Orion couldn't move.
His legs felt rooted to the floor, as though the polished wood had grown cold tendrils around his ankles, binding him in place. The figure at the far end of the table remained perfectly still—a statue carved from shadow and candlelight.
Yet Orion felt it.
The weight of its attention pressed against his chest, heavy and suffocating, as if unseen eyes bored into him across the impossible distance.
He swallowed.
Running hadn't helped before. The library had only twisted further into nightmare. Hiding was no longer an option—there were no corners left, no shelves to duck behind. The mist ringed the central space now, a patient wall of gray that swallowed sound, light, and hope with equal indifference.
There was only one path left.
Forward.
Orion forced his legs to move.
One tentative step carried him along the edge of the endless table. A chair beside him creaked softly—
[SFX: **CREEEAK**]
—though nothing had touched it.
Another step.
Overhead, the chandeliers began to sway.
[SFX: **CLINK… CLINK…**]
Crystal prisms chimed against one another, a gentle, melodic sound that should have been comforting. Instead, it felt like warning bells tolling in some distant cathedral. There was no wind. No draft.
Yet the motion persisted.
With every stride he took, the chandeliers' swaying grew more pronounced, as though the space itself responded to his approach.
The table stretched endlessly beneath his hand, but the figure at its end grew clearer.
Not larger.
Sharper.
Perspective did not behave as it should. Instead, the distance between them folded in subtle increments, compressing reality like pages pressed together.
Orion's heart pounded in rhythm with his footsteps.
[SFX: **THUMP—THUMP—THUMP**]
He kept one hand on the table for balance, fingers brushing past velvet cushions and carved armrests—chairs that hadn't existed minutes ago, their presence now absolute and undeniable.
Halfway.
Or what felt like halfway, though the concept of distance had lost all meaning.
He stopped.
The silhouette resolved.
It was a man.
Strikingly—*unfairly*—handsome.
Long dark hair spilled past his shoulders, straight and glossy like liquid ink, framing a face shaped by aristocratic precision. High cheekbones. A jawline sharp enough to cut glass. Features so refined that, in another life, people would have worshipped them without question.
His skin was pale and flawless, faintly luminous beneath the candlelight.
But it was his eyes that froze Orion in place.
Obsidian black.
Depthless.
Ancient.
They were not merely watching him—they were *measuring* him, dissecting him with the practiced indifference of something that had judged countless souls before this one.
The man wore elaborate robes of midnight silk, layered and flowing. Subtle embroidery glimmered as the fabric shifted—arcane symbols, twisting glyphs that writhed when stared at directly.
They were not decorative.
They hummed.
A low, inaudible vibration like embers sleeping beneath ash.
Orion's mouth went dry.
He forced himself forward the final distance, stopping ten feet away—close enough to notice the faint upward curve at the corner of the man's lips.
Not quite a smile.
"Who…" His voice cracked.
He swallowed and tried again. "Who are you? Where is everyone? The librarian—Mrs. Delgado—my stuff—"
His words tumbled over one another, panic bleeding through.
"What the hell is happening?"
The man said nothing.
He merely studied Orion, head tilted a fraction, gaze amused and predatory—as though inspecting some curious thing washed up by fate.
The silence stretched.
[SFX: **CREAK… SWAY…**]
Chandeliers rocked gently overhead. Far away, the mist whispered against itself.
Orion shifted his weight. "Say something," he pleaded. "Please."
Nothing.
The dark eyes never blinked.
Panic surged.
Orion stepped backward.
Then another step.
Cold brushed his heels.
He glanced down.
The mist had crept closer while he approached. Now it pressed against him, thick and cloying, sealing off retreat. He turned and thrust a hand into it.
[SFX: **FSSSSSH**]
The vapor parted like smoke—
—and reformed instantly, denser than before.
A wall.
He spun back to face the man, breath coming in short, ragged bursts.
"This isn't funny," Orion said. "Whatever this is—a dream, a prank, VR—whatever—just let me out."
For the first time, the man's expression changed.
The faint curve at his mouth deepened into a smile.
Subtle. Polite.
Utterly chilling.
It did not reach his eyes.
Orion's skin crawled.
Then—
The man spoke.
His voice was smooth as polished jade, low and commanding. It carried effortlessly across the vast space between them, each syllable landing with perfect clarity. An accent colored the words—ancient, cultured, inevitable.
"You've crossed a threshold few survive, boy."
[SFX: **—**]
The words hung in the perfumed air.
The floor seemed to tilt beneath Orion's feet, though it remained perfectly level.
Above them, the chandeliers swayed harder now.
[SFX: **CLINK—CLASH—FLUTTER**]
Candle flames guttered violently, bending as though something vast and unseen had just drawn its first, terrible breath.
And the library listened.