The Library Below

Aria followed Professor Thorne through a long, quiet hallway.

The floors were made of dark stone.Tall windows lined the walls, but the view outside was fogged over. Candles flickered in silver holders, their flames barely moving, like they were holding their breath.

No students passed them. No voices echoed. It was like the school was asleep.

“Elowen doesn’t follow a normal schedule,” Thorne said without turning around.

“Classes begin at dusk. Most students are still arriving.”

Aria nodded silently. She wasn’t sure what to say. She still didn’t know why she was here or what here even was.

They stopped in front of a tall wooden door with a strange symbol carved into it. It looked like an open book with a key resting on its pages.

“This is the Ivory Library,”

Thorne said.

“It’s older than the school itself. You’ve been assigned as a student assistant. You’ll spend your evenings here, helping others and keeping records.”

He pushed open the door.

The scent hit her first the old paper, dust, Something… ancient.

The room beyond wasn’t just a library. It was a maze.

Tall shelves stretched up into darkness, filled with books that looked untouched in years. White ladders leaned against the sides. A glass ceiling far above let in soft moonlight, even though it was still early morning.

And the books:

They weren’t labeled. No titles. No authors. Just smooth ivory covers.

“Each book in this library writes itself,”

Thorne said, his voice quieter now.

“They record stories. Lives. Sometimes futures.”

Aria stared at the nearest shelf. A single book stood slightly apart from the others. Its cover looked newer, untouched. As if it had just been placed there.

“Do they ever stop writing?” she asked.

Thorne looked at her, his expression unreadable. “Only when the story ends.”

He left her with a soft-spoken woman named Elin, She looked like she hadn’t left the library in years, her dark hair, and her fingers were stained with ink.

“You’ll learn as you go,” Elin told her. “We don’t explain much here. That’s part of the test.”

Aria spent the next hour dusting shelves, organizing loose papers, and trying not to stare too long at the blank books. Most of them sat still.

But some… moved.

Every now and then, a page would turn. A soft rustle. A whisper.

She reached out once, her fingers brushing the spine of one of the ivory books.

Her name was written on the cover.

Aria Varin.

She pulled her hand back quickly.

“What happens if you read your own story?” she asked Elin.

The woman didn’t look up. “Most people don’t want to know how it ends.”

Aria stared at the book for a long time.

She didn’t open it.