— "In this world, information is more valuable than gold. Because gold only buys comfort. Information buys life." —
The Black Market of Whispers was not located underground. It was not hidden in dark back alleys or secret rooms behind wardrobes either. The Black Market of Whispers was in the most unexpected place: right in the middle of the Merchants' District, the economic heart of Veriditas, where thousands of people passed by every day without ever realizing that the kingdom's most secret information was being bought and sold right before their eyes.
Aeon stood in front of a bakery. An ordinary bakery, with a glass display case filled with wheat bread, honey cakes, and apple pies that released warm steam. Above the door hung a wooden sign reading "Milana's Daily Bread" in faded golden letters.
He opened The Hollow Tome. The last page he had read in the park earlier wrote:
"Black Market of Whispers. Location: Merchants' District, Dove Street Number 14. Disguise: Milana's Daily Bread Bakery. Password: 'I'm looking for a bread recipe that can make people forget.' Entry price: 1 piece of information unknown to anyone, or 10 gold coins. Alternative method: Read reality in front of the guard."
Aeon closed the book.
He entered the bakery. A small bell above the door tinkled. A plump woman with a flour-covered apron greeted him from behind the counter.
"Welcome! What would you like? The wheat bread just came out of the oven. The apple pies are still warm too."
Aeon walked to the counter. His eyes scanned the room—wooden shelves filled with bread, glass tables with small cakes, and a larger wooden door at the back wall.
"I'm looking for a bread recipe that can make people forget," Aeon said.
The woman stopped wiping her hands on her apron. Her friendly face instantly turned flat, like a mask being swapped.
"You come with a recommendation?"
"From someone who just met The Eye of Obsidian."
The woman frowned. Her brown eyes stared sharply at Aeon, scanning his pale face, his shabby black jacket, and the black book in his hand.
"You're the one who caused the commotion on South Hill last night?"
Aeon didn't answer. But his silence was answer enough.
The woman sighed. "Come in. But be careful. The market is busy today. There are some… unfriendly guests."
She pressed something under the counter. The wooden door at the back wall opened with a soft creak.
Aeon walked through the door and stepped into a completely different world.
Behind the door was not a dark room or underground tunnel. It was… a street.
A long street stretching as far as the eye could see, with a ceiling of colored glass that filtered sunlight into moving spectra of colors like flowing water. The walls on both sides were not made of stone or wood, but of books.
Thousands of books. Tens of thousands. Perhaps more. The books were neatly arranged on shelves that reached the ceiling, forming solid walls that separated narrow alleys. Each book had a different size, color, and thickness, and all of them… were alive.
Aeon could hear whispers. Not from the people walking along the street, but from the books themselves. Soft whispers, like someone reading in a very low voice, blending into a constant humming drone in the background.
"This… is a library," Aeon thought. "But not an ordinary library. This is a market."
And indeed, along the street were rows of stalls—stalls made of folding tables, wooden crates, woven baskets, even cloth tents tied between the book shelves. Each stall was tended by merchants ranging from ordinary humans to creatures that were clearly not human.
A man with three pairs of arms was selling small vials filled with colorful smoke. A woman with insect eyes and hair that moved like snakes offered neatly rolled leather maps. In the corner, a figure entirely wrapped in bandages sat behind a pile of crystals pulsing with inner light.
And among them, buyers walked with cautious steps. There were nobles in silk robes hiding their faces behind masks, knights in plate armor disguised with plain cloaks, mages with faintly glowing staves, and creatures Aeon couldn't identify—something walking on four legs but with a human face, something floating several inches above the ground with a body like a land jellyfish.
Aeon walked slowly, his eyes observing everything, his ears catching fragments of conversation.
"—The original manuscript from the lost Library of Alexandria. Price: three lives—"
"—A poison that can kill a god. But only if the god is asleep—"
"—A map to the Fifth Layer. Anyone interested? Only twenty gold coins—"
He stopped in front of the stall selling maps to the Fifth Layer. The merchant was an old man with round glasses and a shabby blue robe.
"The Fifth Layer?" Aeon repeated.
