After exchanging a few passing conversations and sharing a handful of warm laughter, Xenia politely excused herself from the group of young men she had only met hours earlier..
With a quiet composure, she left the tavern just as the first strands of dawn stretched across the horizon, Pale sunlight began to weave its way between the buildings, and the street slowly pulsed back to life.
People trickled out of their homes, chasing a new day, in search of sustenance and a livelihood that might keep them afloat.
Xenia raised her wrist and glanced at her watch.. it read a quarter past seven.
She didn't linger long in thought and chose to head toward the library.
Perhaps reading would offer her a window into this world she had suddenly found herself in—a world at once familiar and foreign.
Yet the decision to visit the library was not simply born of idle curiosity.
It stemmed from something deeper—a gnawing sense of confusion and inner division.
Though she had recovered fragments of Xenia's memories, the full picture remained elusive.
Her memory resembled an old painting, weathered by time, its colors dulled and its details blurred by dust and neglect.
The memories that clung most tightly were the painful ones—the ones that carved deep furrows in her soul. Those moments that had broken something within her, or left an indelible mark.
What Marianne remembered of Xenia was what endured – like embers beneath the ashes – The things she had loved with sincerity, the things she had hated with bitterness; the pieces that made up her essence.
She had tried, time and again, to dig deeper, to extract more – anything, even shards of memory – but her mind refused to yield more than it already had.
She fought, she strove, and then… she grew tired.
And simply gave up!
Perhaps those small moments of surrender, despite their quiet sting, were what propelled her now with this hesitant determination, asking passersby for directions to the public library, as though she were running toward a flicker of light in her own darkness.
As she moved through the streets, the cries of vendors swirled around her, mingling with the rumble of carts and the footsteps of the waking city.
It wasn't long—just a few minutes—before curiosity and successive directions led her to a towering structure that rose before her with imposing grace.
It looked as though it had been torn from another era and placed here, deliberately, like a monument misplaced in time.
She gazed at the building in awe, unable to hide her wonder.
It resembled a palace of knowledge, not merely a library.
The architecture was strikingly unique – a bewitching fusion of grand European stonework and the delicate curves of Andalusian design, as if time itself had etched its story into the walls.
Domes soared skyward, defying the clouds, adorned with exquisite ornamentation that brimmed with artistry and elegance.
The walls were polished with astonishing care, where stone engravings intertwined with stained glass, offering a feast for the eyes.
Xenia dragged her feet inside, almost reluctantly. At the entrance stood a librarian who said:
" Sir, the ticket is 2 silver Rupees or 28 Francs for 24 hours "
Xenia smiled, took out 10 Ru – equivalent to 2 silver Rupees – and handed them to the librarian.
He gave her a blue card and opened the way for her to enter.
She stepped into the vast library with hesitant steps and eyes wide with wonder.
She wandered through the wide aisles, her gaze darting from shelf to shelf – each one towering to the ceiling, each lined with dozens of titles, each title like a doorway to a new world waiting to be discovered.
She knew she had only four hours, no more, before she would need to return.
A limited time before a vast ocean of knowledge.
She tightened her fist gently, as though gripping a fragile thread of focus, and continued thinking:
' Let's start with geography and history.. I need to understand the basic structure of this world first… then finance, Yes, the currencies they use! That man at the entrance—the librarian asked me for "Francs"..
I've never heard of that currency before! I need to understand their economic system too '
This was not merely casual reading.
It was a search for identity – a quest to find footing in a new world that still cloaked her in mystery.
She began walking again and approached one of the librarians.
" Where's the geography and history section? " she asked.
The attendant replied in a neutral tone,
" Second floor, west wing "
Xenia began ascending the spiral staircase, which seemed to twist endlessly upon itself.
And when she reached the upper floor, time halted in her eyes.
She moved slowly, lightly brushing over the titles with her fingers until her attention caught on a nearly forgotten corner, where a battered book sat with a cover barely clinging to itself, its edges frayed as though on the verge of collapse.
She opened it with anticipation and read the first two lines:
——————————————
In a time unmeasured by history, the maps of the world were drawn not in ink – but in blood and shadow... Thus began the Chronicle.
——————————————
The book's introduction drew her in with strange magnetism.
With hesitant fingers, as if touching something sacred, she sat on a nearby wooden bench and examined it carefully.
At first, she flipped through its pages with casual glances, expecting just another general tome.
But something in its lines captivated her.. It began by recounting the most influential figures in human history – those who changed the course of events with their thoughts, their blood, their presence, which lingered even after they had vanished.
Then, in a strange and poetic turn, the narrative shifted to describe lands – not in the conventional sense, but as if reciting a long poem, or painting vivid murals with words: about the sprawling continents, the mountains sleeping like giants, the seas singing the old songs of forgotten divers.
