As usual, the three friends had returned to their quarters in the vast library of the ruined city. The enormous main room had colossal shelves stretching so far that they faded into a light obscurity, dotted with floating halos of light. Each shelf was laden with the weight of books, scrolls, and rolls, each of a different size, shape, and texture, as if they hailed from entirely distinct worlds. The floor, made of dark marble with golden veins, barely echoed under their footsteps, creating a light and unreal sound.
Above their heads, a vaulted ceiling appeared to be made of stained glass that reflected a shifting light, sometimes soft, sometimes bright, showcasing hues of purple and gold. This timeless place was bathed in a light that belonged to neither sun nor star. No sound disturbed the serenity of this spot, save for the rustle of pages turned by Aisling's eager fingers or the whispers of the young humans.
Outside the library, the ghost town stretched under ice and snow, a deserted place where not a soul lived. Wide cobblestone avenues and majestic buildings, all abandoned, had remained still for seemingly centuries, basking in this twilight glow. Here, there was no wind, no birdsong, not even the sound of time passing. Only their presence animated the area, making it vibrate with a life it seemed to have not known for millennia.
Aisling had immersed herself in this library for ten years, returning again and again, devouring every book within her reach. She spent hours, sometimes entire days in this place, leaving only when cold, hunger, thirst, or fatigue became unbearable. She roamed the shelves, studying scrolls that sometimes appeared as old as the stars themselves. At first, she understood only a small part of what she read.
Then, with unwavering patience, she learned to read and decipher. Comparing texts with each other, studying symbols, she gradually mastered some of the angelic languages, demonic tongues, and even older dialects. Each text she deciphered opened the doors to a lost knowledge a little wider, revealing a universe much vaster and more complex than anything she had imagined.
"All this time... and we know so little..." she thought, lightly brushing her fingers over the binding of an ancient manuscript written in a language that would leave any ordinary human perplexed. But not Aisling. Not after all she had learned here, in this timeless place.
As she grew, both physically and intellectually, a sense of vertigo overwhelmed her. What she discovered in the pages of this library revealed to her each day how ignorant humanity was, reclusive in its corner of Nimrach, living off tales of long-lost heroes and nurturing dreams of justice without understanding the reality of the universe surrounding them.
When she wasn't reading, Aisling tried to study the local plants and cultivate them. Yet, despite all her efforts, none of them had ever taken root, mostly because of the snow and the lack of sun. No blade of grass, no flower responded to her care here, even inside the buildings. And never, ever, had Aisling dared to bring back seeds to Nimrach. Fenja ensured that what came from the Twilight Realm remained there. There was no question of mixing the two worlds, of risking a contamination or disruption whose consequences they didn't yet fully understand.
While Aisling read, Fenja leaned over a large map spread out on the marble floor of the library, a parchment she had drawn over the course of their visits to the Twilight Realm. Kneeling, she traced with her fingertips the winding lines representing the contours of the ruins and the hidden paths of this frozen world. As a good huntress, she often took advantage of the long hours spent here to explore the surroundings, neglecting the books in favor of the nearby nature.
Over the years, she had mapped as many corners of this mysterious twilight land as she could, gradually piecing together a patchwork through patience. From crumbling mountains to petrified forests, each discovery was meticulously noted on her parchment. She returned from her solitary expeditions with pockets full of smooth stones, plants of strange colors, and sometimes even bleached bones, remnants of a bygone era that no one could truly explain.
On the map, small crosses marked the locations of her findings. Here, she had discovered a crystalline stone of deep blue, similar to lapis lazuli but with a texture that felt almost alive to the touch. Over there, an ancient cave had revealed the skeleton of a creature none of them recognized, its oversized and twisted bones. With each return, she took care to document her discoveries and update the map, adding another fragment to this abandoned universe.
Idris, on the other hand, was fascinated by the ruined city that surrounded the library. Its deserted streets were littered with debris, but in his eyes, they represented a fascinating terrain for exploration. The city, both majestic and desolate, with its collapsed towers, empty squares, and long-dry fountains. He had come to know the alleys and avenues like the back of his hand, weaving through the abandoned buildings, climbing onto fragile rooftops to gaze over the expanse of the place.
During his excursions, he brought back artifacts—everyday objects forgotten by the vanished inhabitants. He found tarnished metal cups, tools whose use he could barely guess, and sometimes pieces of armor or old broken weapons. Most of the objects seemed useless or too damaged, but with patience, he worked to restore them, hoping to give them a second life. He carefully stored his findings in an alcove of the library, with fragments of angelic or demonic weapons being his favorites, as their complex and refined structures fascinated him.
The city itself resembled a labyrinth of crumbling buildings, its cobblestone streets covered in dark ivy, overrun by frozen vegetation that seemed to stagnate in time, neither dead nor quite alive. The structures, some still standing, were adorned with ancient patterns, frescoes telling forgotten tales of wars and triumphs. Others, half-collapsed, revealed glimpses of luxurious interiors, crumbling arches, and halls once filled with life and splendor. The walls, decorated with bas-reliefs, depicted mythical creatures or scenes from a glorious past, their faded beauty just a shadow of what it once was.
