Dawn's pale light filtered through the trees as the Coinbearer and Elise ventured deeper into the forest. Each step carried them farther from the ashes of the witches' clearing. The morning air was cool and hushed after the night's chaos. Yet beneath that fragile calm, the Coinbearer felt a hot ache pulsing in his chest. The invisible chains of Hell's contract, the price of his defiance, smoldered against his soul, starting to send flares of pain with every stride. He endured it in silence. His gloved hand clenched around the ancient Coin.
Elise leaned on the Coinbearer's arm, weary but determined. Her skin was ashen, her body still unnaturally cold, the lingering effect of being caught between life and death. Though the mortal wound in her side had been bound, she remained in a purgatorial half-life, alive but touched by death's chill. The Coinbearer's black cloak draped itself around her thin shoulders, tightening protectively to lend what warmth it could. Overhead, the sky brightened, and with it came a strange stillness, as if the world itself held its breath.
They came upon an ancient oak whose gnarled roots rose in great arches from the earth. Between those roots yawned a hollow filled with dense shadow. The Coinbearer paused, one hand tightening around the silver Coin in his palm as a subtle energy thrummed in the air. Elise looked up at him; her face was still smudged with soot and grief, but her emerald eyes were steady.
"Is this it?" she asked softly. Her voice echoed faintly in the quiet grove.
The Coinbearer inclined his head. "I believe so." He spoke quietly, wary of disturbing the silence. "The boundary is thin here. The Mirror Flame's shard… it point to a threshold in this spot."
At the mention of the shard, Elise reached into the cloak's pocket where it had been safely stowed. She withdrew the fragment of mirror-like glass. It glimmered in her hand, an ember of orange flame swirling at its core. The moment she held it aloft, the shard flickered and cast a soft golden glow that danced along the oak's roots. The light converged at the base of the hollow beneath the tree.
Elise drew a sharp breath as letters of shimmering script coalesced on the bark, an incantation left behind by the witches. She could just make out the words, written in a flowing, archaic tongue. Guided by intuition and the residual warmth of the witches' magic, she began to read the incantation aloud.
Her voice was gentle but clear, each syllable resonating beyond its volume: ancient words inviting passage. As Elise spoke, the shard's light pulsed in time with her words. The air under the oak began to shimmer. The darkness within the hollow deepened impossibly, becoming an inky black portal.
The Coinbearer slipped his Coin into a pouch and steadied Elise with a light touch on her elbow. "Stay close," he cautioned. His tone remained calm, but she could sense the tension beneath it. At his feet, the cloak's tattered edges curled anxiously around them both.
Together, they crossed the threshold. One moment their boots pressed against cold, dew-laden grass; the next, they were floating, weightless. Elise's stomach lurched as gravity vanished. A weightless silence enveloped them, and she gripped the Coinbearer's arm tighter. He wrapped an arm firmly around her waist, anchoring her to him.
All around them was a void, neither dark nor light, but something in between. Tiny motes of light drifted by, each containing a miniature scene, as though each were a snow-globe of memories. One drifted near Elise's face. She peered into it and saw a flicker of images, a child's birth, a fleeting smile between lovers, a battle on a distant plain. Little life snippets, floating aimlessly in the gray.
"The between-palace," the cloak whispered, its voice unusually subdued in the emptiness. "Don't stray; you could lose yourself in here."
Elise nodded and swallowed her awe. The Coinbearer's grip remained secure, his presence a solid anchor in the void. With a thought and a subtle tilt of his body, he propelled them forward, navigating as if swimming through a dream. The drifting motes of memory parted before them like schools of silvery fish. In the distance, something began to materialize, a shape taking form in the void.
At first it was only a vertical line of light. Then it widened into the outline of a tall doorway. As they drew nearer, Elise discerned two massive wooden doors bound in black iron, standing solitary in the gray nothingness. Carved into the doors were countless intertwined symbols and scripts from languages she didn't know. A few characters she almost recognized from the witches' grimoires; others were far older than any writing she'd seen.
The doors creaked open of their own accord as the two travelers approached. Warm amber light spilled out, carrying the scent of old books, dust, and ink. The Coinbearer and Elise exchanged a glance. With silent agreement and hearts pounding, they crossed this new threshold together.
