With a "hmph," I drop my backpack in the hallway and kick my shoes off my feet. Days— no, appointments like today always drain an insane amount of energy from me. I don't know what it is about people that exhausts me so much.
Social exhaustion hits differently.
It lingers.
"Are you home again, sweetheart?" my mother's voice calls from somewhere inside the apartment.
"Don't ask," I call back and head toward the living room. Because draped over the back of the couch is something I've wanted for ages.
A collected edition of the first chapters of Tower of God.
I'd stumbled across this treasure by pure chance at a flea market. Which had led to a very embarrassing moment, because I'd squealed with excitement.
My joy echoed across the entire flea market.
Loudly. Shrill.
Me.
The same person who absolutely hates those kinds of sounds.
And what I almost hate just as much is people's attention.
And that's exactly what I got. Everyone stared at me.
Bright red with embarrassment, I paid the vendor's price without negotiating and fled. And I'd only just reached the beginning of the flea market…
Once again, I shove my wandering thoughts aside and sink onto the couch with a sigh. The smell of warm leather rises around me, and I relax instantly. Home is simply the best place.
I grab my book and am immediately in another world.
"Mirel, could you please take out the trash?" My mother's voice yanks me out of my thoughts.
Annoyed, I roll my eyes. But of course, I get up and grab the trash bag. I know what a good daughter is supposed to do. My parents do everything for me.
So I can take out the trash.
I shove the book into the waistband at the back of my pants.
What? Don't judge me.
Emergencies happen.
Reading emergencies.
So I just like having my books within reach. And they don't fit in my pockets…
I slip into my "I'll just be outside for a second" slippers and leave the house.
But when I turn the corner, I'm confronted with a scene of devastation.
"These damn little—"
The air smells rotten. The smell clings to the back of my throat. I gag.
The door to our trash shed has been forced open. The bio bin lies tipped over, its contents spread across the entire driveway. Hence the stench. Rotting food everywhere.
The lid of the general waste bin is open as well. I step closer, carefully trying not to step on mushy fruit and vegetables. The trash bags inside have been torn open — but at least they're not scattered everywhere.
With a sigh, I drop my trash bag in and close the lid.
Crawcoons…
The Worldrise didn't just change humans.
Something happened to some animals too.
Particularly annoying: the griffins.
Yes, I mean griffins. Creatures we know from myths. Half eagle, half lion. Except that in our world, there are now… subtypes running around.
Hybrids of birds and small predators.
Take Crawcoons, for example: heads and wings of crows, bodies of raccoons. They terrorize human settlements. Bad enough that they can fly. But to everyone's dismay, they're also more than just intelligent.
They're very good at using tools.
Locks slow them down.
They don't stop them.
And by nature, they are completely food-obsessed.
(Any similarities to me are deeply unfortunate.)
Despite their cute name — and the fact that they actually look kind of adorable — they are a massive nuisance. We have to secure trash bins and many other things extremely well. Because as I can clearly see here, they can even pick locks.
A vegetable patch? You wish. Crawcoons will harvest it for you — free of charge.
Fruit trees? You're lucky if you get anything at all.
Only coastal cities had it worse. There, creatures flew through the air that were a mix of seagulls and foxes. If there was such a thing as an asshole in the animal kingdom, that was it. Nature really went all in on spite.
I was just about to turn around and get a shovel and a broom when I heard it.
A metallic clink.
"You've got to be kidding me."
The damn little bastard was still here.
I took a few steps toward my mother's greenhouse.
And sure enough — right in front of the door, a Crawcoon was hovering in the air, its claws hooked into the lock.
Okay, hovering sounded a bit too elegant. It was struggling hard to keep itself positioned in front of the lock. Its wings flapped frantically, creating a surprising amount of wind.
Which was probably why it didn't hear me coming.
I strike decisively and grab it the way a mother cat grabs her young by the scruff of the neck.
The creature goes rigid. A pitiful sound escapes its beak.
Even though these beings look like they jumped straight out of a book, they still follow the rules of our world. And Crawcoons, apparently, have the instinct to go still when you grab them in the right spot.
At least, that's what I assume.
Just as I'm about to take a closer look at the thing — and scold it — everything suddenly goes black.
The world tilts—just slightly.
Dizziness washes over me, my stomach dropping.
I am gettin nauseous.
I squeeze my eyes shut, and when I open them again, I'm no longer in our garden.
Confused, I draw in a breath. The air is heavy, as if it carries the weight of centuries. It smells like leather, paper, secrets.
Suddenly my mouth goes dry. I swallow.
I let my hand drop — the one still holding the Crawcoon. It doesn't move either. I think it senses, just like I do, that we don't belong here. I don't even know where here is.
It's unbelievable.
I'm standing in a room. A vast room. Vast not because it's wide, but because it's tall. It's a corridor. And to my left and right, bookshelves stretch endlessly upward into the darkness.
I tilt my head back and slowly turn in a circle. But I can't tell how long this corridor is.
Or how high.
Strange, color-shifting lights flicker inside Victorian lanterns, spaced at intervals, illuminating the area around me. But the farther I try to look, the more everything blurs.
"Where the hell am I?" I whisper.
My voice sounds forbidden in this place. Every tiny hair on my arms stands on end.
Carefully — aware that I shouldn't be making any noise — I take a step toward the shelves.
The books draw me in somehow. Different sizes, colors, thicknesses. Made from all kinds of materials. At first glance, the spines show only unfamiliar symbols and patterns I can't make sense of.
But when I squint, the lines begin to blur.
The markings move, like tiny snakes writhing across the surface.
And then I can read them.
They're names.
Every book bears a name.
At least I'm fairly sure they are names, because some of them sound so strange they couldn't possibly be human.
The realization hits my mind like a stone dropped into still water.
A shiver runs through me.
Fuck.
Oh my God.
I don't want to accept it. Not yet. I was so sure. I want to believe the goblin was just a dream.
But right now — I'm not dreaming.
I'm awake.
There's a Crawcoon hanging from my hand.
And I'm definitely no longer on Earth.
I'm beneath it.
Its hiss echoes off the walls, and instead of fading, the sound seems to grow louder with every rebound.
As if the walls are answering it.As if the walls are answering it.
"Be quiet," I hiss through clenched teeth and shake it. Something tells me that nothing has been heard in this place for a very long time— and that I'm not supposed to be heard either.
I'm about to shake it again when the Crawcoon tenses.
And I feel it too.
Every hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and a cold sensation begins to crawl up my body from my feet. There is something — or someone — behind me.
Its presence causes a shift in the space itself. Pressure settles over my body, and each breath feels borrowed.
It's horrible not being able to see a threat. I learned that very clearly not long ago.
So I gather all my courage...
and turn around.
When I turn around, the first thing I see is his chest.
Broad. Massive. Too close.
His skin is gray. Not sickly. More like stone that has never known light.
Luminous lines run across it.
They shimmer silver, as if reflecting the glow of an unknown light source.
No. Not lines.
Script.
Characters, packed tightly together. They are not still. They shift, rearrange themselves, as if they're not telling something but… reading.
Me.
I let my gaze travel higher.
He is tall. Unnaturally tall. His body is flawless in a way that holds nothing human.
Where his eyes should be, there is only black.
Complete black.
And yet I know immediately:
He sees me.