Some streets were so overrun with debris that only Fenja, agile and experienced, could venture there without risking a collapse. Others opened onto vast deserted squares, where eroded statues stood like ghosts watching over a world that had forgotten their existence. The statues depicted strange beings, winged or horned creatures, divine and monstrous in appearance.
The castle perched on the hillside, overlooking the city, remained the only place the three friends had never managed to approach. This imposing site seemed to have once been the seat of power, with its majestic towers and walls darkened by the passage of time. Yet, despite their insatiable curiosity, access to it remained impossible. Thick brambles had overtaken the path leading to the fortress, intertwining vegetation so dense that it formed an impenetrable natural barrier. These sinister, twisted thorns appeared almost alive, as if reacting to every attempt to approach, making any progress not just difficult but downright dangerous. They emitted a strange energy, a power that none of the three dared to confront directly.
The young humans had tried several times to breach this natural barrier, especially Idris, who attempted to cut through the vegetation with heavy sword strikes. But each time, the brambles closed back on themselves, forming an impenetrable protection. The nature of this defense remained a mystery, just as the secrets buried behind those frost-covered walls did.
Wrapped in thick furs brought back from Nimrach over the years, Aisling finally lifted her eyes from her book, observing her two friends with a discreet smile. Since their first arrival in this strange world, they had all found their own way to explore the secrets of the Twilight Realm, each according to their own curiosity. Fenja mapped, Idris restored, and she… she sought the truth within the dusty pages of this infinite library. And they were not the only ones interested in it.
It would have been inaccurate to say that the Twilight Realm was completely empty. In the shadows, the three young humans had eventually encountered other beings—discreet and elusive. They called them the Dusk Dwellers, unsure if they were alive or dead… or something in between. Their fluctuating forms resembled humanoid silhouettes made of mist and fading light. They had no distinct faces, just vaporous outlines that seemed to fade away when looked at for too long.
They did not speak, or at least not in the usual way. Their language was made up of signs, light movements, like waves in the stagnant air. When she was just beginning to discover the Twilight Realm, Aisling thought she had heard them whispering in a language that resembled incomprehensible moans, then she had stopped paying attention.
Despite her apparent fearlessness, their presence had initially frightened her, and they were the main reason she eventually spoke about them to Fenja and Idris. The Dusk Dwellers followed her in the vast halls of the library, suddenly appearing between the shelves like silent specters. Their way of observing her research without ever intervening directly troubled her. Sometimes, she could feel their icy breath on her neck, as if they were trying to read over her shoulder, to absorb the knowledge locked within those dusty pages. Or were they trying to tell her something? Fenja and Idris had experienced similar encounters, crossing paths with them during their explorations. However, the Dwellers seemed to particularly follow Aisling, though she didn't know why.
At first, they had been wary of them, wondering what their intentions were. But as they spent time with them, they appeared neither hostile nor benevolent, simply present—eternal observers, witnesses of a frozen time. Well… not always. They never helped them directly, but in subtle ways. For Aisling, they sometimes guided her by dropping a book from a shelf or slightly moving a volume that she might not have noticed otherwise. Since then, the three of them had grown accustomed to their silent presence.
Idris turned away from the sword he was restoring, deep in thought.
"Repeat everything we know so far," he asked Aisling.
The healer, absorbed in her reading, let out a slight sigh before leaning her back against the chair's backrest, closing the book without removing her finger from the page. She took a moment to organize her thoughts before she began to summarize.
"As in the myths of the ancient Earth, the Creator is the unknowable being who shaped the entire universe and all the powers within it. For this reason, He is considered omnipotent and eternal. Almost all beings in the realms recognize the Creator in one way or another. The Angels worship Him as their father and the architect of all wisdom. The Demons curse Him, viewing Him as a lazy and impotent tyrant."
Fenja, leaning over her maps, listened in silence, her brow furrowed. Idris, for his part, didn't miss a word, as if he were trying to engrave every piece of information into his memory.
"It is believed that the Creator frequently spoke to His creations many ages ago. He offered guidance in times of great need and His protection to those who deserved His divine favor. But since then, He has become silent, and many suspect that He has abandoned His Creation."
Idris crossed his arms, his face hardening at this mention. The idea of an absent or indifferent Creator did not sit well with him.
"In His absence, it is the Charred Council that maintains balance. This entity was created long ago by the Creator Himself to uphold the equilibrium between the forces of Heaven and Hell. When the Third Realm, Humanity, emerged amidst the chaos of the universe, both the angelic and demonic factions attempted to extend their influence over our world."
Fenja, who was absentmindedly drawing a line on a map, looked up.
