Project:Imagine

Wallace’s temper flared, his grip tightening on The Bookkeeper’s collar as he spat, “What the hell do you mean by that? Who the hell would buy a book from you, for two kids?”

The Bookkeeper, unfazed by the sudden aggression, merely smiled with his usual unnerving calm. “I refuse to tell you who paid for Iris. As for Alice… it was her father—her real father.”

Wallace’s face darkened with disbelief. “Her real father? No one knows who that is. She was abandoned on the steps of an orphanage! What kind of man is her real father?”

The Bookkeeper’s eyes glinted with withheld knowledge. “I know who he is, but I refuse to say. Some things, Wallace, are better left secret.”

Wallace seethed, his voice low with frustration. “I'm getting sick of your secrets.”

“And why should I be the only one with secrets?” The Bookkeeper's smile widened, but his tone sharpened like a knife. “You never told Nikolai you were the one who killed his wife.”

The accusation landed like a punch to the gut. Wallace flinched, his grip faltering. “I—I had no choice,” he stammered, the old guilt flaring up within him. “She was consumed by madness… there was nothing I could do.”

The Bookkeeper's smile didn’t waver. “I know. And yet, you chose to hide it. Now, be a good dog and fetch those two girls. I'll be waiting.”

“Bastard,” Wallace muttered as he stormed out, fists clenched.

The moment he stepped out of the library, he found himself in the lounge, where Iris and Alice were watching cartoons. Some nonsensical show with a talking sea sponge flipping burgers played in the background, a stark contrast to the weight of the moment.

“I hate that man so much,” Wallace mumbled under his breath.

Iris looked up, her usual bright smile, unbothered by his clear frustration. “Oh, Wallace! How are you feeling after yesterday?”

Wallace let out a weary sigh. “My day’s only getting worse. Come on, I need the two of you. Follow me.”

Alice, ever shy, glanced up from the screen. “Where are we going?”

“The library,” Wallace replied with a hint of reluctance. “Don’t worry, it’s fine as long as you’re with me.”

The door creaked open, revealing the vast, seemingly infinite expanse of The Bookkeeper's library. Rows upon rows of towering shelves stretched beyond comprehension, each crammed with books, scrolls, and artifacts, the sheer magnitude of knowledge stored here threatening to overwhelm any visitor. The atmosphere inside was thick, almost alive, as if the library itself was sentient, observing every move they made.

Wallace stepped in first, followed closely by Iris and Alice. He exhaled, exasperation evident on his face, but the enormity of the place kept him silent. The vastness behind the Bookkeeper’s desk seemed to stretch endlessly, as though time and space were meaningless in this strange domain.

“Welcome to my library,” The Bookkeeper said warmly, his voice rich with a strange sense of foreboding. “I welcome you both.”

Iris’s gaze lingered on him. There was something about The Bookkeeper—his calmness, his air of control—that unsettled her. She had long suspected he knew more about her than he let on, secrets she herself hadn’t yet uncovered. But what unnerved her the most was how at ease he was in the face of her uncertainty, as if everything had already been written, and he was simply waiting for her to catch up.

Suddenly, a flash of movement caught her attention. A purple butterfly, shimmering in the dim light, fluttered into view. Alice's eyes glazed over, her expression blank as she became entranced by the insect. Without a word, she followed it, her movements slow and dreamlike, as if compelled by an invisible force. She wandered deeper into the recesses of the library, vanishing between towering shelves that seemed to shift and close around her, swallowing her whole.

Wallace's alarm was immediate. “Alice!” he shouted, but the girl had already disappeared from sight. He turned to The Bookkeeper, his voice laced with frustration. “What are you planning?”

The Bookkeeper chuckled softly, the sound unnervingly calm given the circumstances. “Oh, Wallace, you better go find her. Who knows what dangers lurk within this library? The deeper you go, the more unpredictable it becomes.”

Wallace’s jaw clenched in anger. “You’re the worst,” he spat, before sprinting after Alice. The rows of shelves seemed to warp as he ran, bending and twisting like a maze designed to confuse and disorient him.

With a casual snap of his fingers, The Bookkeeper closed off the back of the library, sealing Wallace’s chase in the distance. The room fell silent once more as he shifted his attention to Iris, his expression one of deep, almost paternal interest.

