Chapter 11: Tomes of Forgotten Giants
The door creaked open with the slow, laborious movement of something ancient and immense as if it had not been disturbed in centuries. A gust of warm, dry air flowed from within, carrying with it the scent of aged parchment, dust, and something else—something more elusive, like a scent of magic long dormant. The recruits, led by Glandel, stepped cautiously over the threshold, their eyes adjusting to the dim, amber glow emanating from deep within.
As Abel entered, he was struck by the sheer scale of the chamber before him. It was a library, but unlike any he had ever imagined. This was not a simple collection of books; this was a library for giants. The ceiling soared into shadowed heights, far beyond where any torchlight could reach. Enormous shelves, carved from dark stone and wood, towered over them, their tops disappearing into the darkness above. The shelves were packed with immense tomes, their spines thicker than a man’s chest, with symbols etched into their leather bindings that glowed faintly in the half-light. Massive tables and chairs, built on a scale meant for creatures far larger than humans, filled the center of the room, and even the smallest of them could easily crush any recruits.
Abel felt like an insect in a world built for gods. His eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to take in the impossible sight. He glanced around at his fellow recruits, each one similarly awestruck. The room seemed to stretch on forever, each corner filled with an impossible expanse of ancient wood and stone as if the library itself were alive, an endless labyrinth of knowledge and secrets.
Glandel’s voice broke through the hushed awe. "Welcome," he said, his voice echoing off the towering shelves, "to the Grand Arcane Library, a magical repository owned by the Tower Master himself. This is no ordinary library. Legend has it that it was stolen from the land of giants and brought to this Tower. It’s said that the stones themselves remember the footsteps of those ancient beings and that the air still carries the weight of their knowledge."
The recruits exchanged glances, their imaginations spinning. Abel could almost see it—the titanic beings striding between the shelves, their hands reaching for books that could crush a human under their weight, their deep, rumbling voices resonating like distant thunder. He shivered at the thought.
Glandel continued, “But I digress. We are not here for stories. You are here to choose your knowledge book—an initial guide to your studies within the Tower.”
He led them deeper into the library, toward a particular section of the towering shelves. As they walked, Abel could hear the faint hum of arcane energy vibrating through the floor, resonating in his bones. The shelves in this part of the library were different; their surfaces were etched with intricate runes and glyphs, all faintly pulsing with a rhythmic glow, as if alive.
“Stand back,” Glandel instructed. The recruits shuffled backward, giving him space. Glandel approached one of the stone shelves that held the largest of the tomes. The air around him seemed to thicken with anticipation as he lifted his hands and began to chant in a low, guttural voice—a language that sounded ancient and otherworldly, each word vibrating with power.
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The runes on the shelves flared brighter, and the books began to tremble, dust shaking loose from their ancient covers. One of the massive tomes dislodged itself from the stone, floating upward with a groan, like bending metal. It hovered in the air, pages flipping wildly of their own accord, filling the chamber with a low, rumbling sound that made Abel’s heart race. The recruits watched with a mixture of fear and fascination as Glandel continued his chant, his voice rising and falling in a strange, rhythmic cadence.
“Focus,” Glandel commanded, his voice echoing with an unnatural resonance. “Look into the knowledge patterns you see before you. Focus your thoughts on one that calls to you, and it will manifest in your hands as your own book of study.”
The great tome overhead continued to shake and shudder, its pages turning faster and faster as if caught in a tempest of its own making. Abel squinted, trying to make sense of the symbols that began to emerge from the pages. They weren’t mere letters or words; they were complex, living glyphs—shapes that seemed to twist and curl, morphing from one form to another as they floated down like shimmering wisps of smoke. Some looked like runes of flame that flickered and crackled, while others appeared like coiled serpents, slithering through the air, leaving trails of glowing embers.
Glandel spoke once more, explaining the significance of these books. “These knowledge books are the collected research and studies of past generations of the Tower. Some are flawed, incomplete, or even dangerous, but each contains something that can help you find a path and build a foundation in this place. For the non-Gifted, these books may hold the key to stimulating a breakthrough—a chance to touch upon the magic that you lack naturally. Choose carefully.”
The recruits’ eyes were fixed on the pages, their expressions a mixture of concentration and desperation. Abel felt a nervous energy buzzing in his chest. He could see the symbols hovering before him, shifting and changing, each one a potential pathway, each one a mystery waiting to be unraveled. His eyes locked onto a symbol resembling the letter “S,” its form twisting like a serpent in a constant state of transformation. It seemed to pulse with a deep, emerald glow, calling to him with an inexplicable allure.
Just as he felt himself being drawn in, the symbol flickered and vanished, as if snatched away by unseen hands. Abel blinked in surprise, his focus broken. He glanced around and saw a boy with a mohawk clutching a strange, leather-bound book that had materialized in front of him, his face alight with triumph. Abel gritted his teeth, realizing he needed to act quickly or he might lose his chance.
He steadied his breath, closing his eyes for a moment to drown out the distractions around him. When he opened them again, he scanned the air for another symbol. His gaze fell upon a rune that looked like a jagged, branching tree with twisted roots reaching out in every direction. It flickered with a dim, ghostly light, almost fading from view. Abel's heart pounded as he focused on it, willing it to stay. He poured all his concentration into that symbol, his mind sharpening to a single point of clarity.
And then it disappeared.
A sudden pull in his chest, like the lurch of a ship caught in a storm, made him gasp. A strange fluctuation rippled before him, and he instinctively reached out. The air grew thick, almost liquid, and from that intangible space, a dark green book materialized in his hand. It felt warm, almost alive, its cover inscribed with unfamiliar markings that seemed to shift and change beneath his fingertips.
Abel’s breath hitched in his throat as he stared at the book. It was heavier than it looked, and he could feel a subtle, rhythmic pulse coming from within as if it were breathing. He felt a mix of excitement and apprehension, knowing that whatever lay within these pages could alter his fate in the Tower.