Kael did not remember falling asleep.
Perhaps he never had.
Inside the Hall, time refused to behave like it did anywhere else.
There was no sunrise to wake him, no sunset to mark the passing of another day.
The soft amber glow that illuminated the endless shelves remained unchanged, eternal in a way that felt almost unnatural.
It was a light without a source, existing simply because the Hall had decided darkness was unnecessary.
When he opened his eyes, silence greeted him once more.
Not an empty silence.
A living one.
The kind that seemed to listen.
For several long moments, Kael remained seated where he had rested the previous…
day?
Or had it been hours?
Minutes?
He could no longer tell.
The floor beneath him was smooth white stone veined with threads of silver that shimmered faintly whenever he shifted his weight.
Somewhere in the impossible distance, countless pages turned by themselves.
One after another.
Soft.
Patient.
Almost rhythmic.
Like breathing.
Kael slowly stood.
His body no longer ached as much as it had after entering the Hall.
The exhaustion lingering in his muscles had faded, replaced by a strange clarity he couldn’t explain.
He looked around.
The corridor…
…was different.
He frowned.
“I’ve walked through here before…” Yet he hadn’t.
Or perhaps he had.
The shelves were no longer arranged the way he remembered.
The statues that had stood at the intersections were gone, replaced by tall pillars wrapped in flowering vines that shouldn’t have existed inside a library.
Above him, the ceiling stretched into an endless sky filled not with stone…
…but stars.
Stars beneath a roof.
Stars that moved.
Entire constellations drifted slowly across the ceiling like thoughts crossing someone’s mind.
Kael stared upward.
“I don’t remember this.” “You aren’t supposed to.” The familiar voice made him turn.
Elias stood a few meters away, leaning lazily against a pillar while holding two steaming cups.
“I was wondering when you’d wake up.” Kael accepted one.
“…Tea?” “I’ve found that people think better with warm hands.” Kael looked inside the cup.
“I don’t remember seeing a kitchen.” “There isn’t one.” “…” “…” “…Should I stop asking these questions?” Elias smiled.
“You’ll enjoy this place much more once you do.” Kael sighed before taking a careful sip.
The tea tasted…
Impossible.
It reminded him of home.
Of rainy afternoons.
Of a fireplace.
Of his mother humming softly while reading.
He froze.
“…” “…What’s wrong?” “I…” Kael stared into the liquid.
“…I don’t remember my mother making tea.” Another pause.
“…But somehow…” “It tastes like something I remember.” Elias nodded quietly.
“The Hall doesn’t serve tea.” “It serves memories.” Kael looked back into the cup.
The warmth against his hands suddenly felt heavier.
He wasn’t drinking leaves steeped in water.
He was drinking something his heart recognized before his mind did.
Elias took a slow sip of his own before pushing himself away from the pillar.
“Walk with me.” Without another explanation, he started down a corridor Kael was certain hadn’t existed yesterday.
Or perhaps…
He simply hadn’t been allowed to see it.
The deeper they walked, the stranger the Hall became.
Bookshelves gradually disappeared.
In their place stood towering trees whose trunks were made entirely of stacked books, their branches stretching upward into an invisible sky.
Leaves made from fragments of parchment fluttered gently despite the complete absence of wind.
Some detached themselves.
Instead of falling…
They floated upward.
Returning to the branches they had just left.
Nothing obeyed gravity.
Nothing needed to.
“This isn’t a library.” Kael whispered the words almost unconsciously.
Elias chuckled.
“No.” “What is it then?” Instead of answering, Elias stopped beside one of the enormous trees.
He rested a hand against its bark.
“Tell me.” “If every person on earth forgot a story…” “…would that story cease to exist?” Kael frowned.
“I don’t know.” “What do you think?” “I suppose…” “…if nobody remembers it…” “…then yes.” Elias smiled sadly.
“That is why the Hall exists.” His fingers brushed across the bark.
Immediately, thousands of tiny words began glowing beneath the surface.
“They disappear from the world.” “They do not disappear from here.” Kael stepped closer.
The glowing words shifted continuously, rearranging themselves faster than he could read.
Names.
Dates.
Places.
Entire paragraphs.
Histories.
They flowed beneath the bark like rivers.
“This tree…” “…contains memories?” “It is a memory.” Kael looked around.
“…All of them?” “Every tree.” “…Every corridor.” “…Every staircase.” “…Every room.” Elias looked upward.
“The Hall was never built.” “It grew.” Those words lingered in the silence long after he had spoken them.
Kael slowly turned.
For the first time…
The Hall no longer felt like architecture.
It felt…
Alive.
Not alive the way people were.
Alive the way a forest was.
Or the ocean.
Something ancient beyond human understanding.
He suddenly remembered the strange sensation he’d felt ever since entering.
The feeling that someone had been watching.
Perhaps…
It wasn’t someone.
Perhaps…
It was the Hall itself.
…
They continued walking.
At some point, even the trees disappeared.
The ground became glass.
Beneath their feet flowed an endless river of faint blue light.
Inside that river…
Memories drifted like fish beneath frozen water.
Kael instinctively knelt.
He could see them.
A child laughing.
Two elderly women baking bread.
A soldier embracing his daughter before marching away.
A young boy reading beneath a tree.
None of them noticed him.
“They’re…” “They’re real.” “They were.” Elias corrected gently.
Kael reached toward the glass.
His fingertips stopped a breath away.
“Can they see us?” “No.” “Can we enter them?” Elias remained silent.
Kael slowly looked up.
“…Can we?” “Sometimes.” The answer carried enough weight to make him stop asking.
Not because he had lost curiosity.
Because he knew the explanation would come only when he was ready.
That seemed to be the Hall’s way.
Nothing was given early.
Nothing was delayed unnecessarily.
Everything arrived exactly when it was meant to.
As though the Hall itself decided what each visitor was allowed to know.
The thought unsettled him.
“What happens…” “…if someone tries to force their way deeper?” Elias laughed.
“Gone.” “…Gone?” “The Hall doesn’t punish arrogance.” “It simply removes it.” Kael wasn’t sure he liked that answer.
Mostly because Elias didn’t sound like he was joking.
Far ahead, the river curved gently around an enormous circular platform suspended in empty space.
At its center stood a single chair.
No throne.
No ornamentation.
Just…
A simple wooden chair.
Old.
Weathered.
Waiting.
Kael felt an inexplicable pull toward it.
“What is that?” Elias didn’t answer immediately.
His usually relaxed expression became strangely distant.
“Many people have tried to sit there.” “…And?” “None remained themselves afterward.” Kael’s gaze stayed fixed on the chair.
For reasons he couldn’t explain…
It looked lonely.
Not dangerous.
Not cursed.
Lonely.
As though it had been waiting for someone for a very long time.
He took a single step toward it.
Then another.
The Hall grew quieter.
Even the distant turning of pages stopped.
Kael felt his heartbeat echo through the enormous chamber.
Every instinct told him to stop.
Yet something deeper urged him forward.
One more step.
Another.
The chair was only a few meters away now.
His breathing slowed.
His thoughts became strangely calm.
Without realizing it, he extended a hand.
Just before his fingers reached the worn wooden backrest…
A voice echoed throughout the Hall.
Not loud.
Not commanding.
Merely…
Ancient.
“…Not yet.” The world froze.
The river beneath the glass stopped flowing.
The drifting memories became motionless.
Even the stars above ceased moving.
Time itself seemed to hesitate.
Kael’s hand remained suspended in the air.
Unable to move.
Unable to breathe.
The Hall…
Had spoken.
And somewhere far beyond the endless shelves…
Something had awakened.