The world was calm as I unceremoniously stepped into the library. The air smelled faintly of old paper and dust, a familiar scent that should have brought comfort but felt almost suffocating in this place. The silence was thick, broken only by the soft creak of wooden floorboards under my feet. It was empty of people, but not of books. Shelf after shelf stretched into the distance, disappearing into the dim corners of the room. There were so many books it made the library in Vezwincourt seem like a child's toy shelf—small, incomplete, a mere shadow of the knowledge stored here.

I walked forward, past sections labeled with hovering signs: History, Philosophy, Mythology. There was even a section for Lost Languages, its shelves filled with cracked spines and ancient scripts that seemed to whisper secrets as I passed. The titles pulled at me, beckoning to be opened, explored. Part of me itched to dive in, to lose myself in the worlds within these covers.

But I needed a distraction. Something simple, something light. My gaze landed on the romance section. A wooden sign hung loosely from the rafters, declaring it so. I pulled a book off the shelf, the weight of it grounding me in the overwhelming expanse of this place.

"Into the Deep Wood" by Polinka P. The cover showed the silhouette of a wooden maiden, her expression inscrutable. It looked interesting. For a moment, I considered losing myself in its pages, forgetting the weight of everything around me. The thought of escape—if only for a little while—was tempting.

But Malice reared his ugly, ugly head.

[Wait, stop! Don’t open any books here. You really don’t want to get teleported away just yet.]

"What?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. Teleported?

[If you open that book…] His voice slowed, the way one might explain to a child why fire burns. [You’ll be transported to the world contained in the story. These books are like magical murals—each one a gateway. Once you open it, you’re inside, and you don’t want that to happen randomly. There’s a system to this, a way to navigate. If you weren’t so impatient, I would have mentioned that before you started grabbing random books off random shelves. God, you’re the type to get eaten by a mimic because you saw a chest and thought, ‘Ooh, treasure!’]

I frowned, trying to ignore the embarrassment creeping up my neck. "I would not. Besides, everyone knows how easy it is to avoid mimics."

[Oh? Do tell.]

"No, I don’t think I will." I quickly put the book back on the shelf, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at him.

I scanned the other sections as I wandered deeper. The Arcane Theories section hummed with a faint magical aura, while the Dark Tales corner gave off a subtle chill, like the stories themselves were breathing. The sheer scope of knowledge here was staggering. It wasn’t just a collection of stories—it was a collection of worlds, waiting for someone to stumble into them. The realization left a knot in my stomach.

I spotted a plush red chair tucked between towering shelves and sank into it, the soft fabric cradling my body. For a moment, I let myself exhale, the weight of the library pressing down on me in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

"Where are we, anyway?" I asked aloud, my eyes scanning the endless shelves.

[The Library of Infinite Worlds,] Malice’s voice filled my head with a smug tone, as if this place were his pride and joy. [Every book ever conceived of is here. Every story, every thought ever put to page—fictional or otherwise. And each one? Well, like I said, a doorway. Some to good places, some to… less good ones. Even a play written by a room full of Shakespeares with one typewriter. Wait, or is it monkeys?]

I couldn't help but chuckle, the absurdity of it lightening the heavy air around me. "So, you're telling me this entire place is filled with books that can yank me into their worlds? How does anyone even navigate that?"

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

[Carefully,] Malice warned, his tone growing more serious. [You’ve got to follow the system. Some books are guides, designed to help. Others… traps. Open the wrong one, and you might find yourself lost forever, bouncing between pages of some horror novel or stuck in a loop of bad poetry. Open the right one, though… and you might just find your way off this floor.]

The thought of being trapped in a world of endless bad poetry made me shudder. I glanced around again, this time with a deeper sense of awe and wariness. Shelves lined with books—thousands of them—loomed over me like giants, their spines faded, cracked, some barely legible. The dim lighting from the lanterns hanging above cast long, eerie shadows, making the books appear more mysterious and menacing. The possibilities felt endless, and that was both thrilling and terrifying. I could feel the weight of it in my chest, like the air itself was pressing down, warning me to tread lightly.

So much knowledge. So much danger. What if I could find the answers here, the key to unlocking whatever secrets I needed? But the wrong move, one careless slip, and I could end up trapped in a world where the pages never end.

A shiver ran down my spine, the urge to read completely gone. "Pull up the map."

Malice obliged, and I was surprised—no, shocked—by what I saw. Only the room we were in had any detail at all. The rest? Just blank space, a gray fog that stretched infinitely outward. So far, being a Malikapian had granted me fully detailed maps, every room filled out, every hallway clearly marked.

[Let me guess,] Malice's voice cut through my thoughts. [You’re wondering why it’s blank, huh? That particular boon of yours ended on this floor. Now we’re back to the good old-fashioned fog of war. You’ll have to explore if you want to see more.]

"Nice!" I muttered sarcastically, feeling a stab of annoyance. "So, where do we go?"

[Are you serious?] Malice's disbelief was almost palpable.

"...Yeah?"

[Sometimes I forget how sheltered you must've been before you died.] His words stung, though I wasn't about to let him know that. [Where's your sense of adventure? Of challenge? You've got this entire library to explore, filled with books that could take you anywhere, and you're asking me where to go?]

I grimaced at the insult, but he had a point. I used to be adventurous, didn't I? I mean, I left the castle dozens of times. But those trips seemed so... insignificant now. A part of me bristled at his challenge.

"I'm plenty adventurous," I muttered under my breath. "I left the castle all the time."

[Yeah, and I'm Shakespeare's uncle,] Malice snorted, amusement thick in his voice.

I rolled my eyes. "You keep using that word. Shakespeare. Who or what is that?"

[Just a playwright from my world,] he said, the familiar smugness creeping back. [The best, actually. He would've been such an amazing troll if he'd lived in modern times.]

I could hear him almost sniff with nostalgia as he spoke, which made me laugh. "I wonder if any of his stories are here?"

[I already told you,] he huffed. [Every story is here. Every. Story. That means Shakespeare's got a whole section dedicated to his works. Every play, every sonnet, and probably a few things no one in my world ever read.]

The thought of a room filled with Shakespearean works made me pause. There was something comforting about the idea, as if even in this vast, dangerous place, there were still pieces of the familiar tucked away in dusty corners. But there was also something unnerving about it—because if Shakespeare was here, what else was?

I glanced around again, letting my eyes linger on the dark, towering shelves. What other worlds lurked behind those spines? What creatures, traps, or horrors lay waiting for someone too curious or careless to resist? I imagined stepping into a book about wars, getting caught in an endless battlefield, or worse—finding myself in some twisted fairy tale where the monsters were real and there were no happy endings.

My chest tightened. The temptation to explore was still there, a small, gnawing itch in the back of my mind. But now, it was tempered by fear. "You said some of these books are traps. How do we know which ones are safe?"

[That's the neat part,] Malice replied flatly. [You don't.]

Neat. Right. The way my heart raced at the mere thought of opening the wrong book didn't exactly scream fun.