A quiet shiver crept across Xenia's skin.
" Now… it's time to focus "
And for the first time since awakening in this world, she felt she was taking her first true step within it.
As if the pages had responded to her inner call, the letters came alive in her hands, recounting the stories of continents as though trying to gift her roots, a place she might someday call home.
——————————————
Sylvaria... a continent stretching from the world's east to its heart, embraced by seas on all sides, yet tethered to Myurav by a narrow strait, as if the land clung to its sister despite the expanse between them.
It is the land where forests became cities, and trees were carved into homes.
Its people were once woodsmen, then became architects of nature itself.. They possess countless species of flora and fauna, and both mental and physical prowess that place them at the forefront of the world—the pillars of civilization, the torchbearers in times of darkness.
Myurav, meanwhile, is not merely defined by its location, but by the fire coursing beneath its crust.
It is the land of iron, the cradle of the flames that forge it... Its men strike metal as fate strikes the soul – they mold it into swords and shields, making every weapon in the world bear their imprint.
Their bodies are formidable, their hearts tender, their eyes gleam with a purity akin to first tears... Warriors in battlefields, yet oases of peace within, they march into war while dreaming of serenity.
And if Myurav forges iron, then Erthon shapes intent.
Erthon, of southern origin, reaches northward to greet Myurav and brush Sylvaria's edges.
It is the land of reason and shrewd commerce.. They lack brawn, but their minds build cities from thought and win wars through strategy, not swordplay.. Their inventions fill markets, their tactics taught in war academies.. They do not merely possess armies – they buy them with hands of gold.
They prefer not to send their sons to the battlefields but instead place them among the brilliant minds that walk the earth.
Leaders who command wars from afar, strategists who draw paths with lines of cunning, and ministers who weave the threads of power with delicate caution.
Far in the north, where treaties freeze before they're penned, lies the isle of Fernhof – a hand suspended between Sylvaria and Myurav, ever watchful, never warring. Governed by shifting treaties, it serves as an observation post, occupied by no constant power, its faces changing like ice at winter's edge.
From the silent south to the barren west stretch the borders of fear, like a shadow with no sun.
Nolathia, the southernmost continent, is whispered of as the "Land of Unbeing" Those who enter return in pieces – if at all, Spirits wander out and never return.. Eyes witness sights too terrible to describe.. Everything there is a riddle, each riddle devours its answer, Stories of it are spoken only in hush, written only in blood.
It became the obsession of society's elite – and the graveyard of mercenary dreams. Eventually, it was forbidden to journey there. No one is sent unless they have already made peace with death.
And from the south to the endless west, footsteps falter in Aetera.
Aetera, the far western land, is called "The Eternal Earth" It is said to be the first solid ground ever walked upon, now left desolate. Its caves breathe history, its temples whisper in tongues forgotten by time.
Yet time itself is ill in that place – it swallows years and returns you days later, or lends you a century only to snatch it in a blink... One may enter and emerge a hundred years older, or come back after two weeks with a heart that's lived an age.
But land alone cannot tell the whole story… for between the continents lies more than mere water – it is legend itself.
Kzarim, violet-black waters as deep as the roots of myth.
It is said an ancient being named Zarim sleeps in its depths—dreaming, And if it wakes… the earth trembles, and ships vanish.
Virador, to the far east, is an ocean writhing with whirlpools, as though reality there hides a gate – and where that gate leads, no one knows.
Some say diving into it transports you to another dimension… or brings back the truth – or madness.
As for the Lord of the Seas, he is Elyrion, the "Mirror of the World" – a body of water that reflects the sky as though the sea were a flipped piece of heaven itself.. It is the path of trade, of migration, of connection.. Ships wander within it, and islands drop anchor. But it is not always benevolent;
within it lurk mists that can make you forget your name, silent whirlpools that swallow you whole, creatures that appear only in the absence of the moon, and islands that vanish and return… perhaps sleeping, perhaps deceptive, perhaps awaiting the one who will awaken them.
And whoever owns Elyrion… owns the path of the world.
Thus, silent wars flared around it, and islands such as Solynda and Mantis became stations of legends, havens for lovers, and hideouts for mercenaries.
——————————————
Thoughts began to coil around Xenia's mind like a thick fog creeping from the edges.
' Sylvaria, Myurav, Erthon, Nolathia, Aetera… So these are the five continents! Only three of them are inhabited by humans, and two remain unknown dangers with no clear features… I had heard of the inhabited ones before, albeit faintly, But… why can't I remember anything about Nolathia and Aetera? '
A subtle shiver coursed through her spine, as if something strange had slipped between the lines of the book to whisper secrets that should never be uttered.