The old man looked at him. "Interested?"
"What's in the Fifth Layer?"
"The Fifth Layer is where The Unseen come from. A world where logic doesn't apply. A place where dreams and nightmares become real. Also where demons who defected from hell hide." The old man grinned, showing uneven yellow teeth. "Interested?"
"What's the price of this map?"
"For you, since it's your first time, a special discount. Five gold coins."
"I don't have money."
The old man snorted. "Bring information. Everyone here has information. Don't you have any?"
"I do. But I won't give it until I know its value."
The old man laughed. "You learn fast. Alright, young man. If you have no money, you can work for me. I need someone to retrieve something from a stall at the far end. Stall number seventeen. The owner owes me."
"What do I need to retrieve?"
"A book. Green cover, thick, titled 'The Hidden History of the Seven Layers.' Bring it to me, and the map is yours."
Aeon stared at the old man. His ability to "read reality" was still pulsing in his head—not as strong as in the church, but enough to sense that the old man was hiding something.
"What aren't you telling me?" Aeon asked.
The old man raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"You said the stall owner owes you. But I can feel there's something else. That book isn't just a book, is it?"
The old man fell silent. Then he smiled—a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"You're sharper than I thought. Fine. I'll be honest. The book was stolen from me. The man at stall seventeen isn't just a merchant. He's an agent of The Eye of Obsidian. I can't retrieve it myself because they know my face. But you… you're a new face. They won't suspect you."
Aeon stared at the old man. "The Eye of Obsidian again," he thought. "Like leeches. Everywhere."
"Alright," Aeon said. "I'll do it."
The old man smiled widely. "Good. But be careful. They won't let go of that book easily. And if you get caught, don't mention my name."
"I don't even know your name."
"Just call me Archivist. Everyone here calls me that."
Stall number seventeen was at the other end of the market, in a narrow alley branching off the main street. Unlike the other busy stalls, this one was quiet. No buyers. No other merchants nearby. Even the books on the surrounding walls looked darker, their covers seeming to absorb light.
Behind a simple wooden table sat a man calmly. He wasn't wearing a black robe like the men in the church, but ordinary clothes—a white shirt, black vest, gray trousers. But Aeon could feel it. The same vibration he had felt on South Hill. The vibration of The Unseen.
The man looked at Aeon as he approached. His eyes were pale blue—like Leo's, like Lilia's—but without warmth. Only emptiness.
"Can I help you?" the man asked. His voice was smooth, almost friendly.
Aeon glanced at the table. Among several other books, there was one with a green cover. Thick, with golden lettering on the front. "The Hidden History of the Seven Layers."
"I'm interested in that book," Aeon said, pointing.
The man followed his finger. A thin smile appeared on his face.
"A rare book. Ten gold coins."
"I don't have money."
"Information?"
"What do you need?"
The man studied him carefully. Then his eyes fell on The Hollow Tome in Aeon's hand. His smile vanished.
"That book in your hand," he said. "I've never seen material like that before. Where did you get it?"
"From a friend."
"A friend? Or perhaps… a Keeper?"
Aeon didn't react. But inside, he felt something—a warning. This man knew something.
"I don't know what you mean," Aeon said flatly.
The man stood up. His movement was slow, like someone in no hurry, but there was something behind the slowness that put Aeon on alert.
"You know," the man said. "You know exactly what I mean. That book… its scent. Like the gap between realities. Like the Library Between. You're a Reader, aren't you?"
Aeon didn't answer.
The man laughed. A small, cold laugh.
"Interesting. We heard a Reader had appeared in Veriditas. But we thought it was just a rumor. Turns out it's true."
"We?" Aeon repeated. "The Eye of Obsidian?"
The man raised an eyebrow. "You know us. Good. That makes everything easier." He stepped out from behind the table and approached Aeon. "You disrupted our ritual last night. Saved children you shouldn't have saved. But maybe that doesn't matter. A Reader… you're worth more than a hundred children."
"You won't get me."