“Please,” he said, his voice soft yet commanding, “take a seat.”

A plush chair appeared behind Iris, seemingly out of nowhere, its leather soft and inviting. But something about it felt wrong—like a trap laid in plain sight. Her instincts screamed at her to be cautious, yet there was an undeniable pull. She could feel the weight of destiny closing in, as if sitting in that chair would somehow unravel the very secrets she sought.

As Iris sat down, her body tensed, and she could feel the weight of the chair beneath her—luxurious, yet somehow suffocating, as though the very fabric of the seat was woven with the threads of her fate. The Bookkeeper’s smile remained ever so enigmatic, his gaze sharp and knowing. The air in the library seemed to thicken, pressing down on her, as if the walls of ancient knowledge were silently watching, waiting for what was to come.

The Bookkeeper leaned forward, fingers steepled, eyes gleaming with a mysterious light. “Would you like to know why your parents were killed that night?” His voice was almost a whisper, yet it echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the countless shelves like the whisper of the universe itself. “All my information will be given free of charge. This is a right only you possess.”

Iris felt a jolt run through her. Her breath caught in her throat as the question she'd been running from her whole life now stood before her, like a monster waiting to be faced. “Tell me,” she demanded, her voice shaking with a mixture of fear and anticipation. “Tell me what happened that night.”

The Bookkeeper’s expression softened, almost sympathetically, yet his words were as sharp as a knife. “His goal was to kill you,” he began, eyes never leaving hers. “That night, and again during the attack on the facility yesterday—his sole purpose was to end your life.”

Iris's heart pounded in her chest, the tears welling in her eyes as the enormity of his words hit her like a crashing wave. “Why?” she choked, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face. “Why me, Fate? Tell me, why?”

The Bookkeeper’s expression never wavered, as though the tears meant nothing to him. His voice remained calm, almost detached. “The three gods of this earth are playing a game, Iris,” he explained slowly, like a father revealing a painful truth to his child. “The last apostle left standing will become the true god of this world. And you, Iris, are the champion of Fate—my champion, the chosen apostle of The Bookkeeper, God of Knowledge and Wealth.”

Her mind reeled, unable to grasp the enormity of what was being said. “W-what?” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. “Why me? Why did you choose me? And what do you mean you're a god? Please, tell me!”

The Bookkeeper’s smile deepened, though it was not warm. It was the smile of someone who knew all too well the cruelty of the truth. “I selected you,” he said, voice steady, “because I know you will win. Your task is to eliminate the other apostles. There are two others in this game, and gods from beyond our world, who have each chosen to back a different apostle.”

Iris blinked, struggling to process the information, her head spinning. “Other gods?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Who… who are they?”

The Bookkeeper’s eyes darkened as he recited the names with a gravity that chilled her to the bone. “The gods of this earth are as follows, Eden, the Traveler, God of Law and Order; and Pandora, the Avenger, God of Death and Disorder.” He paused before continuing. “But there are others—gods not of this world. Aether, the Demon King, God of the Moon and Madness; Helios, the Light, God of the Sun and Rationality; and finally, Ophiuchus, the Cosmos, God of Revolution and Evolution.”

The mere mention of so many divine beings made Iris’s head throb. The weight of it all, the stakes, the roles each of these gods played—it was too much. She felt dizzy, the enormity of the universe bearing down on her like never before.

“This… this is too much,” she muttered, burying her face in her hands, overwhelmed. “How am I supposed to—”

“I agree,” the Bookkeeper cut her off, his tone gentle for once. “But you must be prepared. Your enemy already knows who you are. He’s hunting you. I suggest you ally with the apostle of Eden. He’ll make a strong ally, and you’ll meet him soon.”

Iris hesitated, her heart pounding even harder now. “Tell me about the apostles,” she said softly, almost afraid of the answer.

“Pandora’s apostle,” the Bookkeeper began, “is Nikolai Dostoevsky. A formidable and seasoned Awakened, dangerous and experienced beyond most.” His voice held a grim respect for Nikolai. “Eden’s apostle is Maxwell Lumiar. He is currently in the Beta Facility, and you will meet him soon.”

