I keep asking myself why I bother trying to date this.
There are no windows. No other exits, except the giant doors that stand there, mocking me, lacking knobs or handles to allow for my escape.
The silence here is odd. Almost deafening. Even though the ceiling towers overhead and the library itself is massive, nothing echoes. Drop a book on the table or upon the granite floor and the sound is swallowed up. Muffled. It’s as if the silence is holding its breath for fear of being discovered.
I’d probably be panicking right now if it wasn’t for a curious sign to the left of the doors that says, in giant letters, “DON’T PANIC: You are in no danger…and time doesn’t exist in here.”
At first it seemed like a joke, but its twin to the right of the doors then adds, “Seriously, you’re going to be fine. Just relax and read a book.”
Odd thing is…each time I glance at the signs, my urge to read a book actually grows.
I’ve stacked each volume I’ve read from cover to cover on a table nestled at the heart of this maze of bound literature.
Forty-seven books so far.
I’m not the fastest reader, either. Soooo, yup, I’ve been here a while.
Only 400 gaZILLION more books to choose from.
Stories, personal journals, events, genealogical charts, detailed maps, even personal correspondence letters…and for some strange reason, I can’t help shake the distinct feeling that they’re all connected.
No matter what I read, sooner or later I find similarities. Sometimes it’s the events, or maybe the point of views and perspectives that link the material to something bigger.
At first it was a bit frustrating. I mean, how bizarre would it be to walk into a library and discover that every story you read had some direct connection with every other book on the shelves?
It’s almost as if this place wants to tell its own story.
But how do you tell a story that’s so vast, it spreads across continents and countless generations? It seems almost impossible to write it down in a logical order.
Where do you begin?
My only guess is…where all the information connects.
To attempt such a task does sound crazy, which is why I’m writing these journal entries. It feels important to record what I’m doing. Maybe I’m just trying to convince myself that I’m not going insane, collecting proof…for when someone does eventually find me in here.
So now you know.
I’ve been connecting dots after discovering a book called Demoni Vankil…I think it was #28. That led me to find The Book of Three Shadows and a case full of notes from a place called Vankiläsä—a hidden camp where magical experiments were conducted. The process quickly had me reading books until they hinted to another volume, which I’d then hunt for and pull from the shelves.
The good news is that the library is perfectly organized, which helps. It doesn’t mean I can’t get utterly lost, which I have, but I do eventually discover what I’m looking for.
The bad news is, there doesn’t seem to be an end to the vastness of this puzzle.
I’m collecting first hand accounts from documents and journals—secrets passed down through political intrigue and family lines. The more I read, the more I’m convinced that stories seemingly unrelated are, in fact, pointing at a single set of events.
Impossible as that sounds, these events are wrapped around and point to the same group of people!
Every world has its stories…I get that.
The real challenge is in HOW those stories are told.
There are far more questions than answers at this point, but it’s not like I’m going anywhere.
I guess what I’m trying to say is, for whatever reason I’ve become trapped in this place, I believe I’m supposed to record the Chronicles of a Hero.
So that’s exactly what I intend to do.
~ The Narrator