"You think you can fight? Alone? With a book you haven't even mastered yet?" The man extended his hand. "Join us. The Eye of Obsidian always needs people with special abilities. We can give you anything you want. Knowledge. Power. Even a way back to your world."
Aeon stared at the outstretched hand.
"You killed Leo," he said.
The man frowned. "Leo?"
"Lilia's brother. The boy you let die in the alley."
"Ah, that." The man shrugged. "He wasn't important. Just an obstacle. But you… you're different."
"I don't join organizations that kill children."
"You don't care about children. I can see it in your eyes. You don't care about anyone. So don't pretend to be a hero."
Aeon fell silent. The man was right. Aeon didn't care about the children. At least, he thought so. But something—something that had been growing in his chest since he saw Leo die holding the red book—made him unable to accept the offer.
"What is this?" he thought. "What's happening to me?"
He had no answer. But he knew one thing: he didn't want to become part of them.
"No," Aeon said.
The man sighed. "Too bad. I tried to be nice."
He moved.
Fast. Faster than he should have. The hand he had extended turned into claws—long black nails emerged from his fingertips, and his skin turned a pale gray like rotting flesh.
Aeon stepped back. The Hollow Tome opened by itself.
But before the book could write anything, the man was already in front of him. His claws slashed—not at Aeon, but at the book.
Aeon twisted his body. The claws struck his arm instead. A sharp pain shot through his arm—fresh red blood flowed from three long gashes.
"It hurts," Aeon thought. "I can still feel pain."
He used that pain to push himself back several steps. The Hollow Tome was already open in his hand. Silver ink began to flow.
The man didn't give him time. He leaped again, claws extended.
Aeon wrote one word:
"SLOW."
Silver ink shot from the page, forming a thin mist in the air. The man entered the mist, and his movements… slowed. Like movement in a dream, sluggish and stuttering.
But Aeon could feel the cost. Not fatigue. Not pain. But something lost. A memory. A memory of… what? He no longer remembered. Something about his mother. The smell of toasted bread in the morning. A warm hand on his forehead when he had a fever.
That memory was gone. Used as fuel for the word "SLOW."
"So that's the price," Aeon thought, and for the first time in a long while, he felt something resembling… fear. "I lost a memory."
But he had no time to reflect. The man was almost through the mist. His movements were returning to normal.
Aeon wrote another word:
"PUSH."
Silver ink formed an invisible wave that slammed into the man's chest, hurling him back several meters. The man tumbled, his wooden table overturned, books scattering across the floor.
Including the green-covered book.
Aeon grabbed it.
"I'm taking this," he said.
The man rose with burning red eyes. His face had changed—his skin was peeling, revealing gray flesh underneath, and from his mouth, something black and slimy began to emerge.
The Unseen. The parasite was coming out of its host.
Aeon didn't wait. He ran.
He ran through narrow alleys, past stalls where merchants shouted in surprise, past buyers who screamed at the sight of a man running with a bleeding arm and books in hand.
Behind him, he could hear shouting—not human shouting, but something deeper, older, hungrier.
The Unseen was chasing him.
Aeon turned right, then left, weaving through piles of books and towering shelves. He didn't know the direction. He just ran.
And then he saw it. The wooden door in the back wall—the same door he had entered through. Beside it, the plump woman from the bakery stood with a panicked face.
"Quick!" she shouted. "Get in!"
Aeon dashed toward the door. The woman pressed something on the wall, and the door opened. Aeon leaped through—
And the door slammed shut just as something black and slimy slammed against it from the other side.
Aeon fell onto the bakery floor, gasping. His arm was still bleeding. His chest felt like it was burning. And his head… his head throbbed with excruciating pain.
The woman knelt beside him, checking his wound.
"You idiot," she said, but her tone was more worried than angry. "You're a real idiot. Fighting an agent of The Eye of Obsidian inside the market? Alone? Do you have a death wish or what?"
"Maybe," Aeon said hoarsely.
The woman sighed. She took a small bottle from her apron pocket, poured blue liquid into her palm, and applied it to Aeon's wound.
The pain eased. The skin around the gashes began to knit together, leaving thin pink scars.