' This world… it's not as peaceful as I once imagined, The book isn't just describing geography or terrain – it tells of beings and phenomena that defy nature… An ocean that drags you into another dimension? Islands that vanish and return? Mist that can erase your name from your memory? Time that limps like a sick man? How bizarre! '
She lifted her gaze from the pages to make sure no one was watching her, then cautiously flipped further.
' If this information were available to the public, then Joe or Callie would've told me... Humans naturally can't stop talking about what frightens them – the more mystery, the more myths... And the more myths, the more lies and truths tangled together! '
But the moment she opened the final page was unlike any other. The air around her grew heavier, the light on the paper dimmed as if the lines themselves had absorbed it. There were no paragraphs—only a single line, centered on the page, written in large red letters as though not in ink, but with fingers dipped in blood...!!
——————————————
Warning:
If people around you begin to disappear, or if you see strange apparitions, seek help from the "Watchers"!
If you can't find them… death will be your fate.
——————————————
Xenia's body shuddered for a moment, as though an invisible frost had swept over her bones – not the cold of winter, but the chill of caution… of fear… of an instinctive alertness to what is uncanny.
The words before her did not resemble traditional text, but more like living runes – etched onto the page not to be read, but to toll like a warning bell deep within the soul.
As if they were designed not merely to caution, but to awaken something slumbering – something that should never touch the light, nor be named.
Cold sweat formed across her brow, her brows tightened, and she sank into thought…
' My God… this is the second time the name Watchers has been mentioned! Noven whispered it before, and his face was pale then, as if he had spoken something forbidden.
And now it reappears… in an old book pulsing with warnings... Who are they, for heaven's sake? And why are we told to seek their help when ghosts appear or people vanish? Are they guardians? Sentinels of this hidden world? Heroes lurking in the shadows? It sounds intriguing… perhaps even comforting, in a way '
She closed the book slowly, her eyes still fixed on the warning, as if expecting the letters to move on their own.
Then, without delay, she resumed her search among the shelves, hoping to find a book that could shed some light, or even a small clue leading to those known as the Watchers, or to the strange events the book described.
But all she found was a thick veil of censorship… and a collection of texts cloaked in stern, sermonizing language, warning against spells and sorcery, declaring them forbidden across the three continents.
Any hint of magic was to be burned, any suspicion buried with its bearer... Instead of inquiry and curiosity, readers were instructed to report immediately to the authorities – or become targets of the government themselves.
The books felt saturated with fear, brimming with quiet intimidation that seeped from between the lines – thoughts planted subconsciously… as if the people were not meant to question, not meant to probe, but rather to avert their gaze from anything mysterious, and leave it all to "those who know" .
As for the forbidden continents – Nolathia and Aetera – they were mentioned in only a few marginal, formulaic lines, stuffed with dull justifications about polluted air and toxic factories.
There was no sign of supernatural phenomena, not even a faint hint... As if the real danger wasn't there… but in the truth someone wanted to bury.
Xenia's eyes quivered, her expression formed from a mix of anger and disappointment... She thought sharply:
' Damn it! The content just keeps repeating itself! The same warnings, the same phrases – but they just reword it each time to make it seem normal, It's so obvious they're covering something up! How does no one notice this? Isn't there a single keen mind that would pick up on this polished repetition from the very first read? '
With frustration, she shut the last book in the section of Phenomena and History, then moved toward more practical shelves – where the scent of paper was different… not the scent of mystery and symbols, but of numbers and markets.
She began flipping through books on money and trade, looking for a more tangible thread to understand this world.
She needed firmer ground – something not merely told, but calculated, And finally, she discovered something untouched by warnings or censorship: currency.
She stared at the document before her – a page carrying the weight of an economic system that spares no one who cannot count, Her first read wasn't swift, but more like decoding ancient runes, riddled with terms and tangled monetary layers.
But she pressed on, trying to understand how gold was measured, how value was weighed in this strange world.
By the time she reached the final segment of the pages, she exhaled slowly.
It wasn't just numbers – it was maps of power.
Every continent had chosen its own shape for a financial system, and every currency told the story of those who ruled it.
Understanding wasn't a luxury… it was survival.
As she immersed herself further in the records of conversions and the complex infrastructure of banking systems, time dissolved around her, as if the clock had dropped its hands.
And when she finally lifted her head from the pages of the book, she was struck by a strange feeling – as though she had finally touched something real, something solid in a world that had always seemed fluid and elusive.
Something not wrapped in fear… but in numbers.
The calculations of currency exchange had turned into a logic puzzle that gently stimulated her mind, filling her with a quiet thrill, She didn't even notice how much time had passed until her hands grew numb from sitting, She stretched slowly, glanced at the clock: 9:55 a.m – Her time for exploration was over… It was time to return home.