The next day...
Dave crosses a rickety metal bridge. The echo of his footsteps carries through the thick, murky air of the city. On the other side, a building towers above the rest—a shadowy spire, its entrance blocked by a massive iron door, covered in strange inscriptions. He doesn't recognize the language, but his skin prickles. Beautiful words don't make your skin crawl. These never are.
To his left, a man in a dark hood leans over an improvised table, sharpening a curved dagger with slow, meticulous strokes. The blade sings softly every time it kisses the stone.
"You wanna go in?" the man asks without looking up.
"Maybe. What is this place?"
"The Library of the Fallen."
"Sounds cozy."
"Depends what you're looking for."
Silence stretches between them. If there's one place in this rotten city that might hold information about portals or dimensions, it's this one.
"How do I get in?"
The man smiles. His teeth are sharp, like blades.
"You need to make an offering. Something of value."
Dave glances at the dagger in his hand. The edge catches the weak light, and for a second, Axel's face flashes in his mind. Not the Axel from this world. His Axel.
He doesn't have anything to give. Not really. But even so, his hand moves on its own. He draws Ying, just slightly, letting the steel glimmer with a dangerous sheen.
"How about a promise?" he says.
At last, the man stops sharpening and lifts his gaze. His eyes are entirely white, like spoiled milk.
"Promises are dangerous, stranger."
"Only if you break them."
The man studies him for a moment that feels like it might never end. Then, he nods.
"So be it."
The door to the library creaks open, the sound like bones snapping.
Dave steps inside.
As he crosses the threshold, part of his mind keeps looping, spinning on the real reason he's here. He's looking for a portal. He's looking for a way back. He's looking for Axel.
But there's also Heinz.
That analytical stare, that always-enigmatic presence. Sometimes he seems like he's trying to help. Other times… it's like he's waiting for something. Something not even he understands.
Why does it mess with him so much?
No time for that. Not now. Not yet.
He keeps walking.
If this city has answers, he'll find them. And when he does, nothing's going to stop him.
The interior of the library is an ancient labyrinth. The shelves rise like stone walls, covered in books bound in cracked leather—and something that, if you stare too long, seems to shift like living skin. A hanging chandelier throws a flickering light. In the corners, hunched figures flip through dusty tomes in absolute silence.
The man at the entrance doesn't follow him. The door slams shut behind, sharp and final.
He walks the aisles, trailing his fingers along the spines of the books. Some are written in languages he's never seen. Others… whisper when he touches them. Whisper his name.
He doesn't like that.
What he needs is information about portals, fractures, dimensions—something to get him out of this damned city. But as he flips through one of the books, his mind drifts.
Axel.
Is he okay? What's he doing now, without him? What if Axel's just… moved on, like Dave never even existed?
The thought burns in his chest. He snaps the book shut.
And then there's Heinz.
He doesn't know what the hell to do with him. Sometimes the way Heinz looks at him makes him nervous—not because it's threatening, but because it's knowing. Like he understands too much. Like he's waiting for Dave to figure something out.
But what?
Shit. He needs to focus.
He stops at a table. There's a book on it, bigger than the rest. The cover's torn, but the title is clear.
The Doors Between Worlds.
"Bingo," he mutters.
He opens it. The pages creak like old bones.
It talks about fractures in reality. Places where the fabric of the universe weakens, where two dimensions can brush against each other. Some portals are natural. Others… made.
His skin prickles.
One passage mentions something called The Lost Hours, a moment when the veil between worlds grows thin enough to allow a temporary crossing.
"If that's true..."
Maybe he doesn't need to find a stable portal. Maybe he just needs to be in the right place at the right time.
But there are no clear instructions. Just vague hints, metaphors, and warnings.
"When the crow's shadow crosses the broken clock, the path will open."
Cryptic as hell. But it's a start. Or a trap. Like always.
He closes the book. Tucks it under his arm. If someone's got a problem with that, they can try taking it from him.
He walks back to the entrance. When he pushes on the door… it doesn't budge.
Shit.
Then he feels it.
The air changes.
He takes a step back just as a figure peels itself from the shadows. Tall. Skeletal. White eyes. A smile carved into skin.
"You've taken something that doesn't belong to you," it says, its voice coming from somewhere else, like it's echoing from another reality.
Dave clenches his teeth and grips his sword. Ready to use it.
"Call it a long-term loan."
The creature tilts its head. Its movements are jerky, wrong, like someone's pulling its strings from the far side of the universe.
"The books of this library are not borrowed. They become you."
Perfect. Another existential threat.
It moves fast—too fast. Dave barely dodges as a bony arm stretches toward him, liquid and impossible. The table next to him splinters like cardboard.
"Fine," he growls. "Old-fashioned it is."
He draws his sword.
The thing glides through the shadows with an unnatural fluidity. Its skin like liquid ash. Its grin, a glitch in the fabric of reality.
"You have no right to the words of the dead."
The voice resonates inside his skull, vibrating in his bones.
"If you had a returns policy, maybe post it at the entrance."
It lunges. Its arm stretches again, twisting to wrap around him. Dave rolls aside just as the floor shatters like glass beneath the blow.
He leaps onto a table, kicks off it. The wood explodes behind him.
The creature clicks its teeth.
"Return the book."
"Or come take it."
And it does.
It launches, a storm of shadows and teeth. Dave spins, slashing with his sword. The blade cuts through the dark mass. A shriek tears the air. The figure twists, distorted.
He doesn't hesitate.
He drives the blade into its chest. Twists. But there's no blood. Just emptiness. Just shadow.
"Of course not," he spits.
The thing catches him before he can pull free. Liquid limbs coil around him. The pressure's brutal. Something cold snakes across his skin, curling around his nerves.
His vision blurs.
And then he sees it.
Axel.
Back turned. Katana in hand. His figure wrapped in shadows. His voice comes like a distant echo:
"Always behind me, Dave. Always a step too late."
No.
He shakes his head.
Heinz.
That gaze. Always watching. Always waiting for something.
"Dave... what are you going to do when you understand?"
What the fuck does that mean?
No.
Focus.
The emptiness claws at his mind, trying to burrow, to hollow him out from the inside. But he doesn't let it.
"Find another brain to chew on."
He attacks. His blade slices again. The creature recoils, its form unraveling into ash.
The library trembles.
Then—silence.
He's alone.
Dave runs a hand through his hair, breathing hard.
"Well. That was fun."
He adjusts his grip on the sword. This time, when he pushes the door, it opens without a fight.
Back in the streets, the weight of the place follows him like a sick dog.
He thinks about Axel. About Heinz.
This place is screwing with him, showing him pieces of things he doesn't understand. And it pisses him off.
But if that book's right…
If there's really a moment where the walls between worlds break—
He's going to find it.
No matter what it takes.