"This is just first aid," the woman said. "For full healing, you need a proper healer. But this should stop the bleeding."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me. I didn't do it for you. I did it because if you died in my shop, my reputation would be ruined."
Aeon didn't reply. He sat up and checked the books in his hands. The Hollow Tome was intact. And the green-covered book—"The Hidden History of the Seven Layers"—was also undamaged.
He opened the green book. The first page read:
"This is not a book for those afraid of the truth. If you are afraid, close this book and forget it. But if you want to know why this world is the way it is—why there are seven layers, why the gods are silent, why the dead can live again—then read. But remember: the truth will not set you free. The truth will only give you a heavier burden."
Aeon smiled faintly.
"A burden," he thought. "I already have plenty. One more doesn't matter."
He stood up and looked at the woman.
"I have to go back. Someone is waiting for me."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "You're going back into the market? After what just happened?"
"I promised to return this book to the Archivist."
"The Archivist?" The woman laughed bitterly. "You just realized you were tricked? That's not his real name. He's one of the sneakiest information merchants in the market. That book is probably worth more than the map he promised."
"I know."
"You know? Then why did you still do it?"
Aeon looked at the green book in his hand.
"Because I wanted to read this book. And this was the easiest way to get it."
The woman fell silent. Then she shook her head.
"You really are strange."
"I hear that a lot."
He returned to the Black Market of Whispers through the same door. This time, the woman didn't stop him. She only said, "Be careful. They might still be looking for you."
Aeon entered the market again. The atmosphere inside was slightly different—more tense, more wary. Some merchants looked at him suspiciously. Others avoided eye contact.
He walked quickly toward the Archivist's stall. The old man was still sitting in his place, reading a small book with round glasses perched on the tip of his nose.
He looked up as Aeon approached.
"You did it," he said, his eyes widening when he saw the green book in Aeon's hand. "I can't believe you actually did it."
"You told me to get this book," Aeon said, placing it on the table. "Now give me the map."
The Archivist took the book with trembling hands. He flipped through the pages, making sure it was genuine. Then he smiled broadly.
"Excellent. Very good. You're truly impressive, young man." He reached into his robe and pulled out a small scroll—a neatly rolled piece of parchment tied with a red ribbon. "Here's the map to the Fifth Layer. But remember, this map only shows the entrance. I'm not responsible for what happens after you go in."
Aeon took the map. He opened it briefly—intricate lines, unfamiliar symbols, and a red dot in the center with the words: "Sleeping Gate, Whispers Forest, 40 km east of Veriditas."
"Thank you," Aeon said.
The Archivist nodded. "One more thing. You might need this."
He took out a small card—a thin silver metal card engraved with the symbol of a half-closed eye.
"This is a Market Visitor Card. With this, you can enter anytime without a password. It also gives discounts at several stalls. Consider it a bonus."
Aeon accepted the card. "Thank you again."
"Don't thank me. We've just started a good business relationship. I have a feeling you'll be coming back here often."
Aeon didn't reply. He tucked the map and card into his jacket, then turned to leave.
But the Archivist called him.
"Hey, young man. That other black book in your hand—be careful with it. Things like that don't appear for no reason. And those searching for it aren't just The Eye of Obsidian. There are… other parties interested too."
"Other parties?"
The Archivist sighed. "Do you know about The Synod of Eyes?"
Aeon recalled the note in The Hollow Tome. "The Synod of Eyes. The larger organization behind The Eye of Obsidian."
"I know a little."
"The Synod of Eyes is an umbrella organization overseeing three factions: The Eye of Obsidian (which you met), The Eye of Crimson (operating in neighboring kingdoms), and The Eye of Jade (infiltrating the churches). They all serve one goal: to awaken something called 'The Slumbering King'."
"The Slumbering King?"
"The Sleeping King. An entity from the First Layer. A being said to be a fragment of the Third One—the angry god who shattered reality into seven layers. Legend says if the Slumbering King awakens, he will reunite the seven layers. And everything living within them will… merge. Become one consciousness. Become him."
Aeon fell silent.
