— "This world was built by tired people. Unfortunately, they forgot to invite the architect who truly understood it." —
The city of Veriditas.
The capital of the Kingdom of Aurelian, one of the three great kingdoms in the Fourth Layer of the Grand Tapestry.
Aeon stood in the middle of the main square, surrounded by hundreds of people passing by, and felt… nothing.
It wasn't because the city was ordinary. On the contrary, Veriditas was the most extraordinary sight he had ever seen in his life—or after his death, depending on how one looked at it.
The buildings here were not made of brick or concrete, but of a milky crystal that emitted a soft light from within. Each building had a different height, creating a silhouette like the teeth of a giant saw against the golden-purple twilight sky.
The streets were not paved with asphalt, but with white marble slabs arranged in intricate geometric patterns. Between the slabs, glowing moss grew, emitting a pale blue light when stepped on.
And the people—Aeon observed them carefully. Most of them had blond or light brown hair, with blue or green eyes. Their clothing ranged from simple robes to luxurious gowns with intricate lace. Some carried weapons—swords at their waists, daggers in their boots, or wooden staves adorned with precious gems.
But what stood out the most were the creatures that were clearly not human.
In the corner of the square, a man with pointed ears and silvery skin—an elf, Aeon guessed—was arguing with a meat merchant over the price of a chicken that was still alive and visibly angry. Near the fountain, a woman with a furry tail and cat ears—a werebeast—was reading a book while occasionally licking her hand. And on the roof of one building, Aeon could see the shadow of a winged creature watching the sky.
Fantasy. All the fantasy he had ever read in books had suddenly become real in front of him.
And Aeon felt nothing.
"It's like a painting," he thought. "Beautiful, but not real."
He looked down at his clothes, still the same—worn white shirt, black jacket, torn jeans. In his hand, The Hollow Tome remained firmly gripped. The book now felt warm, no longer ice-cold.
"At least my clothes came with me," he thought flatly. "That's good. I didn't want to be naked in a strange world."
Aeon's first step in this new world was… walking.
He had no destination. No mission. No one to meet. The Keeper in the library had said there was a "danger" threatening this world, but that wasn't his concern. Aeon was already tired enough of saving worlds in the books he had read. Saving the real world? Too troublesome.
So he walked. Following the flow of the crowd. Looking at shops, stalls, and street vendors. Breathing in air that smelled of baked bread, roses, and something like… ozone? Perhaps the remnants of magic.
He passed a bookstore—and for the first time in many years, his heart beat a little faster.
"A bookstore," he thought. "In a new world, the first bookstore I see."
Without thinking twice, he entered.
The bookstore was small and cramped, with wooden shelves packed tightly with books of various sizes and colors. The ceiling was low, and hanging oil lamps gave off a warm but dim light. The scent of old paper and sheepskin filled the room.
Behind the cashier counter, an old woman with half-moon glasses was reading a book while occasionally rubbing her prominent nose. Her hair was completely white, neatly tied in a bun at the back of her head. She didn't look up when Aeon entered—or she saw him but chose not to greet him.
Aeon walked between the shelves. His eyes scanned the book titles.
"The History of the Kingdom of Aurelian: From Its Founding to the Fall of the Third Dynasty."
"Introduction to Elemental Magic for Beginners Who Don't Want to Die."
"101 Ways to Cook Griffin Meat (Without Being Poisoned by Its Bile)."
"Tales of the Gods: Myths, Facts, and the Lies of the Church."
He picked up the last book. Its cover was made of black leather with golden lettering he didn't recognize—but the moment he touched it, the letters shifted into a language he could understand.
"The ability to read reality," he remembered. "Including reading foreign languages."
He opened the book. The first page read:
"Some say the gods are good. Some say they are evil. The truth is: the gods are bored. They created the world because they had no other entertainment. Then they grew bored again. Then they destroyed it. A tedious cycle, really."
Aeon smiled—a small, almost invisible smile. For the first time in a long while, he felt something resembling… interest.
"This book was written by someone who is sick of the gods," he thought. "I like the author."
"That book costs five silver coins."
Aeon turned. The old woman at the counter was now staring at him with sharp eyes behind her glasses.
"I don't have any money," Aeon said honestly.
"Then why did you come into my shop?"
"To read."
The old woman snorted. "This is a bookstore, not a library. If you want to read for free, go to the Royal Library. It's big and open to the public."
"Where is the Royal Library?"
The old woman pointed toward the window. "To the east. The white building with the blue dome. You can't miss it."
"Thank you."
Aeon placed the book back on the shelf. The old woman frowned.
"You're not buying it?"
"I don't have money."
"Then you can't read it."
"But I already did."