At the mention of Maxwell’s name, Iris's cheeks flushed slightly. She remembered the letters from her future self, the cryptic promises of a connection between her and him. She felt a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, but she pushed those feelings down for now. Furthermore, she needed to stay focused.

“And the others?” she asked, her voice trembling again.

The Bookkeeper's smile returned, this time more ominous. “I shouldn’t tell you,” he said, his voice low and cryptic. “Some things are better left unknown. If you knew who the other apostles were, it would complicate things beyond repair.”

Iris clenched her fists, frustration bubbling within her. “You always keep secrets,” she muttered under her breath. “How am I supposed to win this game when I don’t even know all my enemies?”

The Bookkeeper leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming. “You’ll learn in time, Iris. You have to trust that the truth will reveal itself when it’s needed most. But remember,” his voice darkened, “this is a game of survival. Only one apostle will remain in the end. And that must be you.”

The weight of the Bookkeeper’s revelation pressed down on Iris, filling her chest with a suffocating mixture of fear and uncertainty. The enormity of the situation felt like an insurmountable wave, crashing over her—this cosmic game, with gods, apostles, and worlds in the balance. Her life, and the lives of everyone she cared for, hung on a thread far finer than she had ever imagined.

Her voice trembled as she broke the silence, yet there was a sharpness in her eyes as she focused on Fate. “Tell me more about the red book,” she demanded. “What exactly is it?”

The Bookkeeper’s ever-knowing smile deepened, his tone soothing yet condescending. “It is a book that allows you to call upon the power of your future self,” he explained, his words flowing like silk, hiding barbs beneath.

Iris's glare intensified, suspicion building in her mind. “What is the cost of the book?” she asked, her voice harder now, more insistent. “What must be sacrificed to use that power?”

The Bookkeeper’s smile never faltered. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he said smoothly. “If you knew, you wouldn’t use the book. And, my dear, you must use it if you hope to survive. I promise you this—the book won’t cause you any harm.”

Iris leaned forward, fists clenched, eyes blazing with defiance. “If not me,” she pressed, “then who has to pay for it? Tell me! You said it’s my right to obtain any knowledge for free, so give me the truth!”

For a moment, the library seemed to hum with tension, as if the very air was vibrating in response to her demand. Before the Bookkeeper could respond, the heavy silence was broken by the soft creak of a door. The towering bookshelves shifted and parted as Wallace emerged, carrying Alice in his arms. The young girl was asleep, her delicate hands clutching a purple book tightly to her chest.

Iris’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of Alice, and before she could ask anything, Fate’s voice cut through the moment, calm and detached as ever. “Ah, she found the book that was bought for her,” he said, his tone casual, almost amused. “I do hope she likes it.”

Wallace shot the Bookkeeper a withering look, his voice low with restrained anger. “You’re the worst, Bookkeeper.”

Fate merely shrugged, his smile unfazed by the insult. “Well, it looks like we’re done here,” he said, standing up and brushing the dust from his robes. “Before you go, I have one more present for you, Iris. Something… for when the time comes.”

As if summoned by his words, a shimmering butterfly, orange and glowing, fluttered down from the endless heights of the library. It landed gently on Iris’s head, transforming into a delicate hair clip—its shape ethereal, yet solid, as though it held a strange, unearthly power.

“Wait!” Iris called out, her frustration boiling over. “You didn’t answer my question!”

But the Bookkeeper simply smiled, his gaze distant, as though he was already seeing something far beyond the present. “There is no more time, it seems,” he said, his voice filled with finality. “Until next time, Iris. Goodbye.”

Iris's fists clenched in frustration as Fate’s words hung in the air, teasing her with their unfinished answers. The smirk on his face was infuriating, as if he reveled in the power of withholding the truth. She opened her mouth to argue, to demand more, but Wallace placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t bother with him,” Wallace muttered, his voice a low grumble. “He’s always impossible.”

As they left the library, Iris couldn't shake the feeling that Fate's smile was still watching her, following them even as they walked away. The butterfly hair clip felt heavy on her head, a reminder of the burdens she still didn’t fully understand.

