She awoke, rising from her bed, and went to the washbasin to splash her face. The cold water was a shock, yet refreshing.
Afterward, she sat in her wooden study chair, which was positioned directly before her desk.
On the desk lay a book. Its cover was worn and fragile, a time-worn, faded brown. Yet, contrary to its appearance, the binding was remarkably strong and solid.
She opened it and murmured to herself, "I found this in the library yesterday. It was on a public shelf, so I figured it was all right to have a proper look." She held a firm belief that everything in the library was meant to be read, and everyone—herself included—had the right to do so.
As she opened the cover, she was immediately puzzled. "Hmm... There's no table of contents?" The first page offered neither a list of chapters nor any kind of introduction.
"This page is numbered 000. Huh, how strange. Usually, a book starts with page one, or at least a foreword. Well, let's see what this is about."
She began to read the first line.
"APPELLATION: Neira Luna Oryvella. Is this a name or a title? So this book is just a record of names? A list of criminals, perhaps, or missing persons?"
Though slightly disappointed—having expected something more ancient and profound—she continued down the page.
TITLE / EPITHET: N/A
CLASSIFICATION:
* Primary: N/A
* Status: N/A
* Scale: N/A
* Tier: Nihil, N/A
ORIGIN: Its origin is, by definition, unknown. The ancient scribes and librarians agree only that the concept of an Origin came after.
FORM / ESSENCE: Unknown. This is not to say it lacks form or essence, but rather that no information pertaining to it has ever been found.
APPEARANCE & PERCEPTION: Unknown. No data or records of any related encounters or experiences have ever existed.
DOMAIN & INFLUENCE: Unknown, though ancient philosophers theorized its domain and influence encompass everything.
VULNERABILITIES & COUNTERMEASURES: None. Unknown. It has none.
ECHOES IN HISTORY & MYTH: Ancient philosophers from countless civilizations spoke of a figure they called 'the origin'—a singular entity whose nature could not be grasped by logic, language, or even magic. They never succeeded in defining it. Any scripture that attempted to explain would mysteriously end up as blank pages, as if the ink itself refused to commit such knowledge to parchment.
WHISPERS & FRAGMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE:
"They say one should not think of it, nor be curious about it."
"Be wary, not of your actions, but of your intent. For even the intention to contemplate it too deeply will slowly unravel you."
"To understand it, you must first accept that all things exist because of it."
Scribe's Note: I did not write this. This entry is a collection of fundamentally contradictory fragments from the past, pieced back together. Every word is a shard from shattered pages I have reassembled. I feel that this is, ultimately, a failed attempt to comprehend the impossible.
Perhaps the purpose of knowing Neira is not to understand her, but to realize that some things are meant to remain pure, untouched mysteries. If we believe that something infinite has a limit, then fundamentally, we are only contemplating our own limitations.
"Okay, okay, I take back what I said about this being a list of criminals," she whispered after digesting the text. Her mood soured, and a distinct sense of unease settled over her.
Despite reading it carefully, she struggled to grasp its meaning—the empty titles, the unknown form, the fact that everything was defined by its absence.
"What does this even mean? If it's unknown, doesn't that mean it doesn't exist? How can they record and know something that isn't there?"
Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, her skin growing clammy as if she had just been for a run. Her breathing grew heavy, and a dull, throbbing headache began to pulse behind her eyes.
"What's happening? Why is it so hot in here all of a sudden?" She glanced toward her open bedroom window, where a light breeze stirred the curtains inward.
The window is open, a breeze is blowing, so why does the air feel so heavy and suffocating? she thought, bewildered.
At that moment, her bedroom door was blown open.
The hinges shattered and the wooden door splintered into pieces, blasting into the room. She stared in shock at the figure standing in the ruined doorway.
"How dare you keep me waiting," said the woman responsible for the destruction. She stood with her arms crossed, her expression one of utter fury.
"I-I'm sorry, Teacher. I just woke up," the student stammered.The woman was her teacher.
The teacher listened to the excuse, then her eyes scanned the room, landing on the open book. "How diligent of you. To wake and already be lost in your studies," she said, the praise laced with a sharp sarcasm that played on her lips in a smile.
"Thank you. I was just reading a book I found in the library yesterday," the student replied.
Instantly, the teacher's smile vanished, her face growing dark and serious. "It is good to seek knowledge in the library, but it seems you have picked up the wrong book."
She strode forward, approaching her student. "That is not something you should be reading alone, without guidance," she said, her hand reaching for the book on the desk.
The student bowed her head in guilt, but her curiosity won. She lifted her face and asked, "Isn't everything in the library meant to be read?"
"Everything can be read, yes, but certain books are forbidden and kept in the restricted section," the teacher answered, her gaze sharpening as it fell upon the book in her hand.
"It seems this one was misplaced on a public shelf," she murmured, a flicker of shock and deep concern in her eyes. Her gaze then shifted back to her student, silently asking if she was the one who had moved it.
Feeling the weight of the unspoken accusation, the student quickly shook her head.
"Very well... how far have you read? Tell me the truth."
