They landed softly—too softly for two people who had just fallen through a dimensional rift. It felt as though light itself had cushioned them, wrapping around their bodies in threads of warmth. The fall had stretched on forever, each second bending and folding in impossible ways, until the light dimmed… and they touched down on solid ground.
Kael blinked first. "Where… are we?"
Ayame slowly stood beside him. The space before them unfolded like a painting in motion: a vast, floating library. Stairs spiraled in mid-air with no visible support, drifting upward to nowhere. Bookshelves hovered inches above the crystalline floor, each stacked high with tomes that buzzed faintly with energy. Floating scrolls flitted through the air like lazy birds, whispering softly in languages neither of them could understand.
The walls weren't walls at all—but shifting mosaics of stars and galaxies, as if the library were built at the edge of the universe.
"It's beautiful," Ayame whispered. "And… strange."
Kael took cautious steps forward, his boots clicking on the luminous surface beneath. "It's like walking through someone's dream."
"No," Ayame corrected, eyes scanning the space in awe. "It *is* a dream. Or at least, it *was* someone's."
As if summoned by her words, a soft hum rose. The shelves reoriented themselves, sliding to the sides to create a long corridor lined with glowing tomes. One book unlatched from its shelf and floated down to hover in front of Ayame. It opened itself midair, revealing a series of sketched images.
Her eyes widened.
It was *her*. Her and Kael. Their first conversation. The moment he stood beside her at the school festival. The night he left.
Kael leaned in. "Is that—?"
"Yes," she said, voice shaking. "It's… our memories."
The book gently shut itself and floated back to its shelf. Around them, more volumes began to stir, crackling softly as though waking from deep sleep.
"This place," Ayame murmured, "it's called the *Library of the Lost Stars*. I've read about it. Only in whispers. My grandma used to talk about it—how it collects stories the world tried to forget."
"Like a memory bank?" Kael asked, glancing around.
"More than that. It remembers people who were erased. Histories that were rewritten. Magic that was hidden."
Kael tilted his head. "Then why would *we* be here?"
"I don't know. Unless…"
Unless something—or someone—was trying to forget them.
A cool wind stirred, not from the corridor but from the ceiling, drawing their eyes upward. A spiral staircase unfurled from nowhere, forming slowly from curling pages and stardust. At the top, a shimmering figure descended. Her body seemed to be woven from parchment and moonlight, her hair ink-black and trailing like mist.
She had no face, but her presence commanded stillness.
"You are not meant to be here," she said, voice dry and crisp like autumn leaves.
Kael stepped forward. "We didn't come here by choice. Something pulled us in."
"Then you are bound," she replied.
"To what?" Ayame asked.
"To the choice that was made. And the one still to come."
The books flared to life around them. Pages flipped open at random, revealing shifting images: cities on fire, skies cracking open, forests turning to stone. One book showed Ayame—standing on a ruined battlefield, alone. Another showed Kael—kneeling in chains beneath a dark sun.
Ayame shivered. "These are futures?"
"Possibilities," said the Librarian. "Dreams. Nightmares. Threads not yet woven."
Kael clenched his fists. "Can we change them?"
She tilted her head. "Only if you remember what you've already chosen to forget."
She reached into her robes and pulled out a black, leather-bound tome. It pulsed faintly with silver light and bore no title—only a strange lock shaped like a crescent moon.
Ayame took it with trembling hands. "What is this?"
"The year you lost," the Librarian said. "The one you hid from yourself."
"I don't remember choosing to forget."
"Some things forget *you*," she replied, then turned—and vanished into mist.
Ayame held the book tightly. "What if I don't want to know?"
"Then we stay in the dark," Kael said, looking at her. "But I think we've lived in shadows long enough."
She looked down at the book. The lock pulsed with rhythm—like a heartbeat. Her own? Or the book's?
"I'm scared," she admitted.
He reached out and touched her shoulder. "So am I. But we do it anyway."
Ayame hesitated a moment longer—then twisted the lock.
It opened with a soft click.
The book burst open, and wind roared through the library. Pages flew outward like doves, swirling in the air around them. Light poured from the book's core, and within it, a memory formed.
Ayame at a train station. A white envelope in her hand. A silver-haired woman in front of her, cloaked in feathers. Tears. A promise.
Then another memory.
Kael in a stone chamber. His hands glowing. A ring of watchers around him. A voice saying, "This is your trial. If you fail, you forget."
Ayame's eyes filled with tears. "This is what they took from us…"
Memory after memory surged outward—dozens of them. Hundreds. Until the library groaned and the books began to scream.
The space around them trembled.
Kael grabbed Ayame's hand. "What's happening?"
"I think we remembered too much."
The crystal beneath their feet cracked, light flooding upward. The shelves shuddered, scrolls burst into flame, and the swirling stars overhead blinked out, one by one.
The library… was collapsing.
"RUN!" Ayame shouted.
But there was nowhere to go.
Only a final image burning itself into the air before them—a face they both knew.
The Custodian.
Smiling.
---