Behind them, the Bookkeeper remained seated, his smile never fading, the library stretching out infinitely around him. His fingers tapped lightly on his desk, a rhythm only he seemed to understand. “Such an interesting game we’re playing,” he whispered to himself as the door closed behind them.

The Bookkeeper's library returned to its eerie stillness, but the tension hung in the air, thick and oppressive. The soft, rhythmic tapping of Fate's fingers on his desk was the only sound that dared disturb the silence—until a green door shimmered into existence in the middle of the library. It was a doorway that seemed to come from nowhere, materializing with a soft hum of energy. The door swung open, revealing a figure whose presence was as graceful as it was commanding.

Eden stepped out, her expression a mixture of irritation and concern as she approached her brother. “You really shouldn't be so mean to her, brother,” she chided softly, though her voice carried an undercurrent of frustration.

Fate’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a sadness behind his eyes that his sister knew all too well. “If she knew the book burns away my memories of those I care for the most, with every use,” he began quietly, “she would never use it. She’s kind… too kind to ever let that happen. That’s why she has to be kept in the dark. She’d never sacrifice me otherwise.”

Eden’s eyes darkened as she stood before him, arms crossed. “Why are you so desperate, Fate? Why can't you ever care about yourself?” Her voice was sharper now, tinged with a pleading she couldn't suppress. “You’re a stupid idiot for always putting others first.”

Fate chuckled, a sound devoid of any real amusement. “I'll only lose myself,” he said with a shrug, “a small price to keep her alive.”

Eden’s face twisted in confusion and anger. She couldn't understand his obsession, the self-destructive lengths he would go to for this girl. “I don’t understand,” she muttered bitterly, her brow furrowed. “What is it about her that makes you throw away everything?”

Fate’s gaze grew distant, his voice soft but sharp as he turned the question back on her. “And what about your candidate, Eden?” His words were calm, yet they cut deep. “You’ve spent years watching over the child of a man who didn’t love you back. A man who used you just to meet the woman he truly loved. Why go so far to protect the child born of that betrayal?”

Eden’s breath hitched. Her hand clenched into a fist, shaking as hot tears welled up in her eyes. “Sh-shut up! You don’t know a thing!” she yelled, her voice trembling with raw emotion. Fate had struck a nerve, and they both knew it.

Fate leaned back, his expression softening just enough to show he regretted the harshness of his words. But there was no apology. “You have no right to judge me, sister,” he said coldly, his gaze steady as he locked eyes with her.

Eden’s fury burned hotter, her body trembling with anger and pain. “Maybe I should just ask my apostle to kill yours in an… ‘accident,’” she spat, venom dripping from every word. “They’ll be meeting soon, right? It wouldn’t be too difficult.”

Fate didn’t flinch. He sighed, his voice weary yet composed. “Sure,” he said calmly, “but you and I both know that your apostle can’t defeat Pandora’s champion without forming an alliance with mine. They need each other.”

Eden’s anger faltered, but her hatred remained. She bit her lip, knowing her brother was right. “Fine,” she hissed, her voice filled with barely controlled rage. “I’ll side with you for now, Fate. But mark my words, when the time comes, I’ll personally enjoy watching your apostle die.” Her eyes gleamed with cruel fury as she turned away, stepping back toward the green door that had reappeared as if summoned by her fury.

As she disappeared through the door, it dissolved into nothingness behind her, leaving Fate alone once more in his infinite library. The silence returned, but it wasn’t peaceful. Fate's eyes lingered on the spot where Eden had stood, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of his sacrifice pressed down on him more heavily than ever. His fingers stilled their tapping.

“Maybe she’s right,” he whispered to himself, a rare moment of doubt creeping into his voice. But then the smile returned, faint but present, as he leaned back in his chair and resumed his silent vigil. “But I’ll lose everything if I let her die.”

Fate's smile faded, replaced by an icy determination that chilled the air of the library. His eyes, normally distant and calculating, hardened with lethal intent.

“No matter what,” he murmured, his voice like a blade cutting through the stillness, “I can't let any harm come to her. I'll kill anyone that gets in my way.” He rose from his chair, the faint glow of power rippling beneath his composed exterior. “Whether I must burn the heavens, or slay my own family, they all must die.”