Would you like to know why your parents were killed that night? All my information will be given free of charge. This is a right only you possess.”

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  A jolt shot through Iris. The question she’d been evading now stood before her like a monster waiting to be confronted. “Tell me,” she demanded, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation. “Tell me what happened.”

  The Bookkeeper’s expression softened ever so slightly, but his words remained as sharp as a blade. “His goal was to kill you—both that night and again during yesterday’s facility attack. His sole purpose was to end your life.”

  Iris’s heart pounded; tears welled as his words crashed over her. “Why?” she choked, her voice breaking. “Why me, Fate? Tell me, why?”

  The Bookkeeper replied in a calm, detached tone, “The three gods of this earth are playing a game, Iris. The last apostle standing will become the one true god of this world. And you, Iris, are the champion of Fate—my chosen apostle, the god of Knowledge and Wealth.”

  Her mind reeled. “W-what? Why me? Why did you choose me? And what do you mean you’re a god? Please, tell me!”

  His smile deepened into something cold and knowing. “I selected you because I know you will win. Your task is to eliminate the other apostles. Officially, there are two others in this game—but gods from beyond our world have joined the fray as well.”

  Iris blinked, struggling to comprehend. “Other gods? Who… who are they?”

  The Bookkeeper’s eyes darkened as he recited the names with a gravity that chilled her. “The gods of earth: Eden, the Traveler, God of Law and Order; and Pandora, the Avenger, God of Death and Disorder. Beyond them, there are others: Aether, the Demon King, God of the Moon and Madness; Helios, the Radiant, God of the Sun and Rationality; and finally, Ophiuchus, the Cosmos, God of Revolution and Evolution.”

  The mere mention of these divine beings sent her head spinning. Overwhelmed, she muttered, “This is too much… How am I supposed to—”

  The Bookkeeper cut her off gently, “You must be prepared. Your enemy knows who you are. He’s hunting you. I suggest you ally with Eden’s apostle; he will be a strong ally, and you’ll meet him soon.”

  Iris hesitated, her heart pounding faster. “Tell me about the apostles,” she whispered, as if afraid of the answer.

  “Pandora’s apostle is Nikolai Dostoevsky—a formidable, seasoned Awakened. And Eden’s apostle is Maxwell Lumiar, currently in the Beta Facility. You will meet him soon,” he explained, his tone grim yet matter-of-fact.

  At the mention of Maxwell’s name, Iris’s cheeks warmed with a flush of curiosity mixed with trepidation. She recalled cryptic letters from her future self, promising a connection between them. Despite the pull of those feelings, she forced herself to focus.

  “And the others?” she asked, voice barely steady.

  A shadow crossed the Bookkeeper’s smile. “I shouldn’t tell you,” he said quietly. “Some secrets are best left unknown. Knowing too much about the other apostles would complicate things beyond repair.”

  Iris clenched her fists, frustration bubbling beneath her calm exterior. “You always keep secrets,” she muttered. “How am I supposed to win this game when I don’t even know all my enemies?”

  The Bookkeeper leaned back, his eyes gleaming with hidden amusement. “You’ll learn in time, Iris. Trust that the truth will reveal itself when it’s needed most. But remember,” his tone darkened, “this is a game of survival. Only one apostle will remain—and that must be you.”

  The weight of his revelation pressed down on her, filling her chest with a suffocating mix of fear and uncertainty. The enormity of this cosmic game—with gods, apostles, and entire worlds hanging in the balance—crushed her spirit. Her life, and the lives of those she cared for, now depended on threads finer than she had ever imagined.

  Her voice trembled as she broke the silence, yet a fierce determination shone in her eyes. “Tell me more about the red book. What exactly is it?”

  The Bookkeeper’s smile deepened, his tone soothing yet laced with condescension. “It is a book that lets you call upon the power of your future self,” he explained, each word silky smooth yet hiding hidden barbs.

  Iris’s glare sharpened, suspicion tightening her features. “What is the cost of the book? What must be sacrificed to use its power?”

  His smile did not waver. “You need not worry about that. If you did, you wouldn’t dare to use it. And you must, if you hope to survive. I promise—the book won’t harm you.”

  Leaning forward, her fists clenched and eyes blazing with defiance, she demanded, “If not me, then who pays the price? You said it’s my right to obtain any knowledge for free—so give me the truth!”

  For a long, charged moment, the library seemed to hum as if the very air vibrated in response. Then the heavy silence broke with the creak of a door. The towering bookshelves parted as Wallace emerged, carrying a sleeping Alice in his arms. The young girl clutched a purple book tightly, as if it were a lifeline.

  Iris’s breath caught at the sight of Alice. Before she could speak further, Fate’s calm, detached voice filled the space. “Ah, she found the book that was bought for her. I do hope she likes it.”

  Wallace shot the Bookkeeper a withering look. “You’re the worst, Bookkeeper.”

