Clack-clack-clack! Scritch, scratch!
The mechanical chatter of typewriters and the frantic scraping of administrative pens echoed back and forth in a relentless rhythm. The majestic hall of the Grand Library of Babel hummed with the suffocating din of a sprawling ocean of creatures packed shoulder to shoulder.
Suddenly, a fierce roar sliced clean through the commotion.
"Let go of Hock right now, you greedy little brat!"
Finnian drew a sharp, ragged breath.
The veins in his neck bulged as his hands white-knuckled their grip around a boy's ankles. His spiky, flame-crimson hair was an absolute wreck, perfectly matching the volatile fury flashing in his golden, hawk-like eyes.
His form-fitting black shirt was slick with sweat, mapping the contours of his conditioned muscle, while his carelessly rolled-up sleeves exposed a brutal constellation of crisscrossing scars mapping his forearms.
He was a prince of the grand empire of Midgaria.
Yet right now, Finnian looked like nothing more than a babysitter pushed to the absolute brink of insanity.
"No way! Not until Uncle Hock gives me a year's supply of those chocolate cheese cookies!" the boy on the receiving end of the tug-of-war shot back.
The brat—Elenio—flat-out refused to back down.
His tiny hands death-gripped the butter-stained canvas apron of a rotund, middle-aged man.
His spiky, dark burgundy hair whipped wildly. His face bore a striking resemblance to Finnian's, save for a pair of vibrant ruby-red irises that glowed like pure, polished gemstones.
Then came the detail that rendered the entire situation utterly absurd.
A thick woolen scarf was wrapped snugly around the kid's neck, completely flouting the suffocating, sweltering heat bleeding from the library's massive steam generators.
"M-Mercy, Young Master Elenio, please... my apron's going to rip," whimpered Hock, the heavy-set baker.
His ample frame lurched back and forth in weary resignation, caught dead in the middle of the struggle.
This ridiculous spectacle instantly became the main attraction for the agonizingly long queue filling the Archiving Hall.
The gargantuan chamber was flanked by towering, ceiling-high bookshelves, packed to the brim with entities from every caste and corner of Midgaria, all waiting for their turn with destiny.
Near the front, a noblewoman fluttered her fan furiously before her face, trying to ward off the stale, stagnant air of the hall.
She shot a look of pure disgust at a Beastfolk miner nearby, who was occasionally flicking his thick, furry tail to beat back the stifling heat.
Over in another corner, a group of Undine girls with fin-shaped ears and iridescent scales dusting their temples looked visibly anxious, their partially webbed hands clenching nervously.
A melting pot of diverse races—from gaunt, hollow-faced human commoners to wealthy Dwarves dripping in glittering gold—they all shared one terrifying commonality.
A book hovered ominously around each of their bodies.
Some were dense and thick, others razor-thin; some were bound in luxurious leather, others threadbare and frayed, or even reduced to simple rolled parchments.
They called it the Codex.
"Elenio!" Finnian's voice spiked an octave, throwing a glare that could kill. "I told you a thousand goddamn times, we'll hit the exact same shop the second this fucking Codex archiving ritual is finished!"
Veins roped along Finnian's scarred arms as he violently yanked Elenio's legs with everything he had.
"No! The cookies from the new owner taste like absolute trash!" Elenio shrieked. His tiny fingers migrated up to white-knuckle Hock's shirt collar, effectively strangling the poor man. "Let me go! I've got plenty of ink to rewrite Hock's Codex paragraphs!"
What little patience Finnian had left completely evaporated.
Snatch!
He broke his grip on the ankles, scooped Elenio around the waist, and hoisted the small body high into the air like a feral stray kitten.
"WRITE WHERE, YOU MISERABLE BASTARD?!" Finnian roared, a thick vein pulsing dangerously at his temple. "Hock's paragraphs hit The End! There isn't a single goddamn page left!"
Elenio thrashed his legs wildly in the air, his lips curling into a petulant pout as he glared down at the prince.
"Just rip a page out of Finnian's Codex and paste it over!" the boy whined with terrifying innocence. "You've got a mountain of blank pages anyway!"
In an instant, the rhythmic clatter of typewriters throughout the Grand Hall seemed to drown into absolute nothingness.
The oppressive heat still hung heavy in the air, but the suffocating silence that suddenly crashed down made the hairs on everyone's necks stand on end.
Eyes that had only offered casual, fleeting glances now locked entirely onto Finnian.
From the depths of the sprawling queues, venomous whispers began to slither through the air like poison.
"That's the Third Prince, right? The one whose Codex is..." a merchant in a velvet hat muttered, nudging his partner.
