Reality began with a page turning.
Not the sound of it — the act. A whisper-thin sheet pulled across silence. Something opened. Something watched.
And then, he woke up.
Seth opened his eyes to the sound of paper crackling — not fire, not static, but the dry, deliberate rustle of a book being read somewhere far too close. The light above him flickered, pale and gold like candlelight through vellum. He sat up slowly, every joint aching like he'd slept too long in the wrong body.
Wherever he was, it wasn't anywhere human.
Endless shelves stretched in all directions, curving slightly, impossibly — a library folded upon itself like origami. The books weren't normal. Some had spines made of bone, others breathed. One, just a few feet away, wept ink that pooled onto the marble floor and slithered away like it had somewhere to be.
Seth didn't remember who he was. Not truly. He remembered shadows, a staircase, and a hand reaching for a door labeled "DO NOT OPEN — NOT YET."
But the door had opened. Hadn't it?
"Name?"
The voice came from behind him — neither male nor female. Dry, but not cruel. Expectant.
He turned. A figure in a charcoal robe stood nearby, face hidden behind a mask made of moving type — letters constantly shifting across ivory porcelain.
"Name," it said again. "Or do you require one?"
"…Seth," he said. It felt like a lie, but it stuck.
"Very well. Archivist Candidate 19B-Seth. Status: Blank. Welcome to the Library of the Broken Spine."
The figure walked, and Seth followed — though he hadn't decided to. The Library pulled. Every step echoed like punctuation in an unwritten sentence.
"You were chosen," the guide said, leading him past a floating index that whispered forgotten languages. "Your soul survived the collapse of a reality." "You are now bound to the Axis Realm. You are Unwritten."
Seth didn't answer. His hands trembled. He passed a window — but there was no sky outside, only white. Not fog. Paper. And the mysterious figure explain to Seth Virell about laws and they cipher of laws
The figure's voice was calm, measured, as if reciting from an ancient script.
"Every soul here is bound to a single Discipline — a path of power and purpose that shapes your fate within the Axis Realm."
Seth's eyes searched the shifting letters on the mask, but found no hint of emotion.
"There are five known Disciplines," the figure continued. "Each is a framework — a unique way to interact with the fabric of existence and the stories that bind it. One may only choose one. To attempt more is to unravel your own essence."
Seth swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the words settle deep in his chest.
"Within each Discipline, progress is measured by Ciphers," the guide said, gesturing at a translucent scroll that floated between them. "Nine ranks in total — Cipher Nine is the lowest, the beginning of understanding. Cipher One is the highest, mastery of the Discipline's deepest secrets."
The scroll shimmered, revealing nine fading glyphs, each marked by a number.
"Advancement requires unraveling deeper truths of your chosen path, facing peril and temptation, and sacrificing parts of yourself for clarity."
A silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken questions. Seth's gaze drifted back to the endless stacks of books — each a world, a story, a reality hanging by fragile threads.
He knew one thing with absolute certainty: he was no longer outside those stories. He was part of them now.
Seth's voice was barely more than a whisper, yet it cut through the silence like a fragile thread.
"Tell me… what are the five Disciplines?"
The figure regarded him with unreadable calm. The shifting letters on the mask slowed, as if preparing to reveal something important.
"Redactors — Masters of Erasure and Narrative Redirection. They wield the power to excise truths, reshape records, and make events vanish from all but the most stubborn of memories."
A flicker of shadow seemed to dance across the shelves as the guide continued.
"Symbolweavers — Architects of Living Symbols and Binding Sigils. They embroider reality with meaning, drawing power from patterns, glyphs, and semiotic truths."
The air grew thick with unspoken power.
"Plotbinders — Orchestrators of Cause, Effect, and Inevitability. They twist the chain of events to their will, ensuring that all threads lead to their chosen conclusions."
Seth felt the weight of inevitability in those words.
"Tensionwrights — Manipulators of Suspense, Fear, and the Knife's Edge. They understand the delicate architecture of anticipation and dread, tightening or loosening the strings of perception."
The figure's voice softened almost imperceptibly.
"Closurists — Sealers of Ends and Final Witnesses of All Stories. They are the ones who close the book, ensuring nothing escapes its proper conclusion."
Seth swallowed hard, the enormity of choice pressing down on him. "How… how do I choose?"
The figure's mask shifted again, as if smiling beneath. "You do not merely choose. To claim a Discipline, you must comprehend its manuscript."
It moved silently to a nearby shelf and retrieved an ancient tome bound in cracked leather, its title unreadable, flickering like a candle's flame.
"You will take this manuscript," the figure said, "and understand it fully. That understanding binds you to your path."
Seth's heart pounded. "And what if I fail?"
"Madness awaits many who try," the figure replied calmly. "But some endure."
A silence fell before the figure's voice returned, steady as stone. "So, Seth Virell — what will you choose?"
Seth thought of the finality of stories, the need for closure, and the weight of endings. "I will choose… Closurist."
The figure nodded, extending the ancient manuscript toward him.
As Seth took the tome in his hands, icy words and shifting symbols cascaded through his mind. The pages seemed to writhe like living things. His vision blurred, and a crushing madness clawed at the edges of his consciousness.
Darkness threatened to swallow him whole — memories distorted, logic splintered. But amid the chaos, a fragile thread of clarity sparked.
He seized it.
Slowly, understanding dawned. The manuscript's secrets unfolded, revealing truths hidden beneath endless layers of meaning.
When Seth's trembling hands finally closed the tome, the figure's voice echoed softly:
"Congratulations. You are now an official Archivist of the Library of the Broken Spine."
"But there is more to know," the figure added. "Until you reach Cipher Six, you must create or find manuscripts to grow your power. Beyond Cipher Six, the path will no longer require such things — but that is a truth you need not bear now."
Seth's breath came in ragged gasps. The vastness of what lay ahead pressed upon him.
And somewhere, in the shadows between pages, the Library waited.