The streets of Aetheros were quieter than usual, though that silence was deceptive. Every lamppost flickered with its pale yellow flame, shadows stretching long across cobbled alleys. The air smelled of smoke and iron, with a faint sweetness carried from the bakeries that had just closed.
Seth Virell walked at his own pace, the weight of a single book in his hand. The cover was cracked, its spine mottled like it had been gnawed at by time. His thumb brushed over its surface, again and again, as if afraid the thing might vanish if he did not keep confirming its existence.
Then he felt it.
A strange pull at his waist. His pocket sagged unnaturally.
He paused mid-step, frowning.
"…Why is it so heavy?" Seth muttered to himself.
He slid his hand into the coat's side pocket, fingers brushing against metal. Cold, reassuring, and smooth-edged. When he pulled them out, his palm glittered.
Twenty crown coins.
They gleamed in the lamplight, stamped with the sigil of Aetheros: a split sun, half dawn and half eclipse. The metal wasn't gold, but something that shimmered with a pearlescent sheen, like moonlight trapped inside.
A hundred Shillings made a Crown, and ten Pennies a Shilling.
Seth blinked. "…I didn't have this earlier."
The book in his other hand stayed silent, its weight unchanged.
A small smile tugged at the edge of Seth's mouth. "Well… who am I to refuse a gift?"
Pocketing the coins, he continued down the main street until he reached the district where crimson lanterns swayed gently above doorways. This was not the worker's quarter he rented his flat in. No, this was the merchant's mile: lined with shops of tailored cloth, watchmakers, perfumers, and galleries of glittering glass.
His steps slowed before one storefront: Dumarque & Sons – Tailors to the Gentry.
Inside, mannequins stood wearing coats of obsidian velvet and shirts white as bone, cufflinks sparkling faintly.
Seth took a breath. "I suppose if the Library itself is giving me an allowance…"
He pushed the door open.
A bell chimed, and a man in a finely pressed waistcoat approached. His hair was slicked back, silver flecking the black. He bowed slightly.
"Good evening, sir. May I assist you in finding a suit?"
"Yes," Seth answered, voice steady. "Something sharp. Black, perhaps. I don't want frills—just precision."
The tailor's eyes flickered with curiosity at Seth's plain clothes and tired boots. Yet his professional smile never faltered. "Of course. Please, step this way."
They passed rows of fabrics, rolls of silk and wool that whispered faintly when the air shifted. Seth ran his fingers over a bolt of midnight cloth. It was cool, smooth, luxurious.
"That one," Seth said.
The tailor nodded and soon guided him behind a curtain. Measurements were taken—shoulders, chest, waist, inseam. The tape pressed cold against Seth's throat.
"Do you have an event, sir?" the tailor asked conversationally.
"Something like that," Seth murmured, his eyes distant. "A… new chapter."
The man chuckled politely, assuming it was metaphorical. "Then you must look impeccable. A first impression is everything."
When the suit was ready, Seth stood before a tall mirror. The reflection startled him.
No longer a ragged survivor with soot-stained sleeves. Instead, a young man in a fitted black suit, white shirt crisp, collar straight, cuffs gleaming. His hair, though still slightly messy, fell neatly against his brow. His pale eyes seemed sharper, colder.
Seth tilted his head. "Not bad."
"Magnificent," the tailor agreed smoothly. "That will be fifteen crowns."
Seth reached into his pocket without hesitation. The coins clinked as he laid them down, their glow drawing the tailor's gaze.
"Ah, crowns of the First Mint," the man whispered in surprise. "Rare to see these."
Seth said nothing, only nodded. He took the bag with the suit and left. Five coins remained.
The scent of roasted garlic and pepper led him to a restaurant lit with chandeliers. Inside, couples whispered over crystal glasses, silverware clinking faintly. Waiters in black coats glided like shadows across the polished floor.
The maître d' looked Seth up and down. His gaze lingered on the perfectly fitted suit.
"This way, sir," he said at once, gesturing toward a corner table near the window.
Seth sat, placing the book carefully at his side.
When the waiter approached, Seth's eyes drifted down the menu—though truthfully, his choice had already been decided the moment he saw the golden letters etched across it.
"Steak," Seth said. "The best cut you have. Medium rare."
"And to drink?"
"Red wine. Something old."
The waiter bowed and vanished.
Seth leaned back in his chair, staring at the candle flame. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel ordinary—just a man enjoying dinner in a quiet city, not a survivor carrying forbidden books.
When the meal arrived, it was perfection. A slab of seared meat glistening with butter, the scent intoxicating. Seth cut into it with precision, juice spilling red across the porcelain.
The first bite nearly melted on his tongue.
He closed his eyes. "…Not bad for my first proper meal here."
A voice stirred faintly in his memory—one of the Archivists he had met earlier.
"You must learn to taste the world before you rewrite it."
Seth smirked faintly and raised the glass of wine. "Then let this be a beginning."
The ruby liquid burned down his throat, warming his chest. For a time, there was no Library, no collapsing realities. Only food, drink, and silence.
When the bill came, it was five crowns exactly. Seth laid the remaining coins on the silver tray.
Empty pockets. Empty glass. A full stomach.
He stood, adjusted his coat, and left.
Night had fallen over Aetheros. The moonlight spread across cobblestones like spilled milk. Gaslamps hissed faintly, their flames haloed in mist.
Seth reached his apartment—narrow, with windows that rattled in the wind. He walked through the corridor and pushed open the warped door.
The place was meager.
A main room with a desk, piles of old books, and a single oil-lamp.
A bedroom barely large enough for a bed, a wardrobe, and a cracked mirror.
A kitchen corner with a coal stove and chipped crockery.
A bathroom so narrow the pipes groaned when touched.
A balcony that could hold only one person, its iron rail rusted thin.
He set the book down on the desk. For a moment, he only stared at it.
"…What are you planning?" he asked quietly.
The cover gave no answer.
Seth exhaled and sat down. His hands hovered, then opened the book.
The air changed instantly.
Darkness bled from the pages, swallowing the lamp's light. His stomach lurched as if he were falling, his body yanked forward.
"—!"
The room dissolved.
And then—silence.
Seth stood in an endless void.
No ground beneath his feet, yet he did not fall. No sky above, yet a dim glow illuminated nothing.
Only black. Infinite, suffocating black.
But then—something else.
From the dark, a single page fluttered down. White. Empty. Yet radiating an unbearable gravity, as though the entire void bent around it.
It did not land. It simply hovered before him, glowing faintly.
Seth's throat tightened. His hand twitched toward it.
"…What the f**k is this?" he muttered.
The page pulsed once, and the void seemed to bow before it.
Seth staggered back, every nerve screaming that he was standing before something ancient, foundational.
Still, he whispered under his breath:
"…The last page?"
The silence gave no answer.
Only the weight of inevitability pressed against his chest.