"Shh, keep your voice down. But yeah, I heard his book is as thick as a brick, yet completely blank. Not a single letter. A total manuscript defect," sneered a woman draped in pearls, casting a condescending glare from behind her folding fan.
A noblewoman near the front didn't even bother hiding her mocking smirk. "What a tragedy. Royal imperial blood squandered on an empty vessel that doesn't even possess a written destiny."
Finnian caught every single syllable of their pathetic slurs.
Creak.
His jaw clenched so violently his teeth audibly ground together. The inferno incinerating his chest no longer had anything to do with the library's steam generators—it was his pride being publicly trampled into the dirt.
His golden irises swept across the crowd.
The raw, murderous intent bleeding from his gaze forced several bystanders to instinctively take a step back.
"What the fuck are you looking at?!" Finnian barked. His voice boomed, ricocheting off the hall's stone walls.
His powerful arms still held Elenio's thrashing waist in a vice grip. Finnian spat right onto the marble floor. "Yeah, I don't have a single fucking line written in my Codex! But my authority is still more than enough to put every single one of your miserable names on today's page-severing execution list! You want to fucking test me?!"
The boiling rage compromised his focus, and Finnian's grip on Elenio's waist inadvertently loosened for a split second.
A fraction-of-a-second window.
Whoosh!
With uncanny, fluid agility, Elenio twisted out of Finnian's hands, leaping forward and latching onto Hock's upper body like a feral little monkey.
Slam!
Elenio's tiny legs locked around Hock's neck, his stomach and chest completely burying the baker's face. Hock staggered backward, completely losing his balance from the sudden assault.
"Ummmpppfff—!"
A muffled, miserable groan escaped from beneath Elenio's chest. The heavy-set man was literally suffocating, but he didn't even dare to resist, let alone lose his temper. Instead, his rough, dough-kneading hands patted Elenio's back awkwardly, as if trying to soothe a crying toddler.
He was entirely resigned to the fact that his final breath might be snuffed out by a brat rather than the cold, definitive sentences of his Codex.
"WAAAAH! UNCLE HOCK CAN'T DIE! MY COOKIESSSSS!" Elenio wailed even harder, his high-pitched shrieks piercing right through the tense, horrific silence of the hall.
"YOU LITTLE BASTARD!" Finnian roared.
The prince's face turned a shade of crimson that perfectly matched his spiky hair. He lunged forward again, desperately trying to pry the brat's legs off Hock's neck.
In the midst of this absurd tug-of-war, a young girl in a monochrome black-and-white uniform stepped forward hesitantly. Her thick, round glasses had slipped slightly down her nose, framing a pale, terrified face. Her hands shook violently as she clutched a wooden clipboard against her chest.
"M-Mercy, Your Highness..." squeaked the twin-braided girl. Her tiny voice was practically drowned out by Elenio's relentless blubbering and Finnian's guttural snarling. "T-The ritual... it must proceed immediately. M-Mr. Hock needs to t-take his place in the queue."
Finnian snapped his head around, his chest heaving as he locked his predatory gaze onto her.
"Are you fucking blind?! Can't you see I'm trying to pry this goddamn parasite off him?!" he snapped in irritation. "You're an Ink Novice—handling this shit is supposed to be your job! Why the hell am I, a prince, doing this garbage work?!"
The shoulders of the terrified Ink Novice flinched violently. "I-I'm sorry... Your Highness, I-I'm just a trainee."
"Then use your goddamn head and help me rip this brat off the fat baker!"
At Finnian's renewed roar, the girl looked on the verge of tears. But before her crying could break out, the sound of measured, elegant footsteps cut right through the chaos.
Two female figures parted the crowd, making their way toward the center of the commotion.
The first was a statuesque woman who exuded a refreshing grace.
Her silver hair, shimmering beneath the glow of the steam lamps, was immaculately styled—braided into a delicate half-halo that resembled a crown at the back of her head. A pair of sky-blue eyes radiated absolute serenity. A snow-white ruffled blouse was tightly bound by the rigid constraints of a pitch-black corset cinching her waist.
A black ribbon adorned her neck, serving as the perfect accent to the elegant simplicity of her attire, while long black gloves encased her slender arms. Her hands appeared almost untouchable, casting a cold yet captivating aura beneath the suffocating air of the hall.
Following close beside her was a much more diminutive figure.
Her shoulder-length hair was a vibrant shade of pink, out of which extended a pair of long, sharply pointed ears—the unmistakable hallmark of a pure-blooded Elf. The Elf's eyes gleamed a brilliant ruby red, an exact match to the irises of Elenio, who currently resembled nothing more than a wild monkey clinging to Hock's head.
Her attire was distinctly more archaic than that of her companion.
