The tower wasn't built.It descended.
A pillar of light—too bright to look at,too silent to ignore.
It didn't touch the ground.It hovered.As if the world had no right to bear its weight.
The girl whispered,"That's not a Vault."
The boy nodded.
"No.It's a record."
Inside, time fractured.
Each step forward was a memory stolen.
Each breath drawn rewrote something in the past.
Their feet touched pages, not stone.
Endless scrolls underfoot.
Written in ash.Bound by regret.
A voice greeted them.
Soft.Precise.
Neither kind nor cruel.
Just... true.
"You should not be here yet."
The Librarian stood above them.Or below.Or beside.
Her position changed with each blink.
She wore robes made of dust.Eyes made of hourglasses.Her hands held no books—
She was the book.
She turned to the girl.
"You were erased."
Then to the boy.
"And you… were never written correctly."
The blade in his hand dimmed.
Even it was unsure here.
This wasn't a place for fighting.It was a place for knowing.
The Librarian raised one hand.
Pages swirled.
Wrapped around the boy.
Wrapped around his choices.
The Vaults he'd passed.
The gods he'd broken.
The names he refused.
She read them aloud.
Each word felt like a sentence.
Not of grammar.
Of judgment.
"You've done well," she said.
"But you are not finished."
She floated closer.
Unrolled a scroll that hadn't been written yet.
And pointed.
The boy saw something.Something only he could see.
His knees buckled.
The girl caught him.
He whispered:
"That's the end."
She frowned.
"What's there?"
He looked up.
Eyes wide.
"I kill everything."
The Librarian nodded.
"Not because you hate."
"Because you must."
"Some endings are not punishments."
"They are corrections."
She handed him the scroll.
It wrapped around his arm like a second skin.
Branded with truth.Unavoidable.Undeniable.
He stood.
Taller.
Quieter.
Resolved.
The girl asked,"What now?"
The Librarian blinked.
And for a brief moment—
looked afraid.
"Now," she said.
"You go where even I do not read."
The tower began to collapse.
Not fall.Conclude.
Light folded.Time zipped shut.
And in its place—
a stair.
Carved into the sky.Dripping with stars.
Each step led up.
Not into heaven.Not into space.
Into something worse.
The blade pulsed.
"The Final Vault," it whispered.
The girl held his hand.
And together—
they climbed.
Behind them,the Librarian turned her gaze to her shelves.
She picked up a blank book.
And titled it with the last name she'd never written—
His.
To be continued…