The horror of those words didn't sink in immediately. But slowly, like water seeping into soil, he began to understand.
"Uniting the seven layers. Merging all consciousness. That means… destroying individuality. Destroying freedom. Destroying everything."
"And The Hollow Tome?" Aeon asked. "What does it have to do with this?"
The Archivist shrugged. "That's still unknown. But there are rumors that The Hollow Tome is the key. Or perhaps a weapon. Or maybe… a guide. What's clear is that The Synod of Eyes wants it. And they won't stop until they get it."
Aeon stared at the black book in his hand.
"Key. Weapon. Guide."
He didn't know which was true. But one thing he knew: from now on, his life would never be peaceful.
"It never was," he thought bitterly.
"Thank you for the information," Aeon said. "It's more valuable than the map."
The Archivist smiled. "That's why I gave it for free. You already paid by retrieving that book. But next time, information like that will have a price. Remember that."
Aeon nodded. He turned and walked away from the Archivist's stall, through the market alleys that were beginning to recover from the earlier chaos, and exited through the bakery door.
Outside, the sun was already tilting westward. Afternoon in Veriditas. He had spent nearly the entire day inside the market.
His arm still ached, even though the wound had closed. His head still throbbed. And in his chest, that strange feeling—regret, or whatever it was—remained.
"The Slumbering King," Aeon thought. "The Synod of Eyes. The seven layers of reality."
He opened The Hollow Tome. The last page wrote:
"New information: The Synod of Eyes is an umbrella organization of three factions. Their goal: to awaken the Slumbering King, an entity from the First Layer who will reunite the seven layers of reality. The Hollow Tome is their target. Reason: unknown.
Risk increased. The Eye of Obsidian now knows your face and will hunt you. The Synod of Eyes may also begin to take interest.
Suggestion: Don't stay in one place too long. Find allies. Develop your abilities. And most importantly—read the green book as soon as possible. The information inside it could save your life."
Aeon closed the book.
He walked out of the Merchants' District, through streets beginning to fill with evening activity. Vendors started packing up their goods, street lamps began to light up one by one, and in the distance, church bells rang to mark the evening prayer time.
He had no place to stay. No money. No friends. He only had the black book in his hand, the green book in his jacket, and the blue stone necklace around his neck.
"Find allies," he repeated in his mind. "Who would want to ally with me?"
He thought of Lilia. The little girl with pale blue eyes who gave him the necklace because she thought he was sad.
"She's still a child. She can't be an ally."
He thought of Anna. The tired middle-aged woman who still wanted to save the children.
"She's busy with her orphanage. She can't fight."
He thought of the Archivist. The cunning information merchant who only cared about profit.
"He can't be fully trusted."
Aeon sighed.
"Alone again," he thought. "As usual."
But this time, the feeling didn't feel like relief. It felt like… a burden.
"Strange," he thought. "I used to like being alone. Now… it feels like something is missing."
He stopped at the side of the road, looking up at the golden-orange evening sky.
"Maybe because I'm already dead. Maybe the dead aren't supposed to be alone."
He didn't know. But he knew one thing: he couldn't go back to the orphanage. That would endanger Lilia and the other children. The Eye of Obsidian would look for him. They would watch the orphanage.
"I need to stay away. At least for now."
He looked at the map the Archivist had given him. "Sleeping Gate, Whispers Forest, 40 km east of Veriditas."
"The Fifth Layer," he thought. "The world of The Unseen. The place least likely to be searched by The Eye of Obsidian."
He made his decision.
"I'll go there. But not now. First, I need to read this green book. Understand what's really happening in this world. Then… we'll see."
He looked for a safe place to spend the night. A small park near the river, with stone benches sheltered by shady trees. Not many people there at night. Only a few homeless people already sleeping under the bridge.
Aeon sat on one of the benches, placed The Hollow Tome beside him, and opened the green book.
"The Hidden History of the Seven Layers."
The first page:
"In the beginning, there was nothing. Then came the First One. He was weary. He created the Second One so He would not be alone in His exhaustion…"
Aeon read.