The upper half consisted of a pitch-black underbust vest featuring a prominent white heart insignia at the center of her chest, paired with intricate white mesh panels along the sides. This ensemble was complemented by a black shoulder cape draped over one side, adorned with complex white filigree patterns. The elven girl wore pristine white shorts, contrasting sharply with the black leather belt buckled around her waist.
The Elf grinned broadly.
She clapped both hands together against her right cheek, her expression deliberately over-exaggerated.
"Oh my~ Prince Finnian is so close with Elenio. Seeing this brings a tear to my eye."
Her voice carried a cheerful lilt, completely unaffected by the murderous aura radiating from Finnian's body.
"Close?! Are you fucking blind, you damn Elf?!" Finnian hissed sharply.
The heels of the prince's expensive Hessian boots scuffed harshly against the marble floor as he channeled extra leverage to haul Elenio's waist.
"Can't you see your brat is trying to turn Hock into a goddamn criminal by defying his Codex destiny?! Get over here and help me rip this little shit off! Hey! Zura, Cyrene!"
Instead of stepping in to assist, the silver-haired woman, Zura, and the petite Elf, Cyrene, merely exchanged glances. Zura concealed her mouth with the back of her hand, while Cyrene's shoulders began to tremble violently.
"Pfft... hahahaha!"
In the next heartbeat, both burst into a synchronized, crisp giggle.
They stood there like VIP spectators, letting the arrogant prince continue to wrestle with the cookie-obsessed brat and the wheezing baker in the dead center of the hall.
Swish.
Zura stepped forward, cutting through the tense atmosphere of the Archiving Hall with a refreshing grace.
Though her attire shared a similar color palette to that of the terrified, bespectacled Ink Novice, the cut of Zura's uniform was far more fashionable and tailored perfectly to her statuesque frame, complementing her shimmering silver hair flawlessly.
Pinned precisely to her left breast was a metallic emblem that caught the gleam of the steam lamps: an engraving of a quill driven firmly into the center of an open book, with three small stars aligned underneath.
Beside her, Cyrene followed in a black-and-white uniform of a much more relaxed, yet high-class design.
Upon the petite Elf's chest hung the exact same emblem, except that beneath the engraved book sat a solitary, single star—a symbol of absolute hierarchy within the Grand Library of Babel, making it explicitly clear that Cyrene held a superior rank to Zura.
With a slow, deliberate movement, Zura extended her gloved hand, gently caressing the back of Elenio as he remained wrapped tightly around Hock's head.
"Why don't we simply ask for the recipe, Elenio?" Zura's voice flowed with an exquisite gentleness, like the soothing chime of a crystal bell. She gazed into the boy's ruby-red irises, offering a sweet smile. "Afterward, Cyrene and I will bake them for you."
Thump.
Silence.
The words had barely left her lips, yet the effect was devastatingly instantaneous.
Elenio's wild thrashing suddenly locked in place.
At the exact same moment, Finnian, who had been channeling his entire strength into pulling Elenio's waist, abruptly froze his movements. Both froze dead in their tracks, their expressions stiffening as though time itself within the Archiving Hall had been forcibly stopped by a deeply taboo manuscript curse.
"Oh, what a wonderful idea~!" Cyrene clapped her hands softly against her cheek, tilting her head with a bright, sparkling expression. The single-star emblem on her chest swayed slightly. "It's been ages since I last tried cooking. We could even modify the recipe with your favorite Cottage Pie, Nio!"
If looks could kill, Cyrene and Zura would have been blasted to smithereens by Finnian's current glare.
The prince's features contorted into a profound grimace of sheer disgust and unmitigated horror.
On the other side, Elenio's small, sweet face lost every shred of its color. His complexion drained to a deathly pale, then to a stark, terrified blue born of absolute dread.
Visions of choking black smoke billowing from a kitchen, exploding cauldrons, and toxic, weaponized culinary creations capable of permanently vaporizing a person's taste buds flashed simultaneously through both of their minds.
"NOOOOO! NO WAY!" Elenio shrieked hysterically.
His sobbing was no longer the petulant whining of a child begging for a snack.
It was the desperate, blood-curdling scream of a living creature fighting with every fiber of its being to survive the jaws of death.
The boy tightened his vise-like grip on Hock's body, treating the heavy-set baker as his solitary shield against the impending cataclysm known as a 'home-cooked meal.'
"Then just let me be a criminal! I'll run away to the ends of the planet with Uncle Hock! Somewhere so far away that the stench of Cyrene and Zura's cooking pots can never assault my nose again! WAAAAH! DON'T LET THEM COOK!" Elenio shrieked, his tears streaming down in a dramatic torrent.
"Look at what you two fucking did!" Finnian barked.
His golden eyes flashed with raw fury as he glared back and forth between his fiancée and his mentor.
