The smell of ozone and battle lingered, but distantly. My thoughts were trying to arrange themselves into something that resembled sense- but that was a good distance off. Given the insanity of the past few hours, I was going to allow it. That I wasn't a full-on gibbering lunatic mess felt like enough of a win.
This place was thick, both in my ability to discern it, and the way it was soupy like morning fog. There were edges to the place when I looked around, but out of the corner of my eye, it looked more like an endless green horizon that stretched a great deal further than my normal vision should carry. Super unsettling, would not recommend.
Beyond where I'd teleported, for lack of a better guess as to what had happened, there were two landmarks. The dark silhouette of a city up in the sky. Perfectly sensible place for it really. And that fucking rift. Like a beacon in the sky that screamed "Fuck you bitch, I lived".
It would probably be more irritating if things here seemed more…solid. But as it was, corporeality wasn't just a struggle for my brain, it was also a challenge for my limbs. If I didn't focus on them really hard, they just…didn't exist. Even in the first minutes of, what I wouldn't even describe as panic- which, I very much feel like panic should have been the sensation I was experiencing when my body had straight up Houdini'd itself to who the fuck knew where- but with curious experimenting, I could form the general outline of my limbs.
As far as party tricks went, it was pretty cool.
The green glow in my hand was missing, which wasn't too exciting because I couldn't be certain if that was wishful thinking or just shoddy craftsmanship on my part. There was definitely the sensation of it being there, along with the muted aches and pains that putting my body through a demon blender had given me- which were also visibly missing. Given that I couldn't see them, even when I was trying, gave me the impression that there was something ever so slightly off about the way I was manifesting my body in this place, if that was even the right word.
But that all felt like a lot of work, and who's got time for that shit? Well, maybe I do, since there's a non-zero chance that I'm dead and this is like…the world's most underwhelming afterlife. But there didn't seem to be much point to focusing on it if it didn't bother me, so I just didn't. Instead, decided to drift around like some kind of abstract concept, which was peaceful.
But also boring in an empty sort of way. Admittedly, getting my ass handed to me repeatedly by both mountains and supernatural beings was a little more 'exciting' than I'd prefer, I still liked to stay busy. Most of my time was spent sweating and swearing in a crowded and aggressively loud kitchen, at any given moment on the cusp of a nervous breakdown over forgetting something in the ovens.
So naturally, I wandered off.
A series of floating islands caught my eye, each platform hosting bits of a structure. It looked like it might have once been a castle that had been ripped apart. But instead of crumbling, it had maintained its shape as though pieces had just been photoshopped away- because evidently things like gravity and physics were more or less optional in this place. It looked old, but only because of the style of the crafted stone walls and archways, and the stained-glass windows that glowed with an interior light. Beyond that it didn't look particularly aged.
It seemed as good a spot as any to investigate, so I drifted into one of the open archways. Inside, it almost seemed normal. Beyond the entry with the smooth stone floor and tapestries that hung from the walls, it looked like a library.
Book ladened shelves rose all the way to the ceiling- or the hole where there had been a ceiling previously. Candles lined the walls intermittently, a safe distance from anything flammable, and where the warm glow reached, it seemed to cut through the fog of the place, and my brain.
The flickering light helped give my body substance too. I felt the stone beneath my feet as I walked, and even caught glimpses of my nose again, though it seemed like every part of me jumped in and out of familiarity, disinclined to settle in a normal way. Anyone looking at me was probably seeing some kind of Picasso-esque eldritch horror shifting about. Ideally, I wasn't going to come across any mirrors in this place.
Approaching one of the shelves, I reached for a book, trailing a finger along its thick leather spine. Despite giving the impression of an ancient dusty library that had been lost to time, everything was as fresh as if I'd stolen it from Walmart. Boring or not, I was definitely going to spend some time here. Pulling the rich burgundy tome from the shelf, I turned to set it on a nearby desk. I got about halfway when I spotted the slumped skeleton relaxing in the carved wooden chair.
"Well, that's probably not a good sign," my voice sounded unfamiliar here, and it echoed far too loud for my liking. But nothing came crumbling down, so with a shrug, I dropped the book on the table and flipped it open.
"Greetings-"
"Hofuck!" my sense of calm had evaporated in an instant and I shot about a foot in the air, ghosting into a floating brain once again. There was an orange glowing figure at the end of the desk, largely indistinguishable beyond the fact that it was vaguely humanoid.
"What- uh…who-" I returned to solid ground and felt my limbs reestablish themselves, eyeing the skeleton dubiously.
"I am study. I am a learning thirst. Come, know what has not been lost."
"Uh. Hey," I offered an awkward wave. "I'm Brynn."
"You are new to the library, spirit?"
"Oh, I'm new everywhere. But I'm pretty sure I'm not dead," I shrugged. "Yet. Unless…you're here to tell me I'm dead?"
"I'm an archivist; I do not ferry the deceased."
Possibly a good sign, if not especially reassuring.
"You do have the scent of the living," the archivist said after a thoughtful pause. "A dreamer then. Forgive the mistake, it is not often your kind find their way here."
