How long has it been?
I looked up at the ceiling like it would answer me.
Ah. Right. I came in here.
I crawled up into a corner of the library. My body felt stiff—dry, almost paper-like. I'd probably been here for a couple of days. Maybe longer. I hadn't even started reading anything yet.
Should I?
…When did I start to feel affected by this?
I didn't think silence could hurt this much.
I just wanted to rot away here.
The room was bright. Too bright. Not the kind that burns your eyes, but the kind that's warm, almost nostalgic. The lighting hadn't changed since the moment I walked in. It made everything look beautiful in a way that felt cruel. Books surrounded me—walls and walls of them. And at the end of it all, just one lonely table.
If I wasn't here… would Wanora be?
Would this all have been better?
I just want to go back to my old life.
Old life… old life…
Old life?
What… was in my old life?
"…Huh?"
The confusion hit like a blow to the chest.
"What??"
I got up, my legs shaking as I tried to remember. Anything. I had a life before this place, I know I did. I clutched my head and stared at my hands, then at the old mirror leaning by the wall. I played visual novels…
There was a café…
Someone was with me.
Who?
I can't seem to… remember?
Why?
What's going on? Am I losing my memories?
No—no, that can't be. There's something else going on. But the more I stay here, the more distant everything feels. The only thing I can remember is the café… and that screen… playing those games.
This… this is wrong.
I began pacing.
What's wrong? I can't grasp it. Why can't I grasp it?
Is it because I'm in another body? Is that why I'm forgetting?
This is—
"Fuck."
I looked up at the books. My eyes scanned the rows with quiet desperation.
"…Could Gramps know about other worlds?"
That bastard. He knew something. I know he did.
I stood up and finally decided to pull myself together. The room was just a library. No food. No bed. No kitchen. Just endless space to walk, and a single table in the distance like it was mocking me.
I examined the books' arrangements and began placing them back in proper order.
"Alright… I guess I can give it a shot."
I sat down.
Let's start.
---
Weeks passed in silence.
I kept reading. One by one. There were a couple million books, at least.
Using my Clarion of Touch and Vision together, I managed to push through around 32,000. Not bad, but still pathetic considering the scale. The books were massive—some practically tomes—and I had to go over every detail. I wasn't just reading; I was building mental images, stitching together worlds from words.
I had finished the complete history—according to Gramps, at least. And that lunatic claimed it was 92% accurate. I believe him. He used his Clarion of Touch to judge the truth of past events. Said he could trace back over a thousand years by touching relics or paper.
Me?
I could barely reach a single year if I tried hard enough.
It was complicated. I had to sleep. Eat. Rest. And yet—
"…I haven't eaten anything for a week."
I looked down at myself.
Still fit. Still breathing. Not even a hint of weakness.
"HOW AM I FINE?!"
I stumbled back, panic crashing into me. How? How?
Oh god—wait… is this a side effect?
"Am I dead…?"
No. That can't be it. I'm still thinking. Still hurting.
I turned toward the staircase—the one that led out. The way back.
I could go.
Wanora… she'd forgive me, right?
She must've said it in the heat of the moment.
I raised my hand toward the stairs.
But then—
My other hand stopped it.
"…No. You shouldn't go."
I whispered it aloud. To myself. To the part of me that still wanted to believe in something.
I sat back down and returned to the books.
Time blurred again. I lost all sense of night and day. My sweat stuck to my skin like glue, and my body reeked.
I hadn't eaten. Hadn't drunk anything.
Yet I didn't need to excrete.
"Great, Gramps. Really. No food, no bed, no bathroom. Just an archive of existential dread."
---
Each book was different. Unique. A testament to how deeply Gramps had lived.
My life had become a routine:
Read. Sleep. Read. Sleep.
My head throbbed. I decided to lie down on the floor, closing the book as my thoughts slipped into static.
"Caw—"
Stop.
"Caw—"
I sighed. "Goodness, stop making noise."
"Caw—"
"Dude, what?"
I opened my eyes.
This wasn't the library.
This was—
"…This is my soul. I remember."
I turned, and there it was.
Diagung.
He was perched a few meters away, head tilted slightly, black feathers glinting in the strange light of this space. His wings twitched like he had more to say than he could speak.
"Caw—"
"Diagung, the damn crow. Hey, how are you?"
He ruffled his feathers in response, hopping forward once.
"Caw—"
"What do you mean? Oh, are you worried about me? I'm fine. How are you and Thubir?"
He hopped again, closer this time, claws scratching against the soulstone-like ground.
"Caw caw—"
"Oh, he left, huh? Well… I guess we'll see him again someday."
A simple thought flickered in my mind like a candle.
Wait.
Our souls are connected, right?
If he's full… then I'm full too…
"…Oh shit. That's right."
I looked at Diagung, wide-eyed. "Shit. You're the one keeping me alive."
He flared his wings just once. Slowly. Proudly.
"Caw—"
"Oh… rude bastard. Even you forgot about me, huh?"
I laughed under my breath. Bitterly.
"Well… I dunno. I got in a fight."
Diagung just stared at me, unblinking. His head lowered slightly, like he was listening for the first time in a while.
"I didn't know they didn't like me. Well, I mean… why am I even telling this to you?"
Suddenly, he walked right up to me and pecked my forehead.
"Peck."
"Ouch! Dude, why?!"
I clutched my head. Diagung stood right in front of me now, wings slightly puffed.
He stared.
"CAW—"
My eyes widened.
"Yeah… you're right. I should've talked it out. It was just… a moment. Just a damn moment."
And then—
I remembered Thalos. That day.
"Oh, right. Thalos mentioned you. I don't remember the details, but he said something about 'calamity'? Is it because you ate his servant?"
I scratched my cheek.
"Well, don't worry. The guy didn't die. His servants are immortal."
Diagung stayed silent this time. His eyes blinked slowly before he turned around with a rustle of feathers.
"Caw—"
He spread his wings again.
"You're leaving?"
He paused, just once, looking over his shoulder.
"Well… see you. And yeah…" I smiled faintly. "I'll take care of myself."
---
I woke up.
It was refreshing. Talking to someone—even if it was a damn crow in my soul.
I sat back up, rubbed my temples, and turned back to the books.
"…Well, let's get back to it."
There was still a library full of the old man's life, and maybe—
somewhere in it—
the pieces of my own.
---
Just as Heide was reading, time was passing slowly.
The world is big, truly massive. In a world where you could see countless faces and not remember a single one of them, that's sad. We witness the world at its highest, yet we can't see what's in front of us.
But that doesn't stop the world from continuing. Whether we see it or not, it's happening—it's truly happening in front of someone's eyes, if not yours.
Just the same way life continued without Heide for the members of the Taskhand.
These people will have a path that's not pleasant. But of course, that's life. Our paths aren't pleasant at all, because the truth is there is no path ahead of us. We are the people that make our own paths, slowly making it better, striving to walk on a path unknown easily. Because then, when we turn around to look back after years of moving forward, probably the path would look clean and proper. Perhaps it's rocky and still unstable.
But it's a path. It's a path made by you. You could have changed that path, but you didn't. But that's okay. You came this far because you are alive. And being alive is a beautiful thing.
So keep moving on...
Maybe someday you will meet someone to help you make that path easier.
A friend.
A lover.
A child.
It could be anyone. It could be anyone to drive you forward.
Look at them. Hold them close.
You will fight with them, and that's natural.
But learn to talk. Take your time.
But don't do something that you will regret forever.
Be better, and strive to live better.