Gravity gently reasserted itself as they stepped through. Their feet found solid ground, polished marble tiles veined with gold. Elise exhaled in relief when her boots touched the floor. She took in their surroundings, green eyes widening in wonder.
They stood in a grand hall that seemed to stretch into infinity. Towering bookshelves rose on either side, laden with volumes of every size and color imaginable. Ladder-like stairways spiraled up to higher shelves, and slender bridges arced between distant bookcases across chasms of air. Soft globes of light bobbed overhead in lieu of torches, illuminating motes of dust that danced lazily in the vast space. It was as if they had stepped into a boundless cathedral of knowledge.
Elise turned in a slow circle, her fatigue momentarily forgotten. Awe filled her voice. "All these books… do they truly contain every life? Every fate?"
"It is said so," the Coinbearer replied quietly. Though his face remained hidden behind his mask, his voice carried a kind of reverence. "This is the Palace Between Pages – the Archive of All Things. If answers exist, they will be here."
A slight shiver coursed through Elise, not entirely from the lingering cold in her bones. Something about the endless hall was overwhelming. She felt an undercurrent of energy, a hum at the edge of hearing, as though the building itself was alive with distant whispers. Perhaps it was; the rustle of turning pages echoed faintly from far beyond their sight.
Together they ventured forward down a central aisle. Their footsteps on the marble rang out in the hush, each step impossibly loud. The cloak's frayed hem brushed the floor behind the Coinbearer, making a soft swish with each stride. Elise stayed close by his side, one hand unconsciously clutching a fold of the cloak for comfort.
They passed cozy reading alcoves furnished with plush chairs and floating candles. Desks piled with scrolls stood here and there and as Elise watched, a quill lifted itself at one desk, scribbling unseen words onto a curling parchment. Now and then, Elise caught glimpses of ghostly figures drifting among the shelves, translucent librarians or perhaps lingering shades of knowledge-seekers long past. None paid the newcomers any mind. Yet Elise couldn't shake the uncanny sensation that the library itself was watching them.
After walking for what felt like several minutes without reaching the hall's end, Elise gently cleared her throat. The silence had begun to press on her. "Do we just… look for a particular book? How will we find what we need?" she asked in a hushed tone that barely broke the quiet.
The Coinbearer's pace slowed. He surveyed the towering shelves around them. "If this place truly holds our fates, then it should hold yours," he said softly. "Your life's record. Perhaps it can tell us what the Coin, Witches and Hell see in you." There was a mix of hope and unease in his voice.
He stepped toward one of the colossal shelves, scanning the spines. They were labeled with names some in languages Elise knew, many in scripts she didn't. Her own name, Elise, should be among them somewhere but the prospect of finding one name among an infinity of tomes felt daunting to the point of hopelessness.
Before Elise could respond, a sharp new sound cracked through the silence: the snap of a heavy book slamming shut, echoing like thunder in a cathedral. Both the Coinbearer and Elise whirled toward the source. Up ahead, atop a high balcony lined with encyclopedias, stood a figure.
Elise's first impression was of a tall, skeletal-thin man draped in a tattered librarian's coat. The coat might once have been elegant, but now it was frayed and stained with old ink. He leaned over the railing with his hands clasped, wild gray hair sticking out in all directions and a monocle with a spiderweb crack perched on his long nose. Even from here, Elise could see the gleam in his eyes, one eye magnified and distorted behind the monocle's lens.
"Visitors, hmmm?" the figure said. His voice echoed through the hall with a peculiar timbre, both sonorous and scratchy at once, like the sound of pages both turning and tearing. "How did you get in here, I wonder? The Library doesn't open its doors to just anyone, no no…" He trailed off into muttering, seemingly talking to himself. Elise caught fragments of his rasping whisper drifting down: "Witches' magic… unauthorized entry… tsk tsk…"
The Coinbearer stepped forward, positioning himself protectively in front of Elise. He inclined his head with measured politeness. "We seek knowledge, and refuge," he called up evenly. "Are you the Librarian of this place?"
At that question, the figure on the balcony vanished in the blink of an eye, one moment there, the next simply gone. The same deep voice abruptly issued from directly behind them: "The Librarian? Indeed."