“A story. My story. A story where my entire clan died… Very well,” Lucian said.

  His memories had returned just a day ago. Yet that night remained clear, as though his mind clutched it tightly, terrified of losing it once more.

  Was it right to tell them? To two people who were practically strangers, or rather, one. That gloomy guy had already vanished after strangely asking for a five-minute skip. Whatever that meant.

  Still, Lucian felt it would be alright. She seemed… No. It was merely in exchange for returning his sister’s gift.

  However, right now, Lucian was trapped in a dilemma. How does one begin a story in a world that forbids stories?

  As long as his memories remained foggy, the only tale he could recall was the one the old owner had told him, if that person truly existed that is.

  Lucian sank into the old wooden chair, his gaze fixed on the hollowed rooftop. Now that light had appeared almost magically in that grim warehouse, those rays felt dim and unappealing compared to moments ago. Or perhaps the approaching night had stolen their glimmer.

  Lucian closed his eyes.

  Night… Darkness… Void… Stories…

  Then, like a sudden gust of wind, something entered his mind.

  ‘Before the mansion burned. Before my clan was slaughtered. Before I was presented in that court of shame. The first thing I remember was darkness.’

  And thus, his story began.

  *****

  Three years ago.

  Lucian lay sprawled across the cold marble floor, one trembling hand pressed against his abdomen. He closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the darkness that rose to devour his fading consciousness.

  ‘Dark… darker than any night I’ve ever known.’

  For a fleeting moment, peace embraced him, and his agony seemed to dissolve into the void. But in the very next instant, it returned, worse than ever before.

  ‘It hurts… It hurts so much!’

  The darkness around him shifted. Once a silent abyss, it now seethed with thousands of faces, each whispering a different story. A dreamscape of murmurs unfolded, sculpted from pain and sorrow.

  As time slipped away, Lucian’s control over his body waned. His limbs grew numb and distant. It felt as though countless hands were reaching out from the void, an eternal, infinite canvas of endless imagination, each pulling him toward their own story.

  ‘How painful it is… to live… to breathe… to exist.’

  Pain bloomed across his body like a moonflower blooming for a lonely night. It was unbearable, so much so that Lucian convinced himself it had to be a dream.

  ‘No… it must be a dream. It has to be. That’s the only way I can survive this.’

  Fortunately, he was no stranger to this darkness. He had endured it three times before, though never this painful. Still, he knew what to do. He had to focus. Or at least, that was what his sister had taught him.

  However, still lost in reverie, whatever focus he managed to gather dissolved into the shadows. The agony was too overwhelming. His thoughts slipped beyond his control, melting away like snow beneath sunlight.

  ‘Damn it! Am I… am I going to die?’

  Then another pain struck. Not the same one tearing through his soul, but something different. It felt real, physical. A sharp jolt rippled through his body like an echo from the waking world. He knew that sensation well. It was the familiar sting of a punch, one he had endured countless times over thirteen long years of his life.

  “Wake up, you idiot. Don’t let the void devour you."

  The voice resounded through the darkness, pulling him back, away from the suffocating pain.

  “Ouch! Sister… what did I do this time?”

  Lucian’s eyes fluttered open to find himself lying in a grand but strangely empty, half-darkened hall. The walls gleamed with white marble, adorned with fragments of modern art.

  Several giant windows lined the walls, but they remained closed, covered by thick sheets of cotton that blocked most of the evening light.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Above him hung a chandelier, once a masterwork of dazzling colors, now dulled to gray. Hovering overhead, it resembled a soul reaper waiting to claim him.

  Too bad. I’m not dying today, he thought, hiding his smile deep within his heart.

  His gaze followed the source of an angry growl to his side, stopping at a girl with hair as white as freshly fallen snow. Even in the dim hall, her pure hair and fair skin glowed faintly, casting an ethereal light around her. Had Lucian not known better, he might have mistaken her for an angel.

  Unfortunately, he knew her far too well.

  Among his two elder sisters, she was the one closest to him, Aris Lysander, the youngest Librarian in history to attain the rank of Keeper. She was quite famous.

  But this was no time for admiration. Her cheeks were already puffed with anger. Judging by the punches he had received today, including the most recent one, Lucian was certain the next target would be his poor nose.

  “Eh, sister,” he said cautiously, “I saw many things in my dreams. I think… whatever it was finally worked.”

  “Oh? And what exactly did you see?” she asked, her smile forced.

  “Ah… I—I forgot.”

  Before Lucian could even blink, a fist flew toward his face. It landed squarely on his nose, followed by her furious scream.

  “Idiot! You’re not even a Librarian! How could you possibly see something?”

  Lucian and Aris stepped out from the doorway of a grand ivory building, emerging into a city bathed in the crimson glow of the setting sun, both wearing long coats and leather shoes.