"No biggie," what was a little mistaken identity between two vaguely humanoid acquaintances. "What is here, exactly?"
"This is the Vir Dirthara, the living knowledge of the empire. The libraries of every city, the wisdom of every court. A connecting place whose paths are in disarray. This place was made of world and fade, and when they were torn asunder, so did we."
"Oh that's…" it had sounded pretty cool until the archivist had gotten to the last bit. "A bummer." It was hard to be sure I'd sounded sympathetic. "That why everything out there," I jutted my thumb over my shoulder. "Is all soupy?"
"I'm afraid… I do not catch your meaning,"
"Ah- been getting that a lot. Forget it," if the orange specter hadn't noticed anything unusual, it wasn't my place to point it out.
"Exspiravisus! I've need of you," a man's voice called from one of the halls that curved behind the shelves. "What more do you have on the sangfusia miseria elves-" he finally rounded the corner, spitting furiously. His dark robes shifted as he abruptly came to a stop, noting my presence. His tanned face clenched in fury a moment longer, until it softened into a suspicious confusion. Hard to tell if that was promising. "You did not tell me you had visitors."
"Just me and my pal, Bones," I nodded to the skeleton.
"A dreamer," the archivist explained. His creased face relaxed a bit more beneath his dark hair, looking thoughtful.
"Interesting. Has this been happening more recently?" his attention turned to the archivist as he proceeded into the room, a green book tucked beneath one of his arms.
"No, there is an occasional spirit. Dreamers are very rare. And then there is you-"
"Keep me informed, that is all I need of you now," he waved the archivist off.
"You indicated you had need of further research?"
"Another time," he grunted. "I will call for you when I have need," he turned his gaze back toward me and I could feel my appearance flickering wildly. Something about him felt like a warning bell. Of course, that could just be because of the intensity of his dark gaze and the fact that for some kind of library spirit, he could get it.
"Very well," the archivist bent their head and then vanished.
"Now, what is it you seek from the library?" he allowed the corner of his mouth to curve up in a hint of a smile as he set down his book and crossed his arms over his chest. "And how did you find your way here?"
"Oh, I uh…" it felt stupid to be flustered by a librarian. "I didn't actually seek- just kind of been wandering. I sort of have been falling ass-backwards into wherever I'm at. Not my favorite way to go about it, but it doesn't seem like I've been given much of a choice recently. I can uh…mosey on somewhere else if this is some kind of restricted zone."
"Nonsense," he scoffed. "The fade has a way of bringing those to where they need to be… eventually," he admitted gruffly, shooting the area a dark look. "I'm sure there is something here you may yet learn. And I must admit, the company here could use some refreshing."
"Well, I can't claim to be refreshing, but I was 'a pleasure to have in class' if that's anything to go by,"
"You're certainly something," the corners of his eyes creased as he smiled in amusement. It was by far the most flattering way anyone had used that particular phrase to reference me.
Don't get distracted girl, achieve normalcy. You're not about to actively flirt with a wizard in a magical fantasy library when there's a desiccated corpse right there.
"I'm just relieved I can actually understand people here. Might have a chance of getting home if I can actually communicate."
"Where were you before that you could not communicate?" he asked sympathetically.
"Iceland? Norway? A movie set where all the actors were so coked out, they refused to break character? I have no idea, but they certainly weren't speaking English." I was still holding out hope that whole experience had been a really hard-core hallucination, but even with a boat load of naivety, I was starting to have my doubts.
"English?" he frowned. "I'm not familiar with that language, and I am quite a linguist. Where do you call home?"
"New Mexico- but uh. If you don't know English, then… how are we speaking?"
"Ah," he nodded indulgently. "That is a benefit of the Fade. It has a way of opening communication between spirits- or others," he offered another smile. "This New Mexico sounds unfamiliar as well."
"Well you're not missing much unless you have a real hard on for turquoise." She shrugged.
"Perhaps I'll visit someday," my nonsense did seem to be perplexing him the more I spoke. Perfectly understandable. "Might be you were brought here to learn language? To endeavor your travels?"
"Oof," I looked around at the shelves. I'd managed three years of French in high school, mostly for the study abroad trip, where instead of practicing the language I inhaled every baked good I could find and a fair amount of wine for a 17 year old who was supposed to be heavily chaperoned. Managed to pass the class, barely. But as far as retention went, I think I could still translate maybe 12% of 'La Vie en Rose' and the phrase 'bonjour mon petite omelette du fromage' which I'm pretty sure was just a meme I'd picked up somewhere. "Don't know how great I am at picking up language from books. Not even sure which one I need."
"These are not the books of mortals," he assured me. "We'll start you with the trade tongue, as I believe that is most common. Come," he beckoned. "I'll show you. I'm an excellent tutor."
"I bet you are," wasn't sure if it had just been a bit of a dry spell for me, or that I was a sucker for a book nerd, but this guy was apparently checking a lot of my boxes.
"I'm sorry?" He looked back over his shoulder, a confused frown creasing his brow.
Had I muttered that out loud? My bad. Maybe take it down a notch.
"Looking forward to it," I plastered a convincing smile on my face and followed him down the hall.