The old woman fell silent. Aeon could see the muscles in her jaw tighten.
"…You read it? While standing there?"
"The first page."
"You read that fast?"
"Not particularly fast. Just one page."
The old woman studied him carefully. Her eyes traced his shabby clothes, his pale face, and the unusual black book in his hand.
"You're a stranger," she said finally. It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"Where are you from?"
"Far away."
"How far?"
Aeon thought. "So far that I'm not sure I can go back."
The old woman was silent for a long time. Then she stood up—slowly, because her knees seemed to hurt—and walked toward Aeon. She took his hand and turned it over, examining his empty palm.
"No guild mark. No wizard tattoo. No ritual scars," she muttered. "You're not from any guild. You're clearly not nobility, judging by your clothes. Not a merchant, since you have no money. Not an adventurer, since you're unarmed."
"So?"
"So you're a puzzle. And I hate puzzles."
She released Aeon's hand and returned to the counter.
"But I also hate people who read in my shop without buying anything. So go to the Royal Library. You can read as much as you want there. But be careful—the monks there are fanatics. They claim to serve the Goddess of Knowledge, but they're really just a bunch of arrogant old know-it-alls who like to dictate what can and cannot be read."
"Thanks for the advice."
"Don't thank me. I just want you to leave."
Aeon nodded and walked toward the door. But before he exited, the old woman spoke again.
"Hey, stranger."
Aeon turned.
"That book in your hand… it's strange. I've been selling books for forty years, and I've never seen material like that. The cover doesn't look like leather, cloth, or metal. And when you hold it… your shadow moves."
Aeon looked down. His shadow on the wooden floor—yes, it was moving. Not much, just slightly, as if something was writhing inside it.
"It's just the lighting," Aeon said flatly.
The old woman snorted. "You're a bad liar. But it's not my business. Be careful, stranger. In this city, strange things quickly attract attention. And not all attention is good."
Aeon didn't reply. He left the bookstore and returned to the square.
The twilight sun was almost gone. The sky had shifted from golden-purple to deep blue. Street lamps began to light up—not electric lights, but floating orbs of light hovering above iron poles.
He looked east. In the distance, he could see the white building with the blue dome the old woman had mentioned.
The Royal Library.
"First destination," he thought. "Not to save the world. Just to read."
He started walking.
The journey to the Royal Library took about twenty minutes. Aeon passed through a night market that was starting to get crowded, where vendors sold strange foods—blue grilled meat, flickering fruits, and drinks that emitted colorful smoke.
He passed a small temple dedicated to the "Goddess Protector of Travelers." In front of the temple, a female priest in white robes was handing out free bread to beggars. Aeon took one—not because he was hungry (he wasn't sure he could feel hunger anymore), but because the bread felt warm in his hands.
He passed an alley where two men were arguing over gambling debts. One pulled out a knife, the other… summoned fire from his hand? Aeon watched for a moment, then walked away as the fire began to burn a trash bin.
"Magic," he thought. "They really have magic here."
He wasn't impressed. In the books he had read, magic was always described as something wondrous and amazing. But seeing it directly—a bald man with a thick mustache burning trash with his hand—felt… ordinary.
Maybe because he was already dead. Maybe because his brain was too tired to be impressed. Maybe because nothing could impress him anymore after he had seen his wife's—no, his fiancée's—face crushed under the rubble.
Aeon stopped walking.
"Why do I keep thinking about that?"
He hadn't remembered that face for a long time. He had almost forgotten he had ever had someone. But since arriving in this world, those memories kept resurfacing—faint, blurry, like a photo left too long in the sun.
"Maybe this is the effect of death," he thought. "Or maybe it's the effect of this book."
He stared at The Hollow Tome in his hand. The book felt warmer than before.
"Later," he thought. "I'll think about it later."
He continued walking.
The Royal Library turned out to be much larger than he had imagined.
The building wasn't just white with a blue dome. It was a massive complex consisting of one main octagonal building with four towers at each corner. Each tower had a dome of a different color—red, green, blue, and gold.
Around the complex, there was a neatly arranged garden with marble statues of figures Aeon didn't recognize—perhaps heroes, perhaps gods, perhaps kings of the past. A fountain in the center of the garden sprayed water that sparkled like diamonds.
And in front of the main gate stood two guards.
They were not ordinary humans. They were nearly three meters tall, their bodies fully encased in plate armor from head to toe. On the chest of the armor was engraved the symbol of a rising sun with wings.
"Knights," Aeon thought. "Or perhaps something else."
One of the guards stared at Aeon as he approached.
