The past is a ribbon, albeit very long, and because it leads to the future, it cannot simply cease existence. It is an imperceptible reality, but it is still there.

The future, however, is like a tapestry unraveling from the end. It cannot unravel from where it starts, only from where it ends.

"Was that it!? Why did I waste fifteen days reading this crap? I disposed of the valuable time I could have spent reading a book with at least a half-decent ending."

Hoku vigorously closed the cover of the thick book he spent many days reading, gazing at the surface with resentment.

Despite his imposing understanding of the complex language, he hated that the story ended with the protagonist choosing to obtain an omniscient conception of the future instead of living happily with his friends.

How selfish! He thought, both the author and protagonist!

Hoku slumped deep into a wooden chair, with a motionless expression. He ran a finger along the white crease on the book's spine.

Jiang Hao, his current caretaker, whom he still needed since he was seventeen, which is still the scope of a minor, worked as a history professor at an unpopular university.

Hoku's first meeting with family apart from his parents was by all means ill-fated.

His uncle, who claimed with documentation to be his father's brother, shook hands with him in a hospital.

The only details that burdened Hoku's identity were an unidentifiable hospital uniform, a lanyard with a broken clip, and abnormal responses when the nurses tried to inspect him.

His current situation wasn't as abnormal, the room he resided in was a gaudy vast room of books.

The walls shelved mostly antique books, an inevitable collector's interest when one's life revolves around teaching history.

Some of them were newer, but not too recent.

Further down the stacks were books written by authors that were old, but still alive.

Those were the stories that fascinated him most.

Hoku sighed, standing from the chair, dragging it across the room to the edge of the shelf, and pushing down on the backrest as he positioned himself onto the top of the chair.

There was a gap in the high-middle shelf precisely the same width as the book in his hand.

He pushed the book back into place.

Hoku has never shared admiration for the pieces of history that his uncle received, as gifts from female colleagues who were rather fond of him or online websites he spends his nights scrolling through rather than marking his students' theses on Industrialism.

He glances at the top shelf as he steps down from the chair.

Within that half-second peek a particular book with a stark white spine and no dust cover, or engraved title, slipped through the breaches of his usual philosophy of an eye-catching book cover.

He stands for a moment staring at it perhaps because it was the only white book on a shelf of books with eroding spines.

He pulled the book from its hold on the shelf, brushing his thumb over the pages while inspecting the peculiar blankness of the cover.

Upon opening the book, the pages snap apart as if they had never been opened during the presumably long period it had been published.

No dedications, just a vacant page without an author's signature.

The next page is the same.

Nothing.

So is the third page seemingly as though any title of ownership were pulled into a white void.

Hoku flips through the pages quicker, every other page more puzzling than the last. Somewhere in the pages, there is a wordless illustration.

This book is odd.

The page after it also had a picture with no text.

He turned the page back and forth as though context would appear in doing so.

The image on the twenty-third page was a neatly detailed drawing of what appeared to be the inside of an outdated house.

The interior was vast, and walls were heaped with messy bookcases that contained only clutter.

The drawing had a linear perspective, and some candelabras on the side walls were shaded darker than the ones on the main wall.

The next page had an atmospheric perspective of the main wall.

There was a book on the shelf that wasn't tinted like the other ones around it.

The book had a stark white spine.

The cover of the book he was holding also stood out on the shelf.

Almost like it was preserving itself from the damage of time.

Hoku flipped through the pages to see if there were any more peculiar illustrations, it was something that oddly intrigued him.

Blank. Is it supposed to be symbolic? Like an art piece?

He looked a second time at the filled pages.

Nothing looked out of place.

There was a rather large painting of a key propped against one of the bookshelves, the matrix of the painting was absent, and it was only a key.

Hoku thought that maybe it was an unfinished painting.

Losing interest, he rested it on the edge of the shelf, not feeling the need to put it back right away.

There wasn't enough space on the edge to balance the book, however, and it fell to the floor when he let go of it.

Hoku studied the book on the floor.

His uncle granted him access to almost every book in the room, but set distinct limits on the ones at the top.

Figuring he could hide it in the desk, he bent down to pick it up, but something was there that he hadn't noticed amidst flipping through the pages before.

The corner of a page, a shade much whiter than the other pages, was sticking out from the back.

Pulling the page from where it was seemingly hidden, revealed that it was not content from the book itself, but rather a poorly folded envelope that appeared to have been in the book sooner than when it was 'published'.

Maybe a birthday card? Is this a late gift?

Hoku turned the envelope to the back, and neat text composed a short message.

"Do not amend their mistakes, pertain to the present."

He scrunched his eyebrows in puzzlement and picked at the yellow wax on the other side.

Accidentally peeling it off came easier than understanding what had been written on the inside of the paper.

A series of numbers, separated by a degree symbol, and apostrophes were written at the end of the page, normally where someone would address themself after a letter.

There were also letters written in the array of digits, an N and an E, followed by a short message above them.

"This is a guide for the one without a sequence.

Our last beholder. See you soon 'Hoku' "

Another strange entry from a mysterious correspondent.

It didn't require much time for Hoku to discover that the numbers on the page were coordinates.

