She woke up, got out of bed, and went to the sink to wash her face. The cold water touching her face was both startling and refreshing.
Afterward, she sat down on her wooden study chair, which was placed facing the study desk.
On the desk, a book lay. Its cover looked worn and fragile, brownish and dull from age. However, contrary to its appearance, the binding was remarkably strong and sturdy.
She opened it and muttered to herself.
"I found this in the library yesterday. It was on the general shelf, so I thought it was okay to read it thoroughly."
She held a firm belief that everything in the library was meant to be read, and everyone—including herself—had the right to do so.
Upon opening the cover, she instantly felt confused.
"Hmm... No table of contents?"
The first page presented neither a table of contents nor any kind of introduction.
"This page is numbered 000. Huh, that's strange. Usually, a book starts with page one, or at least a preface. 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 only contains a record of names? Perhaps a list of criminals, or missing persons?"
Despite being slightly disappointed—having expected something more ancient and profound—she continued reading the page.
TITLE / EPITHET: N/A
CLASSIFICATION:
* Primary: N/A
* Status: N/A
* Scale: N/A
* Level: Nihil, N/A
ORIGINS: Its origins are, by definition, unknown. The ancient scribes and librarians only agreed that the concept of Origin came after.
FORM / ESSENCE: Unknown. This does not mean 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 that its domain and influence encompass everything.
VULNERABILITY & COUNTERMEASURES: None. Unknown. It possesses none.
ECHOES IN HISTORY & MYTH: Ancient philosophers from countless civilizations spoke of a figure they called 'the original'—a singular entity whose nature could not be grasped by logic, language, or even magic. They never successfully defined it. Every manuscript that attempted to explain it would mysteriously end up as blank pages, as if the ink itself refused to etch that knowledge onto the parchment.
WHISPERS & FRAGMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE:
"They say one should not think of it, or desire to know about it."
"Beware, not of your actions, but of your intentions. For even the intention to ponder it too deeply will slowly unravel you."
"To understand it, you must first accept that everything exists 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. Each word is a shard from destroyed pages that I have reassembled. I feel that this, ultimately, is 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 destined to remain pure and untouched mysteries. If we believe that something infinite has limitations, then essentially, 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 worsened, and a distinct discomfort enveloped her.
Despite reading it carefully, she struggled to grasp the meaning—the empty titles, the unknown form, the fact that everything was defined by its absence.
"What does this mean? If it's unknown, doesn't that mean it doesn't exist? How can they record and know something that doesn't exist?"
Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead, her skin becoming clammy as if she had just been running. Her breathing grew heavy, and a slow, throbbing headache began to set in behind her eyes.
"What's happening? Why is it suddenly so hot in here?"
She glanced at her open room window, where a light breeze stirred the curtains inward.
The window is open, the wind is blowing, so why does the air feel so heavy and suffocating? she thought, confused.
At that moment, her room door burst open.
Its hinges broke, and the wooden door shattered into pieces, flung into the room.
She stared in shock at the figure standing in the destroyed doorway.
"How dare you keep me waiting," said the woman responsible for the destruction. She stood with her arms crossed, her expression showing immense anger.
"I-I'm sorry, teacher. I just woke up," she 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. Waking up and already immersed in study," she said, her praise containing a sharp, sarcastic undertone in her smile.
"I was just reading a book I found in the library yesterday," the student replied.
Instantly, the teacher's smile vanished, her face turning dark and serious.
"Seeking knowledge in the library is good, but it seems you've taken the wrong book."
She stepped forward, approaching her student.
"That is not a reading you can do alone, without guidance," she said, her hand reaching for the book on the table.
The student bowed her head in guilt, but her curiosity won out.
She raised 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 replied, her gaze sharpening as it fell upon the book in her hand.
"It seems this one was misplaced on the general shelf," she muttered, a glimmer of deep shock and worry flashing in her eyes.
Her gaze then shifted back to her student, silently asking whether she was the one who moved it.
Sensing the weight of the unspoken accusation, the student quickly shook her head.
"Alright... how far did 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 very dangerous, and the real danger lies on the first page," she said, opening the book.
