The Sacred Library rarely welcomed disturbance.
Its halls were vast and endless, shelves stretching beyond sight, heavy with knowledge gathered from countless worlds. Time behaved strangely here—centuries could pass like minutes, and minutes could stretch into eternity. It was a place meant for silence, reflection, and preservation.
Which was why I found the sound of approaching footsteps mildly irritating.
I was seated near a tall arched window, sunlight filtering in from a sky that did not belong to any single world. A book rested in my hands; its pages filled with tales of forgotten empires and gods who no longer remembered their own names. I was just reaching a particularly interesting chapter when shadows fell across the marble floor.
Three of them.
I sighed softly and slipped a marker between the pages before closing the book. Rest, then. Stories could wait.
Looking up, I took them in with a single glance.
A mage stood at the front—a young woman clad in flowing green robes embroidered with symbols of nature and mana. Her staff was carved from pale wood, its tip crowned with an orb that shimmered white and emerald, humming faintly with restrained power. Her eyes were sharp, curious, and cautious.
Beside her was an elf, tall and slender, with long blond hair cascading down his back. His pointed ears twitched slightly as he observed the library, awe and tension mixing in his expression. There was something old in his gaze—heritage, perhaps. Or responsibility.
Last was a swordsman, broad-shouldered and firm in stance, clad in polished silver armor. A sword rested at his waist, worn but well cared for. His brown eyes were steady, trained, the eyes of someone who had faced death and expected to face it again.
Traveling heroes.
Of course.
"What can I help you with, folks?" I asked, my voice calm as I rested the book on the table beside me.
The elf stepped forward, a small, uncertain smile on his lips as he bowed. "My grandfather spoke of you not as a legend," he said, voice steady but young. "He called you an old friend. They studied together here, long before my time. He said if I ever reached the Sacred Library, I should trust the immortal librarian named Miss Thor."
Ah. That explained the confidence.
"They call you the Immortal Librarian," he continued. "Miss Thor."
That title never failed to follow me.
"We're searching for a magic artifact," he said. "One that once belonged to the elves—an ancient relic. My grandfather stored it here long ago for safekeeping."
I folded my hands neatly atop the table. "I'm afraid I can't grant that request."
The mage blinked, surprise flashing across her face. "You can't?"
"Why?" the swordsman asked bluntly.
"The artifact is exactly where it should be," I replied evenly. "It has remained untouched for generations for a reason. It is under my care now, and I cannot simply entrust something so delicate to travelers I've just met."
"But we need it," the mage insisted. "Our kingdom—"
"—is in danger," the swordsman finished. "Only that artifact can stop what's coming."
I studied them for a moment. The desperation was real. So was the determination.
Still.
"That does not change my answer," I said.
The swordsman exhaled sharply. "Then what? We just give up?"
I tilted my head slightly, then gestured lazily toward the towering shelves. "Find it."
All three of them froze.
"You… don't mind?" the mage asked.
"I don't," I replied. "Just try not to destroy anything too valuable."
Their hesitation lasted only a second before excitement overtook caution. Without another word, the three scattered into the depths of the library, footsteps echoing as they vanished between the shelves.
I reopened my book.
Time passed quietly.
Eventually, I finished reading and closed the book once more. Looking up, I spotted the travelers gathered in the distance, whispering animatedly as they compared notes and clues they had uncovered.
Children, really.
Eager. Clever. Loud.
Standing, I lifted a hand slightly. Mana rippled through the air, unseen but deeply felt. Shelves straightened themselves, scattered books flew back to their proper places, and disturbed dust vanished as though it had never existed.
The travelers stared, mouths slightly open.
"That was incredible," the mage said in awe.
I smiled faintly. "So? How is your search going?"
The elf rubbed his temples. "Frustrating. These clues are confusing. Why not just tell us where it is?"
"With patience and a clear mind," I replied gently, "the path reveals itself."
I turned my gaze toward my junior, who had been quietly observing from nearby. "Victoria, watch the library for a bit. I need to take care of something."
"Yes, Miss Thor," she replied immediately.
Leaving the travelers behind, I entered a restricted chamber—a grand circular room lined with books of every imaginable origin. The staircase spiraled endlessly upward, vanishing into shadows above.
I floated upward, stopping at the eighth floor.
My fingers brushed across countless spines before selecting one.
A story.
Their story.
I opened the book and skimmed its pages, reading about three heroes journeying across kingdoms, enduring hardship after hardship, all with a single goal—to defeat the unbeatable Demon King.
I chuckled softly and closed the book.
"How predictable," I murmured.
Affixing a transportation talisman to a nearby door, I wrote a single destination.
The Demon King's Castle.
The world shifted.
Stone walls replaced shelves, and the scent of old magic filled the air. I walked unchallenged through the castle, guards unaware of my presence, until I reached the planning chamber.
Knocking once, I stepped inside.
The Demon King sat alone at a long table; papers spread before him. He looked up, surprise flickering briefly across his face before melting into amusement.
"Miss Thor," he greeted. "You're early."
"Greetings, Your Honorary King," I said with a playful curtsy. "Or should I call you Diablo?"
He laughed. "Either works."
He gestured for me to sit, and I did, helping myself to the sweets laid out nearby.
"The heroes are coming for you again," I said casually. "This time with the elven artifact."
His laughter filled the room. "That relic again? They never learn."
"They believe you're evil," I added.
"Am I not?" he teased, sipping his tea.
He wasn't—not truly. Just a ruler who did what humans refused to forgive.
"So," I asked, "what's your plan?"
"Same as always," he replied. "Win. Conquer. Rewrite history."
"How cruel," I said lightly.
"Aren't you going to stop me?" he asked, studying me closely.
I took a slow sip of tea. "It isn't my story."
Back in the Sacred Library, I arrived just as the travelers uncovered the artifact.
Before they could touch it, it vanished—appearing instead in my hand.
"Congratulations," I said. "You found it."
"Then give it to us," the swordsman demanded.
"First," I said, smiling, "tell me. Why do you wish to kill the Demon King?"
"Because he's evil," the mage replied. "He's destroyed kingdoms."
Only because heroes started the war, I thought.
But again—it wasn't my story.
I placed the artifact into their hands.
"It's yours now," I said. "Use it wisely."
They thanked me and left in haste.
As the library returned to silence, I sighed softly.
"Another group of traveling heroes," I muttered. "They never truly disappear from stories, do they, Victoria?"