He spared the time to visit his uncle's study. Jiang Hao's room led to a smaller room, lit by a single lamp.

The yellow lampshade tinted the walls a flaxen yellow, making the room feel smaller and incredibly lifeless.

Despite the large house giving the impression of wealth, the only other valuable item besides a drawer of century-old currency was the computer in his uncle's office.

A machine rarely used by either of them since Hoku preferred paper books, and Jiang Hao spent most of his time in a classroom.

On occasions like now, however, the computer would be used to retrieve information.

Hoku pulled the chair to the edge of his uncle's desk. He held down the power button and the screen flashed dark blue. A colorful icon froze on the screen momentarily, before a browser appeared, replacing the initial blue screen.

His fingers glided across the keyboard, awkwardly pressing on the keys with one hand.

After entering a line of numbers into the search bar, an image of a map with a highlighted route popped up in the search browser.

Hoku clicked on the blue link under the map and the screen turned white before bringing him to a page with the same map.

Bold text above the map read,

Small Community in America Rattled by The Recent Disaster That Was Inflicted Onto A 223-Year-Old Manor.

There were sidebar images along the page displaying a single image of a manor with an unusually old structure, and about five other pictures following it of utter wreckage.

The outside was mostly the same, though some of the pictures that were taken from a closer angle revealed the collapsed porch and a door with wood splintering off the front.

Hoku drew himself closer to the screen, resting his chin atop his knuckles.

He reached for the mouse and continued to scroll through a collage of images, the inside of the home was in far worse condition.

Pillars from the ceiling were cluttered on top of black furniture, pieces of glass reflected the light from the camera, and an entire chandelier lay damaged and coated in the soot from an obvious fire.

Hoku's finger stopped above the wheel on the mouse when he scrolled to the last image.

He moved his hand from his face to the other side of the desk where he placed the coordinates on top of the book.

'Page 23… page 23… page 23

The unblemished painting in the last photo on the screen was the same as in the book.

The whole bookcase was surrounded by ruin from the fire, but there wasn't any indicator that a flame had even touched the wall where the bookcase sat.

Even the candle lamps were still screwed into the wooden frames on both sides of the shelves.

There was a small detail on the actual painting that caught his eye... a black scribble in the bottom right corner that aligned perfectly with the 90-degree angle of the frame corner.

The black and white illustration did not have a signature on the painting, and the picture was taken too far from the art piece for Hoku to make out the artist's name.

Not that it matters, but maybe it would give me context to whatever this note means. For instance, why is it in a book with sketches of a manor from the 1800s?

The numbers on the paper were muddled together like 'cursive' script, but the letters were printed neatly, appearing strangely comparable to his own handwriting.

Hoku clicked out of the article on the computer, copying the numbers from the search bar, and pasting them into a new tab.

This time typing directions after the last letter in the coordinate.

The first link on the screen was a GPS, which gave him an option between two routes.

The driving distance for the quickest route was four minutes.

It's extremely close! Too bad I don't even know how to start an ignition.

Fortunately, walking would take around twenty-eight minutes since he wasn't equipped for a six-minute bike ride.

Damn—I should save up for a bike instead of buying ridiculous books.

Jiang Hao came home late on predominantly all days of the week which meant for two years Hoku was left to wander around the same room.

His uncle would occasionally take him out on the weekends, to drive into town and buy medieval home decor, but even on his days off, Jiang Hao still had papers to grade.

His uncle recommended taking walks outside of the garden, because "not getting enough sun can affect a human both internally and externally."

Just that morning Jiang Hao glanced into his room with a troubled expression and told him that his complexion was beginning to lose color.

I suppose a thirty-minute walk wouldn't be too formidable.

It was greatly formidable.

Hoku was hunched over at the gate of the remarkably vast estate, he grabbed one of the metal bars and pulled himself up.

He squeezed a flip phone in his other hand, stuffing it into a coat pocket.

Jiang Hao gave it to him in case he required assistance with appliances around the house.

He used the phone as a passage to get to his destination, though the picture he captured of the map was of such bad quality he mistakenly walked the longest path.

Through the thick bars of the gate, there was a single tree stump.

White clovers and bindweed covered the yard, denoting that the fire had occurred at least a few months ago, otherwise, the front yard would have been severely mangled as well.

Hoku kept a hand on the gate and placed his other hand on the bar beside it.

He groaned upon trying to open it.

He pulled for at least three minutes, sliding his foot further from himself as he leaned backward.

'...Am I out of shape!?'

Frustration began to seep into his demeanor, and his foot slipped forward kicking a small rock that was stuck between the ground and the metal.

The large gate door swung open causing Hoku to lose his footing, and fall onto his back.

He lifted his head to look at the open entrance before slumping it back onto the ground.

He carefully brought a hand to his face sweeping bangs off of his forehead as he wiped droplets of sweat.

He sat upright on the grass and pushed strands of black hair out of his face.

His fingers reached for his ponytail where something felt amiss.

A rush of wind blew through his unfettered hair, imparting a devastating discovery.

Hoku ran his fingers through the grass behind him, and when nothing came up he crashed back onto the ground, carelessly allowing the wind to whip his hair into a mess.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," he groaned.