"This page is not numbered 1 or 001, but 000," she remarked with a grim expression.
"It is the page that always appears first, no matter how you open this book."
She closed the book sharply. "Now, how do you feel?"
"I'm fine—" the student stopped.
Wait. What exactly did she ask? 'How do I feel now?'
She began to ponder the deeper meaning behind the question.
The teacher saw the change in her eyes.
"Stop. Don't think about it any further," she commanded.
"If you keep dwelling on it, you will start to feel it again."
Pondering what? What was I thinking? 'Again'? Instead of stopping her thoughts, her teacher's words only drew her deeper.
"I told you to stop," the teacher urged, but her words seemed unheard. The student's gaze lost focus, becoming blank and vacant.
The teacher clutched her student's shoulders, shaking the immobile body. She stood like an empty vessel, her spirit seemingly gone, completely unresponsive.
"She's being pulled in. I can't let this happen."
Knowing the consequences, the teacher began to chant a spell.
Her hands started to glow with a brilliant golden light. Cupping her luminous palms, she gently ran them over the student's face.
"Come back," she commanded.
The student gasped, light returning to her previously vacant eyes. Her breath was ragged, and her entire body was drenched in sweat.
"Breathe slowly. You're safe now. Relax, I'm here... look at me, look into my eyes."
The teacher guided her gently, her voice becoming a calming anchor.
Following her teacher's instructions, she focused on her breathing and stared into her teacher's eyes.
"Slowly, that's it. Just focus on me," the teacher guided, before raising her voice and shouting.
"Is anyone outside? Please bring a glass of water, quickly!"
A few moments later, two women appeared. One was a junior student. She carried a glass of water, while the other wore the majestic robes of a Chronicler, marking her as a teacher.
They were both a teacher and a student.
"Here's the water, teacher," the junior student said, 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 just arrived observed the surroundings.
"What happened here?" she asked.
"My student read the book," she replied, curtly and heavily.
The newly arrived Chronicler's eyes widened in understanding.
"How is that possible? That book should be under the strictest guard."
"I don't 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 over her every step of the way."
While the two teachers spoke, the junior student called them. They turned and saw 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 beneath me, and then..."
"Enough," the teacher gently interrupted. "You can tell the rest later, after your strength is restored."
The three women decided to let her rest. They left the room, closing the broken door as best they could.
Once outside, the junior student innocently asked her teacher; the Chronicler woman who came with her.
"Teacher, what kind of book was that?"
Her teacher countered with a question.
"You know what this place is, don't you?"
"Of course," the junior student answered confidently. "It's an institute, an academy... a great library."
"That's right. It's a place for scholars, philosophers, historians, Chroniclers. But the main purpose behind all of this is to guard the knowledge of our predecessors—knowledge like the book you're curious about."
She then added, "You students are our future. You are the next Chroniclers or teachers."
The junior student began to understand. "So, this entire place—all these books and all these great thinkers—are gathered here just to preserve knowledge."
"Exactly," the teacher said. "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 somber. "But an incident has occurred. A student should only read a forbidden text when she is ready to be elevated to 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 the common forbidden texts. This is different."
"What do you mean, teacher?" the junior student asked, confused. She assumed all forbidden things were equally dangerous.
"All dangerous things may share the same label, but the effects are vastly different. Especially this particular book: THE NLO CHRONICLES." The other 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 is dangerous, but with the right gear and preparation, one could survive a dive. A volcano, however... its magma would incinerate you instantly, no matter how great your skill.
"Then, what is THE NLO CHRONICLES?" the student asked again.
"You are not supposed to know yet, and I cannot tell you. It seems we have arrived. Return to your study room." They had stopped in front of a set of magnificent doors—the entrance to the Chroniclers' council chamber.
The doors opened, revealing a spacious room dominated by a large round table and carved chairs surrounding it. A woman stood just inside, bowing respectfully as the two teachers entered.
One of them gave a brief order. "Send word to the Chroniclers. Call an emergency meeting."
The woman bowed again and hurried away to carry out the command, while the two Chroniclers took their seats at the empty table.