POV: HELENA IVYRA.
"All stories are reflections of their respective writers. It's as if, through the words, structures, characters, themes, and plots of a work, the author puts their heart, their brain, and their soul into those ideas."
Professor Maria's voice, who was responsible for teaching history of literature, echoed in my mind like one of those memories that refuse to disappear.
I remembered a specific class, where we talked about a concept presented by some philosophers of the 1st century A.B. (After the Book). The much-discussed Author's Dilemma.
"What was the statement again…?" I inwardly asked, while looking both ways before crossing the street.
Better be safe, right? I didn't want to end up in a cliché isekai ending, like getting hit by a generic truck.
'Tsk… Focus! I think it's something like 'Tell me what you write, and I'll tell you who you are'?'
Right? Wait, that's wrong, it's not that…
'If I think, therefore I write.'
Damn... that's Descartes. What a mess!
Soon, I arrived at the main avenue near the central square. I walked along one of the shadier sides of the street.
'Tsk... the dynamic of remembering everything necessary was a convenient protagonist power... too bad it only worked in fiction.'
Something that always amazed me was how impactful Professor Maria's classes were. She always tried to leave a strong impression with her teachings. One of her favorite points was to comment on how history was always written by only one side, usually the victor's side.
"The interesting thing is that fiction breaks this diagram." Professor Maria would exclaim with her characteristic gesture of tapping the blackboard with the marker.
I remembered perfectly when she talked about the three purposes of literature: Record, Knowledge, and Fictional.
For a long time, the main purpose of literature was the record of events, through documents, letters, papyrus, or whatever was available. Then came knowledge, a primary and essential form in the development of the human species. The ability to pass on what was learned.
But we were talking about humans. And whenever there was something good... there was something bad. The purpose of record was always unilateral. The conquerors wrote about the conquered. And the conquered, with great luck, in a favorable era, were maybe even literate.
However, with the advent of the book, in the 0th century, the third purpose emerged: fictional application. Imagination, the lyrical, the feeling... finally, a new voice was given. Something that brought a refreshing shower, never before seen, to the frivolous world of words.
It was always known that knowledge and books were intrinsically linked. But something different happened in the 16th century B.B. (Before the Book). That was when the so-called Pre-Embryonics emerged. A very important turning point in history.
It wasn't known how they did it, but it was known that they were the first to connect enchantments to magical energy, today called QP.
At the time, this energy was known as the archs. Through books, these pioneers achieved something unprecedented: they united knowledge and enchantment in a way never before seen.
"Basically, they were the first Dominator Authors in history." I affirmed, recalling the thousandth time we reviewed this concept in Professor Francisco's classes, the typical fanboy of Greek inhabitants.
"Ah, but I didn't blame him, they were pretty cool…" I concluded, in agreement with my own thoughts.
Yes, I was a bit strange.
As I continued, the logic was simple, yet profound: "The more people believed in their writings, the stronger the enchantments of their books." Professor Maria concluded in my thoughts.
This phenomenon was known as the Principle of Literary Belief. A direct connection between knowledge and faith. In classical times, Authorial Dominators were powerful figures.
True shapers of reality, they changed the course of history. But today... the number of authors was decreasing.
Even with more readers, there was little depth in the readers' knowledge regarding history.
"After all, when an idea is reproduced... or something already created by another DA is reapplied, the user's connection with the QPs of that enchantment weakens." I concluded.
This was the Principle of Reproductive Ideas. A fundamental concept.
The more an idea or archetype was used, the more diffused and less impactful it became. This directly affected the levels of domination: the more superficial the knowledge, the weaker the lyrical force of the enchantment.
It was in response to this that, after the popularization of literature in the 1st century A.B., a policy of intellectual protection emerged in the 3rd century A.B.: Copyright.
Created in the Kingdom of the Anglos, through the Statute of Queen Anne, the system was named Intellectual Domain Protection.
The proclamation made in this statute was basically the first concrete form of protecting the uniqueness of a work. Its objective was clear: to prevent, at least directly, the reproduction of ideas. To limit the excessive use of the same elements among different Authorial Dominators.
Over time, the policy spread. And, finally, it was accepted worldwide after the Berne Convention, in the 4th century A.B. This idea of copyright arose as a system of intellectual defense. But nowadays... It is often used as an excuse to restrict literary production.
Thus, it was interesting to think: we had limits on what we could copy or repeat ideas... but what about creation?
I tried to remember if I had ever had this doubt before.
If authors could write books as they wished... Why was a super powerful book, capable of dominating absurdly powerful enchantments, never written?
"Actually, that was the doubt that sustained the statement of the Author's Dilemma. Oh, what a good memory, even convenient in a way…"
I pondered for a moment, as I organized my train of thought, until…
As I tried to organize my mind, I barely noticed that I was already nearing the Central Square of Lights. Walking a little further, I turned the corner.
And there it was, immense and illuminated.
The square was wide, with a majestic fountain in the center. Beside it, a circular stage, exposed and beautiful, its white pillars and domed roof slightly darkened by time. And, as the name of the square promised, there were lights everywhere.
Luminous posts of different shapes and sizes spread around, creating a welcoming and almost magical atmosphere.
So many lights seemed like a mosaic carefully designed to send a message to aliens. A completely crazy thing.
Regardless of the intention, there, on the other side of the square, I spotted a two-story building. Its color palette was simple: blue, white, and red.
Clearly an allusion to the municipal flag.
The building's infrastructure was modest. A square block, without many ornaments. A double glass door at the entrance. Some small decorative trees in front, and a flowerbed with elegant succulents completed the scene.
That building was the last of its kind. It seemed to serve as the last resistance of books in a world of businesses everywhere, and cold, strange architecture. A less glamorous or heroic species than the city surrounded by Falcon Scott… But, it had its charm, I guess.
There it was: the Provincial Library of João Batista.