  Evening draped the city in a haze of gold and smoke. The air shimmered with warmth from the Nether Coal pipes lining the narrow street, releasing slow curls of blue steam into the darkening sky. Brass gears and ornaments caught the last rays of sunlight, glinting like dying stars along the walls.

  Above them, a massive clock clung to the wall of a nearby shop, held in place by narrow iron rods. Its hands moved with patient grace, casting shifting shadows across the street below. The distant hum of machinery pulsed through the air like the city’s own heartbeat.

  People moved beneath the arches, their voices mingling with the clatter and whir of metal. Some wore long coats and polished boots; others hurried past in worn clothing, heads bowed against the chill. Streetlights and shop signs flickered to life one by one, spilling soft hues of red, blue, yellow, and green.

  Far ahead, tall towers rose from the fog, their roofs catching the dying light. Between them, iron bridges stretched across the sky, banners hanging still in the quiet evening air.

  Lucian adjusted his scarf and wool cap, pulling them down over his ears, and followed his sister toward the nearby parking space.

  “You remember what I told you, right?” Aris slowed, letting Lucian catch up as they crossed a bridge over a narrow canal.

  “Yeah. Not a word to anyone about this training. Especially Father,” he replied hurriedly. “I’m not supposed to involve myself in anything Librarian-related. But… can’t you at least tell me what it’s for?”

  “You’ll understand in time. Ah! I almost forgot—tomorrow’s your thirteenth birthday, isn’t it?”

  “You just remembered? And my gift… you haven’t forgotten that too, right?”

  “Of course not. Do you think I’m that irresponsible?”

  Lucian gave her a doubtful look but said nothing.

  “Three more years, and you’ll have your own Codex, if you successfully awaken ofcourse,” she added with a faint smile.

  “Eh… about that—”

  BOOM!

  The explosion tore through the air, drawing their attention instantly.

  Multiple bridges spanned the canal they had just crossed. Three bridges ahead, the source of the blast became clear. Water surged upward, crashing down onto the street with a thunderous roar. As it settled, a figure emerged, humanoid in shape, but little else resembled a human.

  Its body twisted beyond natural limits, skin wrinkled as if soaked for days. Long black hair clung to its frame, its silhouette resembling that of an adult woman.

  Passersby screamed and scattered. Nearby shops slammed their doors shut, and everyone instinctively kept their distance, as if bound by unspoken rules of survival.

  “An Unread… I’ve never seen one before,” Lucian whispered, eyes wide.

  Lucian was not permitted to learn much about them, but common knowledge was enough. An Unread was a human turned monster, most of the time. Their deaths and their powers were deeply entwined.

  She must have drowned.

  “It’s alright. Just a Loose Page. I’ll handle it—” Aris said, stepping forward, before abruptly pausing.

  “Let’s move to safety,” she said suddenly.

  “What? Aren’t you going?”

  “I was. But someone else has already arrived,” she replied, looking skyward.

  The monster screamed in agony as it lunged toward a nearby civilian. Before it could reach them, six figures leapt from a nearby rooftop.

  They wore yellow cords bearing the symbol of a fountain pen crossed with a quill.

  “Those symbols… they’re not ours, right?” Lucian asked.

  “No. They’re Nullscribes. They work under the Zerathiel family.”

  “Nullscribes?!”

  Even Lucian had heard of them, one of the eight guilds, infamous for not killing Unread, but for hunting Librarians instead. Mothers used their name as a warning to frighten children into obedience on restless nights.

  “But what are they doing here? The North is our territory,” Lucian asked.

  “Hm… let’s hurry home.”

  Lucian followed Aris toward their carriage in the distance. A butler bowed respectfully and opened the door.

  Lucian climbed inside with the support of the butler’s strong arm. The carriage was crafted from polished blackwood, furnished with fine wine leather that elevated its charm. Even the two horses pulling it were carefully chosen to match its elegance, along with the well-dressed coachman.

  Still, it wasn’t a car, the newly popular iron carriage powered by Nether Coal energy. That fact mildly disappointed Lucian, as he had grown rather obsessed with them lately. But their purpose here was secrecy, and an iron carriage would have drawn far too much attention.

  The carriage rolled forward, soon reaching the Lysander household, a mansion spanning several acres, built entirely of white stone. The same color as their hair, their lineage, their identity. A palace where one of the four great clans resided.

  The carriage halted before a gate far too large for practical design. Guildsmen in blue robes inspected them before permitting entry.

  Lucian observed their robes. It was said that the robe was the identity of a Librarian, something he had always longed to wear. He sighed. Those Librarians belonged to the two guilds under Lysander control. Eight guilds existed at any one time, divided evenly among the four families to maintain balance.

  The carriage stopped before the main residence. Lucian stepped inside, promised Aris to meet her at dinner, and departed.