"That's more or less what the Protector taught us," she said in a detached tone. "Perhaps with a little less detail."
"She had more urgent matters to handle than to give us history lessons," Idris quickly replied. "Like teaching us how to survive, for example."
"I agree with Fen," Aisling said with a slight smile. "I've always felt like there was so much more to say. It's as if we've never had the full version of the story."
"The Protector gave us what we needed to survive," Idris shrugged, seeming unimpressed by the exchange as he returned to his cleaning. "Nothing more, nothing less. Go on."
The healer rose from her chair, carefully closing her book before placing it on the stack next to her.
"The Council forced a ceasefire between the Angels and Demons when Humanity appeared. They wanted the Third Realm to grow without risking destruction from their ancient war. And then, when the Three Realms were ready for the great final war, they would break the Seven Seals to trigger the Apocalypse, and the Council would lift the truce."
Fenja lightly tapped on a section of her map that she had just completed.
"I don't understand," she finally said. "The Protector... she was one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. I mean, that's the title the ancients give her. And… The Four supposed to serve the Council to maintain Balance. So, logically, she should be one of the 'bad guys,' right?"
Her last words were spoken with a hint of bitterness. Idris shifted abruptly. A spark of anger flashed in his eyes, and he turned to her, unable to hide his irritation.
"Either you weren't paying attention to the stories, or you're being purely contrarian. The Protector taught us that there was a conspiracy, that the Apocalypse should never have happened this early. She rebelled; she chose to dedicate herself to the cause of humanity. You know this very well."
"I think you both have valid points," Aisling said, sensing the tension rising, her voice softer as she always sought to calm the situation. "It's possible that—"
"We only have her version," Fenja shot back at Idris without even hearing the young healer. "That's what she told us, but we have no proof of what really happened. She could just as easily be manipulating us for her own reasons."
Idris jumped from his seat, unable to contain his anger any longer.
"This is ridiculous! If she had wanted to destroy us, why would she have brought us to Nimrach? Why would she have taught us, trained us, prepared us? She fought for us!"
"Or… she left us here like livestock, to harvest us later when it suited them. I'll point out that, if we are to believe the stories, one of her brothers is named Death!"
"If that's really the case, they messed up badly," Aisling interjected in a cold voice, more authoritative than usual, with barely concealed bitterness. "Humanity is barely surviving."
She looked from one to the other, trying to end this futile discussion, clearly annoyed… or desperate. Fenja and Idris averted their gaze, visibly ashamed of being carried away once again. A heavy, almost suffocating silence settled in.
"You know what? It doesn't matter how we got here. We can't keep going like this forever, and since the rest of the universe seems to have forgotten us, we're going to have to find a solution on our own… and you're really not helping."
Exhausted by their endless quarrels and the lack of answers, she slid her hands over her forehead, pushing back the strands of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes.
"I need a break," she murmured, her voice trembling with fatigue and frustration. "There's nothing, absolutely nothing, in all these books that clearly talks about souls, or maybe… maybe I just can't read it. But it could take me years, and we don't have that time."
Without waiting for a response, she stood up and quickly headed for the exit of the library. Her feet thudded silently against the ground, accompanied only by the muffled sound of her breathing. Normally, she rarely wandered alone in the ruined city. Yet at that precise moment, she felt an urgent need to escape — to flee from the arguments of her two friends, the books that remained stubbornly silent, and even the Dwellers that constantly followed her, like elusive shadows.
The desolation of the city strangely matched her thoughts. The collapsed buildings and deserted streets formed a bleak, almost lifeless backdrop, mirroring her clouded mind. Her steps quickened, becoming heavier, as if she was desperately trying to escape an overwhelming despair that always caught up with her.
Finally, she stopped in the middle of a large, abandoned square. The cracked, overgrown ground seemed to give way beneath her. It was there, alone in this desolate expanse, that her emotions finally overflowed. The tears she had held back for so long overwhelmed her with an inevitable force. Pressing her lips together to stifle the sobs, she quickly wiped them away as they rolled down her cheeks, refusing to be overwhelmed.
I can't break down. Not now, she repeated to herself like a mantra, even though every fiber of her being screamed at her to let it all go. Ren had told her to let go. Fenja had also advised her to accept their world as it was, to accept the reality of their existence. But Aisling couldn't. She couldn't come to terms with it. A part of her stubbornly rejected that idea, even if it inevitably led her to a dead end.
Gathering herself, she looked around, trying to understand where her steps had taken her. The square was empty, silent… at least, on the surface. When she turned her head, she realized that the Dusk Dwellers had followed her again, as usual. But this time, something was different. There were more of them than usual. Too many.
Aisling felt a shiver run down her spine. They formed a strange dance around her, their elusive silhouettes gliding in the shadows. She could almost feel them scrutinizing her with a new intensity, as if, in that precise moment, they were waiting for something from her.
She should never have wandered so far alone…