The sun had just begun to creep over the horizon, casting warm rays through the window of Marisa Kirisame's small, cluttered shop. She lay curled up on the window seat, her hat tilted over her face, a book clutched in her hands. It had been another long night of research, sifting through dusty old tomes filled with magical theories and obscure spells. She'd drifted off to sleep with the book still open in her lap, the pages fluttering slightly as she breathed.
Her dreams were filled with thoughts of experiments gone wrong, potions bubbling over, and spells sparking in all the wrong places. It was peaceful in its own chaotic way—until the ground beneath her shook violently.
Marisa jolted awake, the sharp tremor rattling through her bones. Her eyes shot open just in time to see the ceiling shudder, dust raining down in small clouds. Her first thought, muddled by grogginess, was that a Youkai had crashed into her shop again. But the rumble continued, growing stronger by the second.
"An earthquake?" she muttered, just as the window seat pitched forward. She yelped as she toppled off, landing in a heap on the floor, her hat slipping off and rolling away. Her shop wasn't faring much better; books flew from their shelves, vials of potions rattled dangerously, and delicate research materials slid off her desk in a cascade of clattering glass.
"Not my potions!" she gasped, scrambling to her feet as the shaking intensified. She darted around the room, her hands flying out to catch as many of the falling vials as she could, stuffing them into the crook of her arms. She managed to save a few—bright, shimmering liquids sloshing in their bottles—but others weren't so lucky. A few hit the floor with soft, shattering thuds, their contents spreading in colourful puddles.
As quickly as it had begun, the shaking stopped, leaving the shop in a state of chaotic disarray. Marisa lay flat on her back in the middle of the floor, her arms full of saved potions, staring up at the now-still ceiling.
"What in the world..." she breathed, dazed and trying to steady her heartbeat. After a moment, she sat up, her gaze sweeping over the mess that had been made. Books were scattered everywhere, broken glass glittered on the floor, and half her research materials were in utter disarray. She sighed, running a hand through her messy hair.
"Guess I've got my work cut out for me..."
But then, something caught her eye—a thin wisp of smoke rising in the distance, visible through the now cracked window. Her brows furrowed as she peered out toward the forest. It didn't look like a normal fire. Something had crashed hard just beyond the treeline.
"Now that's interesting," she muttered to herself. Dropping everything onto the counter with a clatter, Marisa snatched up her hat and plopped it onto her head. Whatever had just landed in the forest, it wasn't natural, and she wasn't one to pass up a chance to investigate a good mystery.
She hurried outside, the brisk morning air waking her up fully as she set off toward the plume of smoke. As she neared the edge of the forest, her eyes widened at the sight in front of her. The once-quiet woods had been torn apart—branches snapped, dirt kicked up, and at the centre of it all was a massive crater. The ground was scorched, fuming from the impact, and scattered all around were... books?
Marisa slowed her pace, her curiosity piqued. She knelt and picked up one of the books that had been flung from the crater. The cover was old and worn, the leather cracked with age, yet it was nothing she recognized. She flipped it open, expecting to see some familiar magical text or a grimoire of sorts, but instead, the pages were filled with strange symbols written in a language she had never seen before.
"What the...?"
She thumbed through the pages, fascinated by the incomprehensible writing. It wasn't any magic she was familiar with, nor any language she had come across in her years of research. Closing the book, she glanced around at the other scattered volumes, a small, greedy part of her wanting to gather them all up and bring them back to her shop for further study.
But her attention was quickly drawn back to the centre of the crater, where a figure lay motionless. She stood up and cautiously approached, her eyes narrowing as she took in the stranger's appearance. He looked like no one she had ever seen before, his clothes tattered and worn, resembling something from an ancient era—a time long past. The robes, though covered in dirt and grime, seemed Roman in design, with intricate patterns and heavy use.
His forehead was bleeding, an extended cut streaking across his brow, and his body was limp, barely breathing. Marisa squatted down beside him, her eyes flickering between the stranger and the books that had flown from the sky. For a brief moment, she found herself more intrigued by the strange tomes than by the man himself. She glanced at the book still in her hand, turning it over once more.
Whatever language this was, whatever power it held, it was beyond anything she had encountered.
She exhaled sharply, setting the book down beside her. The books could wait. This guy... whoever he was, clearly needed help. And though she might be a witch with a knack for mischief, leaving someone injured like this didn't sit well with her.
With a sigh, she muttered, "Guess I'll be the good witch today," and began to tend to the stranger.
I woke up groggy, my head pounding as if I had been hit with a mallet. I winced, instinctively reaching up to touch my forehead. Bandages. They felt rough against my fingers, and beneath them, I could feel the dampness of blood. Blood? I pulled my hand away, staring at the red stain on my fingers. I'd never seen my blood before, never felt anything like this. Pain. Real pain.
The library was my world—the only world I knew. I'd spent centuries there, where everything was orderly, controlled, eternal. But this... this was chaos. I blinked, trying to make sense of my surroundings, but nothing seemed to fit. Where was I? My eyes scanned the room, taking in the clutter—books stacked haphazardly on shelves, glass vials filled with strange liquids, papers and scrolls scattered across every available surface. It was messy. Cramped. Unlike anything I had ever imagined the outside world would be.
