“The Outskirts look much more barren than I had imagined.”
A lone voice is swallowed by the endless sands of Zeikhal, level and almost mechanical. The woman it belongs to stands on a ruined landing overlooking the great desert of Chandrar. The wood it is made of has never been in this land, possibly in this world.
She grips the railing with hands so pale they seem unnatural in this place, her skin so fair it should be burning immediately under the harsh desert. Her short hair was more natural, here. Pale blue wasn’t unheard of, but in the world they were ejected from it would have registered as slightly artificial. Under her long indigo coat she leaves open she wears a dark dress shirt and skirt, complimented by a black-and-white cravat pinned with an orange pendant.
Footsteps echo as a man climbs up the steps to stand beside the woman, taller and more human than his companion. In this place, some might call his features Drathian. In another world, they might have pinned his nationality down as Asian. From where he came from, he was simply from the City.
The suit he wears is peppered by flecks of sand as he ascends, but then it was already pockmarked with cuts and blood. He was fully a human, now, and it seemed that he lost the free dry cleaning that came with being a lapdog.
“I guess that’s how it is here. Bit brighter than I expected…”
He shields his eyes from the sun. Unlike his partner, he was already starting to feel the heat, but to look at his face you wouldn’t know it. His business attire is more nondescript from where he comes from, a black suit with white undershirt. His pitch black gloves look higher quality, in contrast: sleek and durable, where the rest of his outfit is dull, worn.
“What could you have been expecting?”
“Hmm…I guess it feels too bright? I’ve never been outside the City, but we must be very far out for the sun to shine like this.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve only ever seen the outside secondhand. Still, it feels…good, despite it all. I’m finally free.”
The woman continues to gaze, perhaps in wonder she cannot adequately express, at the rolling endlessness of the sands.
“What to do now, then…Angela?”
Her expression shifts a bit.
“I plan to live on. And I plan to change, but I think for now, I need to rest.”
“Rest? I thought you didn’t need it.”
The man raises an eyebrow, his tone bemused.
“I can’t feel them, Roland.”
“What?”
“The rest, I can’t feel them.”
Her expression clouds, and she continues.
“They…I think they’re here, if I still have the Library, but I can’t feel them. I can’t tell where all the guests went, either. I can only hope they arrived where they needed to.”
Angela closes her eyes. Her memory is perfect, yet she cannot pinpoint the exact trajectory of the books she released, the humans she ‘killed’, trapped as pages and ideas and experiences until she finally let go. She released them all as Roland guarded her for seven days and nights.
Her lapdog. Her prisoner. Her companion. Her assistant. Her-
His hand claps her shoulder, and she reopens her yellow eyes.
“Hey. We’ll figure it out. Not like anyone can rush us anymore. What are we doing after that rest?”
“...I want to write more books, reopen the Library, learn about all the things I have yet to see. But I want to do it differently this time.”
She doesn’t breathe, but then she’s never needed to, right until the end. And yet, Roland has known Angela. Not all of her, not her past, but he’s seen her path, the mannerisms she lacked and the ticks she developed as she became human. That it was all taken away didn’t change his familiarity. If she had breath to hold, she would have held it.
He just nods, waiting for her to continue. Maybe she thought he’d judge her harshly for it? The moment passes, and she goes on.
“From now on, I’ll properly face who I should direct my anger at. Tragedy and suffering not unlike what we went through would keep happening on a daily basis in the City. I want to know why.”
Roland nods.
“A word of advice as former cityfolk: It won't be an easy road to take. You’d have no idea where to even start. If you ask me, it’s as natural as water flowing…In a city full of humans—tragedy, violence and loss follow as a matter of course.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
He speaks, not unkindly, but with the world weariness of a man who’s seen the ugliest humans had to offer. And yet.
He too was ready to stand up again. The pale woman in front of him a kindred spirit worth protecting, worth following, if only she could do it too.
“I’m still going to give it a shot. Maybe it’ll be my way of repenting.”
She declares resolutely.
----------------------------------------
Across the world, a [King of Blight]’s plans are set in motion, fifty young men and women from Earth in his ritual chambers, and more are seeded throughout the world on all five continents.
The [King] greets his prophesied [Heroes], a young woman wanders into an abandoned inn, a legend awakens from his slumber, across the world, events are set into motion, children of another world bringing something new and, to some, hopeful.
A single irregularity is noted by a [High Mage], one that cannot be understood. As it was, the ritual was barely comprehensible. None of the court’s finest knew why they were doing what they did, what kind of magic required sacrifice of the unborn and how that sacrifice fueled magic so alien they didn’t understand it.
An irregularity may as well have been just another part of the result, but still; the [High Mage] reported to his King. When they reached into the thinned walls between worlds, why had there been a glimpse of another? One barren, a desert tinted red and a light approaching, forcing a small gap in the ritual. Interference? It mattered not, their [Heroes] had arrived and had their promised Classes.