"Stop," the guard said. His voice was heavy and echoed inside his helmet. "The Royal Library is only open to citizens of the Kingdom of Aurelian who have a membership card. Or to guests from other kingdoms who have a letter of introduction from the embassy."
Aeon stopped.
"I don't have a membership card," he said. "Or a letter of introduction."
"Then you cannot enter."
"But I want to read."
The guard fell silent. Perhaps he wasn't used to someone being so blunt.
"This library is not for those who 'want to read'," the guard said at last. "It is a sacred institution dedicated to the Goddess of Knowledge. Only those who have proven themselves worthy are allowed access to its knowledge."
"How do I prove I'm worthy?"
"You must take the entrance exam. The exam is held every month. The next one is in three weeks."
"Three weeks?"
"Yes."
Aeon stared at the guard for a few seconds. Then he turned, looked around, and walked away.
He wasn't angry. He wasn't disappointed. He was just… observing.
"Three weeks," he thought. "What am I supposed to do for three weeks?"
He had no money. No place to stay. No purpose. No one.
"As usual," he thought bitterly. "Alone."
He walked back toward the square. Night had fully fallen now. The street lamps glowed brightly, and the crowd grew even denser. Music could be heard from somewhere—perhaps there was a party or festival.
Aeon walked aimlessly, letting his feet take him wherever. He passed a busy tavern, a closed weapon shop, and a dark alley that smelled of rotten fish.
In that alley, he stopped.
Not because he saw something. But because he felt something.
The Hollow Tome in his hand vibrated. A small vibration, almost imperceptible, but enough to catch his attention.
Aeon opened the book. Its blank pages… were no longer completely blank.
There was one sentence, written in liquid silver ink:
"Turn left. Two steps. Someone is seeking help."
Aeon stared at the sentence for a few seconds.
"Can this book write itself?" he thought. "Or is this the 'reading reality' ability the Keeper mentioned?"
He didn't know. But the faint curiosity that existed within him overcame his apathy.
He turned left. Two steps.
And there, in the corner of the dark alley, a young boy was sitting slumped against the wall. He looked about ten years old. His hair was messy brown, his face covered in cuts and bruises, and his eyes—those pale blue eyes—stared at Aeon with a mix of fear and hope.
In his hands, the boy held a book. A small book with a worn red cover.
"Please…" the boy whispered. His voice was hoarse, like someone who hadn't drunk water in a long time. "Please… save her…"
Aeon knelt in front of the boy. He didn't feel pity. He didn't feel compassion. He only… wanted to know.
"Who needs to be saved?" he asked flatly.
"My little sister…" The boy began to cry. Tears streamed down his dirty cheeks. "They kidnapped my sister… the men in black robes… they said she was 'suitable'… I don't know for what… but they took her to… to…"
The boy coughed. Blood came out of his mouth.
"He's badly injured," Aeon thought. "His internal organs might be damaged."
"Where did they take her?" Aeon asked.
"The Old Church… on South Hill…" The boy grabbed Aeon's hand. His hand was cold and trembling. "Please… I have no one else… I'm going to die here… but please save my sister… her name is Lilia… she's only six years old…"
Aeon looked at the boy's hand in his. Then he looked at the book in the boy's other hand.
"That book," he said. "What's in it?"
The boy was confused by the unexpected question. "It's… it's a storybook… my sister's… she really liked that book… I took it before they took her… as a memento…"
Aeon took the book from the boy's hand. He opened it. The pages were filled with colorful illustrations of a little girl adventuring with her animal friends.
"A children's book," he thought. "Nothing special."
He returned the book to the boy.
"Okay," Aeon said. "I'll save your sister."
The boy sobbed. "Really? You really will…"
"Yes. But I can't promise anything. And you might die here before I return."
The boy fell silent. His pale blue eyes stared at Aeon with an expression that was hard to read.
"That… that's okay," he said finally. "I've been dead ever since they took her away."
Aeon nodded. He stood up.
"The Old Church on South Hill," he repeated. "I'll go there."
He walked out of the alley. Behind him, he could hear the boy's quiet sobbing.
The Hollow Tome in his hand vibrated again. Aeon opened it.
The page now wrote a new sentence:
"First mission: Save Lilia. Reward: Information about this world. Risk: High. Probability of death: 47%. Note: This world is only just beginning to show its true face."
Aeon closed the book.
"47%," he muttered. "Fair enough."
He walked toward South Hill with calm steps and a face that showed no emotion.
In his empty heart, something strange began to grow.
Not kindness. Not heroism.
Just… curiosity.
"What's happening in that church?" he thought. "Who are the men in black robes? Why are they kidnapping children?"
And most importantly:
"Will I die again?"
He smiled faintly.
"It doesn't matter if I do."