He read about how the First One—the nameless entity called "The Tired One"—created the Second One ("The Bored One") out of loneliness. About how the Second One created the Third One ("The Angry One") out of boredom. About how the Third One, in his anger, shattered the Second One into a thousand pieces—and each piece became a reality.
The seven largest pieces became the seven layers of reality. The rest became small worlds orbiting between the layers.
The First Layer was where the original gods—fragments of the Second One—lived. The Second Layer was where later-born gods, created by the original gods, resided. The Third Layer was the world of spirits, ethereal beings, and abstract entities. The Fourth Layer was the physical world—where humans, elves, werebeasts, and other mortal creatures lived. The Fifth Layer was the world of darkness—where The Unseen and nightmare creatures originated. The Sixth Layer was the empty world, where failed or abandoned realities went. The Seventh Layer was the most mysterious—where everything ended, and perhaps, where everything began again.
Aeon read about how the gods in the First Layer began to quarrel after the death of the Second One. About how some wanted to reunite reality, while others wanted to leave it shattered. About the war that lasted for thousands of years. About the Slumbering King—one of the gods from the First Layer who wanted to unite reality, who was eventually defeated and put to sleep by the other gods.
But before he was put to sleep, the Slumbering King created The Synod of Eyes—a secret organization that would continue working to awaken him, no matter how many generations passed.
Aeon read about how The Synod of Eyes infiltrated every kingdom, every church, every organization. About how they kidnapped children with special talents—Soul Weavers, Seers, Readers—to use as materials for rituals to awaken the Slumbering King. About how they created The Unseen as weapons and tools.
He read about The Hollow Tome.
The book wasn't mentioned directly. But there was one section that made Aeon stop reading.
"It is said that there was a book written by the Second One before he was destroyed. A book containing all knowledge about reality—about how it was created, how it could be destroyed, and how it could be created again. The book was called 'The Tome of Realities.' But after the Second One was shattered, the book disappeared. Some believe it was destroyed along with the Second One. Some believe it still exists, hidden in the Library Between Realities, guarded by a loyal Keeper. And some believe… the book is not just a book. It is the last fragment of the Second One. His soul. His memories. Whoever possesses the book… possesses the power to rewrite reality itself."
Aeon closed the book.
He stared at The Hollow Tome beside him. The ordinary-looking black book that held extraordinary secrets.
"The Tome of Realities," he thought. "The book written by the Second One. The last fragment of the bored god."
He picked up the book. Its cover felt warm in his hand.
"The Keeper didn't tell me this. Or maybe she didn't know. Or maybe she deliberately didn't tell me."
He didn't know. But one thing he knew: The Synod of Eyes would never stop hunting him. As long as he held this book, he was their number one target.
And Lilia… Lilia possessed Soul Weaving, the ability they needed for the ritual to awaken the Slumbering King.
"I can't leave her," Aeon thought. "But I also can't protect her if I stay with her."
He sighed.
"I need to become stronger. I need to master this book. I need to understand how to use it without losing all my memories."
He opened The Hollow Tome. Its pages were blank. But now, he knew that every word he wrote would use his memories and emotions as fuel.
"I have to be frugal," he thought. "Only write when it's truly necessary."
He closed the book, placed it beside him, and looked up at the night sky.
The stars in Veriditas were different from the stars in his old world. They moved, spinning in intricate patterns, like a dance orchestrated by an invisible hand.
"In my old world, I read books to forget," Aeon thought. "Here, I read books to remember."
He smiled faintly. A smile that was almost invisible, but real.
"Ironic."
He closed his eyes.
Not to sleep. He wasn't sure he could sleep anymore after his death. But he could rest. Let his mind calm. Let his body recover.
Tomorrow, he would go to Whispers Forest. Find the Sleeping Gate. Enter the Fifth Layer.
And perhaps there, he would find answers to the questions that remained unanswered.
"Who am I now?"
"What is my purpose here?"
"Am I still human?"
Or perhaps he would only find more questions.
But that didn't matter.
What mattered was that the story wasn't over yet.
And Aeon, for the first time in many years, wanted to see how this story would end.