Nightfall in the bustling metropolis. It is after working hours, yet the city is vibrant with lights and music. The streets are filled with tourists and night markets, and neon lights paint the skyline with multicolours, reflecting off mirrored skyscrapers and polished streets. Crowds thrived under the manufactured glow, capturing memories of landmarks and buying over-price commercialised foods. The metropolis displayed perfection in every corner – concrete streets led to luxurious bars and restaurants where chandeliers sparkled like constellations, and five-star hotels offering every indulgence imaginable – a heaven crafted for those who could afford it. However, Valencia had long since learned to look past the invisible blind. Beneath the celestial facades were something more notorious: the human’s dark triad and whispers of mysteries.
Beneath certain areas of the urban landscape lies a darker history, one social media review never mentioned. The city was built over the remnants of an ancient town infamous for occult rituals and many obnoxious crimes. Legends spoke of knights buried alive as part of a “cultural belief” that their spirits would guard the town even in death, their restless souls were believed to be bound to the land until today. Recently, there have been rumours of more missing persons in tourist districts, gathering of underground dealings behind those unnamed alleys, and the flickering streetlights that locals swore hid shadowy figures all added to the unease. Nevertheless, rumours were just that – rumours. Though many believed in the supernatural, the stories were little more than tales to scare children or entertain over drinks. There was no concrete evidence, the capital was officially considered one of the safest places in the world. Or was it?
“So that was the forgotten history of this city. That’s it?”
Valencia disappointingly huffs, snapping the antique book shut with care, she pushes aside of a stack of media articles about the latest news of missing persons. The young woman then gets up from her working table, stretching briefly before walking to the library’s south wing. The room almost felt like a sanctuary and chilling, dimly lit by the soft yellow glow of overhead lights, and rows of worn-out leather books and ancient artifacts lined neatly in the locked glass shelves. Valencia opens one of the shelves and gently places the book inside back to where it belongs.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Valencia is a 26-year-old woman, with sharp features and eyes that carry the weight of knowledge and something…something deeper that few others shared. The long light blue-haired woman walks back to her usual desk in the library archives, surrounded by piles of documents and a range of books with the strong scent of old paper. During typical working hours, Valencia is a contract archivist who worked for, The Obsidian Vault, an independent library specialising in collecting rare historical documents and artifacts.
The Obsidian Vault, lay in a quiet corner of the metropolis’ old district, forgotten and away from the dazzling landmarks and shopping centres. Its exterior was like any other typical two-stories European-style architecture. Surprisingly, it is still well-preserved for centuries due to the owners’ love for this place as it is a treasure collection of forgotten knowledge, with shelves that reach the ceilings and an admirable beauty of the interior, the perfect reading location. The noise of the city nightlife is muffled here, replaced by comforting silence and the sound of the shuffle of pages and footsteps from very few visitors.
Just when Valencia was about to finish her late shift, her phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at the screen; the sender named “Yei” had sent her a message regarding the commission.
“Another commission, another mystery to solve…A spirit, again?” She murmurs to herself while skimming through the text, shutting down her work laptop at the same time and locking the door she is ready to leave.
“Time for my side hustle,” she utters and leaves the library only with a single small white handbag holding her house keys and wallet, which is quite emptyhanded for an individual who is about to solve some mysteries. While walking, the sound of her leather ankle boots stomping against the imbalance-cobblestone street echoes through the dimmed alley. Above her, loomed towers and steel buildings hidden with secrets the city wasn’t ready to face. The woman’s eyes reveal a deep and vibrant azure colour, and with a deep breath, she steps into the shadows, where her ‘real’ work began.