In time, reports of a tower-like structure in Zeikhal would surface in Nerrhavia’s Fallen, a distant mirage who’s position seemed unclear to those living on the borders of that great desert. The relevant guilds took note, but none seemed to think a mirage was worth investigating, even if three reports made for a small pattern. No, that would come later.
But still, the world took note of these intruders, even if as a footnote among footnotes.
----------------------------------------
An hour later, the duo were cleaning up, as one tended to do in the aftermath of a great battle. The agents of The Head had been forceful, and Angela claimed she couldn’t repair the Library in an instant. The floors were locked, as they were at the very beginning, but now Roland noted that even the main area still available seemed smaller somehow.
Where once the bookshelves towered unto infinity, tomes practically filling them to bursting, everything seemed a lot more finite now. Spacious, but finite.
For her part, Angela did still have some control over the library, and was willing repairs into existence, filling gaps in the walls to shelter from the sand particles blowing into the building. Roland, in lieu of such powers, asked for her to conjure a broom.
“Hey, Angela?” he ventured, wincing as her concentration was disrupted and an incomplete section of wall wavered out of existence. She glared at him.
“Yes, Roland?”
She groused, her eyes promising retribution if he didn’t have anything good to say.
“Er, what am I going to do for food and water?”
Angela blinked.
“Oh. I forgot.”
“You forgot?”
Roland’s voice was pained, the realization having dawned upon him that they were in a desert with no end in sight.
“I forgot. No matter, I have not lost my books on basic sustenance.”
Roland sighed in relief. Before the exile, after his ‘death’ at Angela’s hands and consequent reincarnation from a book into a Librarian, he no longer had need of food, drink or sleep. The only use he made of the Library’s powers of conjuration were to conjure various alcoholic beverages with Netzach to get a proper buzz going, and cooking ingredients and tools to live out some nostalgic flavors with his colleagues.
“Will that still work? I’m not made of light this time, y’know.”
“Probably.”
Angela says absently, with the disinterest one could only get from not relating to this need for continued sustenance.
“Not very reassuring.”
Roland mumbles, before continuing to sweep. Still, a conversation was struck, and it would be awkward to stop now.
“What about your list then?”
He ventures, and Angela pulls out a piece of paper from her robes. Crumpled, stepped on, but still there. It was a list she drafted of all the things she wanted to do once she became human.
“Since the circumstances have changed, I’ll have to rethink my wishes. Sadly, I won't be able to taste that ‘sick’ meat stew with this body. Likewise, I do not think I can revisit what remains of my former office and burn it to the ground, but maybe I’ll hold a baby animal out there.”
“That’s a shame…”
The meat stew really had been sick. Maybe there was a way artificial bodies could taste?
“That aside, isn’t it time you let me in on your secret now? The biggest surprise you had here?”
Ah, that’s right, he did say he had something like that, right?
“Oh, that…I can’t believe you remembered it.”
Roland rubs the back of his head sheepishly.
“I remember everything, you know.”
“It’s…really personal.”
Angela smiles at him.
“That’s fine, we have all the time in the world now, right? I can wait a few years for-”
“Alright, fine!”
Roland throws his hands up, flushing just a tiny bit in anticipation of the embarrassment.
“I actually wanted to write a book, y’know? About the City, what I’ve seen, what I’ve done. Gave up because I had no talent in writing. It was too crude, I couldn’t show it to anyone…”
Angela tilts her head, as if to say ‘that’s it?’.
“I’d love to give it a read.”
“...You don’t have to spare me, you can laugh all you want, y’know? A grown man like me, wanting to write books. I’d laugh at myself, too.”
“It’s not laughable at all.Just surprising…recording the City, huh?”
“It stays between you and me, alright?”
Roland says, as if they weren’t alone in the desert, in the Library.
She just smiles, and makes a zipping motion on her lips, a surprisingly human gesture.
She really is a person, huh? Not the best one, but neither am I.
And Roland can’t help but smile back.
Her lapdog, now her equal. Her prisoner, now her partner. Her companion, to see through her redemption.
Her friend.
----------------------------------------
Last of all, a message in the night. A human body had human needs, and Roland eventually succumbed to the need for sleep. Angela offered to look for a book on beds and mattresses, but he shrugged her off.
Best she saves that energy for the actual priorities for now.
As he closes his eyes, beginning to doze off for real after a week of the bare minimum in shifts with the other Librarians, he lets his guard down. Just for a moment.
[Assistant Class Obtained!]
[Assistant Level 1!]
[Skill – Basic Organization obtained!]
“...Huh?”
Author's Note
Hi there, this is my first attempt at publishing a fanfic...or writing much of one beyond vague ideas and drafts in google docs. I'm not sure if I'll continue this project, but if inspiration for the idea keeps flowing I'll try to keep it up. Feel free to comment below if you like the idea, have criticism or corrections or for...anything, really. I'm not expecting the world from this but I'm eager to see what kind of feedback I'll get.
Also, yes, a lot of the dialog is paraphrased or word for word from Library of Ruina's epilogue. Some changes here and there but the structure is nearly identical. I plan on branching out from there and this is just to get the ball rolling.
Hope this goes well.
-gren