"Just the first page. I only opened it this morning."
"I see." The teacher looked from the book to her student.
"This book is incredibly dangerous, and the true danger lies on its first page," she said, opening it.
"This page is not numbered 1 or 001, but 000," she stated with a grim expression. "It is the page that always appears first, no matter how you open the book."
She snapped the book shut. "Now, how are you feeling?"
"I'm fi—" The student stopped. Wait. What is she really asking? 'How am I feeling now?' She began to contemplate the deeper meaning behind the question.
The teacher saw the shift in her eyes. "Stop. Do not think on it any further," she commanded. "If you continue to contemplate it, you will begin to feel it again."
Contemplate what? What was I just thinking about? 'Again'? Instead of halting her thoughts, her teacher's words only drew her deeper.
"I said stop," the teacher urged, but her words seemed to fall on deaf ears. The student's gaze lost its focus, becoming vacant and hollow.
The teacher gripped her student's shoulders, shaking the unresponsive form. She stood like an empty vessel, her spirit seemingly gone, utterly unresponsive.
"She is being pulled in. I cannot allow this." Knowing the consequences, the teacher began to chant an incantation.
Her hands started to glow with a brilliant, golden light. Cupping her luminous palms, she gently swept them over her student's face. "Return," she commanded.
The student gasped, light flooding back into her once-empty eyes. Her breaths came in ragged pants, and her entire body was drenched in sweat.
"Breathe slowly. You are safe now. Calm down, I am here... look at me, look into my eyes." The teacher guided her gently, her voice a calming anchor.
Following her teacher's instructions, she focused on her breathing and met her teacher's gaze.
"Slowly, that's it. Just focus on me," the teacher guided, before raising her voice and shouting, "Is anyone out there? Bring a glass of water, quickly!"
A few moments later, two women appeared. One was a junior student, a friend of the one now lying limply. She carried a glass of water, while the other wore the stately robes of a Chronicler, marking her as another teacher.
"Here is the water, Teacher," said the junior student, offering the glass.
"Thank you." The teacher took it and gave it to her student. "Drink slowly. Don't choke," she warned.
The other Chronicler who had arrived surveyed the scene. "What happened here?" she asked.
"My student read the book," came the short, heavy reply.
The newly arrived Chronicler's eyes widened in understanding.
"How is that possible? That book is supposed to be under the tightest security."
"I do not know how it got out, but she found it. Reading it is the cause of all this."
"If she has started it, she must finish it. There is no other way."
"I know. And I will watch her every step of the way."
While the two teachers spoke, the junior student called to them. They turned to see the student's breathing had finally returned to normal.
"Teacher... what happened to me?" she asked in a weak voice as she lay in bed. "I felt like I was being pulled into the sky. I could see the whole world below me, and then..."
"Enough," the teacher interrupted gently. "You can tell me the rest later, once you have your strength back."
The three women decided to let her rest. They exited the room, closing the broken door as best they could.
Once outside, the junior student asked innocently, "Teacher, what kind of book was that?"
One of the Teachers asked her in return. "You know what this place is, do you not?"
"Of course," the junior student replied confidently. "This is an institute, an academy. A great library."
"That is correct. It is a place for scholars, philosophers, historians, and Chroniclers. But the ultimate purpose behind it all is to safeguard the knowledge of our predecessors—knowledge like the book your friend just read."
The other Teacher added, "You students are our future. You are the next Chroniclers or teachers."
The junior student was beginning to understand. "So this entire place—all these books and all these great minds—are gathered here just to preserve knowledge."
"Precisely," said the teacher. "Our duty as Chroniclers is to preserve the wisdom of the past while recording the history of the present and future. But we are mortal. That is why we teach and guide you, our successors." Her voice then grew grim. "But there has been an incident. A student should only read a forbidden text when she is ready to be initiated as a Chronicler."
"This is not the first time something like this has happened," the other teacher said. "Accidents like this are rare, but not unheard of... however, the books involved are usually common forbidden texts. This is different."
"What do you mean, Teacher?" the junior student asked, confused. She had assumed all forbidden things were equally dangerous.
"All dangerous things may share a label, but their effects are vastly different. Especially this one: THE CHRONICLE OF NLO." The teacher paused, then offered an analogy. "Imagine this: a deep lake is dangerous. A volcano is also dangerous."
The student thought for a moment, grasping the meaning. A lake was treacherous, but with the right equipment and preparation, one could survive a dive. A volcano, however... its magma would incinerate you instantly, no matter how skilled you were.
"Then, Teacher, what is the CHRONICLE OF NLO?" the student asked again.
"You are not meant to know yet, and I cannot tell you. It seems we have arrived. Return to your studies." They had stopped before a set of magnificent doors—the entrance to the Chroniclers' council chamber.
The doors swung open, revealing a vast room dominated by a large, round table and ornate chairs surrounding it. A woman stood just inside, bowing respectfully as the two teachers entered.
One of them gave a curt command. "Send word to the Chroniclers. Call an emergency meeting."
The woman bowed again and hurried off to carry out the order, while the two great Chroniclers took their seats at the empty table.