I sat up slowly, the ache in my body flaring with every movement. My entire existence had been within the grand, infinite spirals of Alexandria's library. I had read about the outside world and painted a picture in my mind of what it might look like. But this... this wasn't it. This shop—if that's what it was—was nothing like the serene, ordered places I had read about.
I was still struggling to come to terms with where I was when the door creaked open. A figure stepped inside, arms laden with... mushrooms. My breath caught in my throat, and I scrambled back on the sofa, eyes wide in shock. Was this real? Or was I hallucinating? It had been so long—centuries, maybe more—since I had seen another living person.
She was short, with messy blonde hair and a wide-brimmed black hat, and she moved with an easy, casual confidence. Her eyes flickered at me, and she froze, caught off guard by my reaction. I could barely speak, barely think. My mind was a whirlwind of confusion. Was this woman real? Or was my mind playing tricks on me?
"ああ、目が覚めたんだね," she said, her voice casual, as if this were an everyday occurrence. I blinked, still too stunned to respond. "調子はどう?"
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words caught in my throat. Language. I didn't understand her. The sounds she made were familiar but distant, like echoes of a language I should know but couldn't grasp. Panic fluttered in my chest. I tried to say something, anything, but all that came out was a garbled mess of words in English.
Her eyes widened slightly, and she tilted her head, a smirk playing on her lips. "English, huh?" she said, though her accent was odd. Then, to my absolute confusion, she straightened up and put on what could only be described as a ridiculous accent. "Howdy there, pardner! Ya speakin' good ol' cowboy talk, ain't ya?" Her voice was loud and exaggerated, as if she were mimicking some kind of stereotype from a book.
I just stared at her, utterly bewildered. She... was she serious? Did people really talk like that outside the library?
She grinned, clearly pleased with herself, though it was clear she didn't actually understand much English. "You... uh... good?" she asked, speaking in slow, broken English, her tone still dripping with that ridiculous cowboy drawl. "You hurt?"
I blinked, finally managing to force a word out. "Yes," I muttered, my voice hoarse and barely audible. I wasn't even sure if I was answering her or just processing the fact that I was speaking to an actual person.
Her grin widened. "Aha! So ya can talk!"
She set the mushrooms down on a cluttered counter and began rifling through her supplies. "You're lookin' rough," she said, glancing over her shoulder at me. "I got somethin' that'll fix ya right up."
A minute later, she turned back, holding a mug filled with a thick, vile-looking liquid that was some unholy shade of green. She slid it across the counter toward me, resting her chin on her hand and watching me with an amused glint in her eyes.
"Drink this," she said, still using that ridiculous accent. "It'll make ya feel better. Probably."
I stared at the cup, my stomach turning just from the smell of it. It looked... unnatural. I glanced back at her, trying to figure out if this was some kind of joke. But she didn't seem like she was going to take it back. Her eyes were fixed on me, waiting.
"I don't think—" I started to say, pushing the cup back toward her.
She pushed it right back. "Drink it."
I hesitated, unsure how to refuse. This kind of interaction was foreign to me. I was used to books, to silence, to the library. People? I didn't know how to navigate this.
Reluctantly, I brought the cup to my lips and took a cautious sip. The taste was worse than I could have imagined. Instantly, I gagged, dropping the cup and rushing outside. I barely made it past the door before I was bent over, retching.
Behind me, I heard her voice, slightly muffled by the shop walls. "Well, it wasn't that bad..." She appeared in the doorway, holding the cup up to the light and inspecting it with a puzzled expression. "Maybe I overdid the mushrooms."
She set the cup aside and walked over to me, patting my back awkwardly. "So... where'd ya come from?" she asked, her tone lighter now. "And what's with this book?"
I froze. The book. The tome that had brought me here. I spun around, eyes wide, and saw her holding it up—a volume from the forbidden collection of Alexandria. My heart raced as I snatched it from her hands, clutching it close to my chest.
"Don't," I rasped, my voice low and urgent. "You're not allowed to read this. The Tomes of Alexandria are... forbidden."
She blinked, taking a step back, clearly startled by my reaction. "I wasn't gonna read it," she said, raising her hands defensively. "Just borrowed it while you were out cold."
"You shouldn't even touch it," I muttered, my grip tightening on the book. "These books... they're dangerous."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she crossed her arms. "Alexandria? Like... the Library of Alexandria?" she asked, her tone sceptical but intrigued.
I nodded. "You've heard of it?"
She laughed, shaking her head. "Of course, I've heard of it. The Library of Alexandria is a legend from the outside world. I've read about it in a few books."
I stared down at the tome in my hands, its weight sinking into me. "It's not a lost library," I said quietly. "Just... forgotten."
She cocked an eyebrow. "And this book seriously came from that library?"
"Yes," I replied, my voice steady. "It's part of the forbidden collection."
Her gaze flickered with interest. "So what's so special about it?"
I looked down at the book, my thumb tracing the worn leather cover. "It contains enough knowledge that, in the wrong hands... it could end the world."