  Fate merely shrugged, a serene smile playing on his lips. “Well, it looks like we’re done here,” he said, standing and brushing dust from his robes. “Before you go, I have one more present for you, Iris. Something… for when the time comes.”

  As if summoned by his words, a shimmering, orange butterfly fluttered down from the library’s lofty heights. It landed gently on Iris’s head, transforming into a delicate hair clip—ethereal in shape yet unmistakably real, as though infused with an otherworldly power.

  “Wait!” Iris cried, her frustration boiling over. “You didn’t answer my question!”

  But the Bookkeeper only smiled, his gaze distant, as if already lost in visions far beyond the present. “There is no more time, it seems. Until next time, Iris. Goodbye.”

  Iris’s fists tightened in frustration as Fate’s teasing words hung in the air. She opened her mouth to argue, but Wallace’s firm hand on her shoulder silenced her.

  “Don’t bother with him,” Wallace muttered. “He’s always impossible.”

  As they left the library, Iris couldn’t shake the feeling that Fate’s smile still followed her—a haunting reminder of unanswered truths. The weight of the butterfly hair clip on her head felt both symbolic and heavy, a burden of secrets yet to be revealed.

  Behind them, the Bookkeeper remained seated, his unchanging smile as the library stretched out infinitely around him. His fingers tapped lightly on his desk, keeping a rhythm known only to him. “Such an interesting game we’re playing,” he whispered to himself as the door closed, leaving behind echoes of mysteries that would one day come to light.

  The library’s eerie stillness returned, the oppressive tension hanging like a shroud. Fate’s fingers tapped a soft, steady rhythm on his desk—until a green door shimmered into existence in the middle of the room, its surface pulsing with a quiet hum of energy. The door swung open to reveal a figure whose presence was as graceful as it was commanding.

  She was breathtaking—a woman with long white hair that cascaded like moonlight and piercing green eyes. Dressed in a white sundress paired with a simple farmer’s hat, she seemed almost otherworldly, while countless green fireflies danced around her, lending her an ethereal glow.

  Stepping forward, Eden’s expression mingled irritation with deep concern as she approached her brother. “You really shouldn’t be so mean to her, brother,” she chided softly, though a frustrated edge tinged her words.

  Fate’s smile remained unchanged, yet sorrow lurked behind his eyes—a look his sister knew all too well. “If she ever learned that the book burns away my memories of those I hold dear with every use, she’d never touch it. She’s too kind to allow that sacrifice. That’s why she must remain in the dark.”

  Eden’s eyes darkened as she crossed her arms. “Why are you so desperate, Fate? Why can’t you ever care about yourself? You’re a stupid idiot for always putting others before you.”

  Fate chuckled, a sound devoid of true amusement. “I’ll only lose myself—a small price to keep her alive.”

  Her face twisted in a mix of anger and confusion. “I don’t understand,” she muttered bitterly. “What is it about her that makes you throw away everything?”

  Fate’s gaze grew distant, his voice soft but edged with ice as he turned the question back on her. “And what about your candidate, Eden? You’ve spent years watching over the child of a man who never loved you—a man who used you just to meet the woman he truly loved. Why go so far to protect the child born of that betrayal?”

  Eden’s breath caught, her hand clenching into a trembling fist as tears welled in her eyes. “Sh-shut up! You don’t know a thing!” she yelled, her voice breaking with raw emotion.

  Fate leaned back, his expression briefly softening as if he regretted his harsh words, though no apology came. “You have no right to judge me, sister.”

  Fury and pain surged within Eden. “Maybe I should just ask my apostle to kill yours in an ‘accident,’” she spat venomously. “They’ll be meeting soon, right? It wouldn’t be too difficult.”

  Fate sighed, his tone weary yet resolute. “Sure, but you and I both know your apostle can’t defeat Pandora’s champion without allying with mine. They need each other.”

  Eden’s anger faltered for a moment, though her hatred still burned. “Fine,” she hissed through gritted teeth, “I’ll side with you for now, Fate. But mark my words—when the time comes, I’ll personally enjoy watching your apostle die.” Her eyes gleamed with fierce, cruel fury as she turned toward the green door, which reappeared as if summoned by her rage.

  As she stepped through, the door dissolved into nothingness behind her, leaving Fate alone in his infinite library.

  “Maybe she’s right,” he whispered, doubt threading through his voice. But then his smile returned, faint yet determined, as he leaned back in his chair and resumed his vigil. “But she is all I have left.”

  That smile faded, replaced by an icy determination that seemed to chill the very air. His eyes, usually distant and calculating, hardened with lethal intent.

  “No matter what,” he murmured, his voice slicing through the silence like a blade, “I can’t let any harm come to her. I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way.” Rising from his chair, the faint glow of power rippled beneath his composed exterior. “Whether I must burn the heavens or slay my own family, they all must die.”

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