His hands clamped back around Elenio's waist, attempting to pry loose a child who had suddenly gained the monstrous strength of a cornered beast out of sheer, unadulterated terror.
"You're making this shit ten times harder!" Finnian roared in frustration.
Meanwhile, buried beneath Elenio's frantic embrace, Hock could only emit another muffled, submissive groan, "Ummmfff?!"
Zura, usually the very epitome of composure and grace, instantly lost every shred of her dignity.
Panic seized her as she watched Elenio's hysteria escalate.
"E-Elenio! Please don't cry! W-was there something wrong with what I said?" Zura stammered, her beautiful face flushing a panicked crimson. Her hands flailed awkwardly in the empty air. She frantically patted Elenio's back, trying to placate him as her voice pitched up several octaves. "W-we won't make anything strange! I swear our food... our food will at least be chewable! Right, Cyrene? Please, say something to make him stop screaming!"
Realizing the escalating chaos was on the verge of triggering a mass panic within the Archiving Hall, Hock finally took action.
Squeezing out the final reserves of his breath after being deprived of oxygen, the round baker managed to gently loosen Elenio's death grip. His large, calloused hands carefully supported Elenio's small frame, cradling the boy against his massive, doughy forearm.
Shifting Elenio's weight, Hock reached into the deep pocket of his canvas apron and pulled out a neatly folded piece of aged parchment.
He held it out directly in front of Elenio's tear-stained, ruby-red eyes.
"I had a feeling you would throw a tantrum like this, Young Master," Hock murmured, his warm, baritone voice carrying a soothing resonance. The rotund man offered a playful smile, his chubby cheeks bunching up. "So, before stepping foot inside the Grand Library today, I took the liberty of writing down the entire secret recipe for those chocolate cheese cookies just for you. Here, take it."
Elenio's hysterical sobs vanished in an instant.
With trembling, tiny hands and a flushed, red nose, he snatched the parchment from Hock's fingers, clutching it tightly to his chest as if it were the most sacred relic in existence.
He let out a few lingering hiccups, but his frantic grip on Hock finally unraveled completely.
Hock exhaled a massive sigh of relief.
Bowing slightly, he respectfully transferred Elenio's small frame over to Cyrene.
The stark physical juxtaposition between Hock's massive build and the Elf's diminutive stature made the hand-off look visually striking.
Cyrene deftly received her son, settling him onto her hip, while the burgundy-haired brat remained completely engrossed in staring at the recipe sheet through tear-rimmed eyes.
Finnian planted his hands on his hips.
He aggressively rubbed his throbbing temples, thoroughly drained by the sheer absurdity of the drama that had just unfolded.
"You should've done that from the fucking start, fatass! Then I wouldn't have to waste my precious energy dealing with this little shit's goddamn tantrum!" Finnian snarled with bitter cynicism, aggressively straightening his form-fitting black shirt which had been completely disheveled.
"Gwahahaha... but Your Highness, when else would I get the rare privilege of seeing Prince Finnian lose his cool like that, hm?"
Finnian's golden eyes narrowed in pure irritation. He felt as though his emotional privacy had just been brutally stripped bare by a mere commoner baker.
"Shut up, get back in line, and go die already! You're an eyesore!" he hissed arrogantly, snapping his head away with bitter coldness to mask his own awkwardness.
Hock let out a low, genuine chuckle—a sound of pure, unadulterated sincerity.
Yet, the laughter was abruptly cut short.
In the very next second, the old man fell completely still.
An unnatural, eerie wave of silence rippled through his massive frame, causing the jovial smile to instantly vanish from his face.
Woosh.
A faint, crimson luminescence radiating a dense, suffocating magical aura abruptly materialized just over Hock's left shoulder.
Flip, flip, flip!
A leather-bound book—worn, threadbare at the edges, and terribly thin—floated up into the empty air.
It was Hock's Codex.
The book of destiny fluttered open of its own accord. Its pages spun in a frantic blur, as if flipped by an invisible hand racing against a cruel deadline, before abruptly stopping on a specific page that bled the deepest, most concentrated shade of crimson.
Hock stared blankly at the lines of text inscribed upon the page, his weary eyes reflecting the ominous crimson glow of his own book.
Then, without a single warning, without a shred of hesitation, Hock raised his right hand—a hand mapped with old, blistering oven burns.
With a single movement that was chillingly steady, cold, and saturated with absolute finality...
RIP!
He tore the page clean out of his own Codex, severing it entirely from its binding. The sound of the tearing paper was not loud, yet its psychological shockwave completely shattered the collective sanity of everyone within the Archiving Hall.
"GAH!"
Hock clutched his right eye, a sudden, agonizing throb radiating through his skull.
"You crazy fatass! Do you want to fucking die?!" Finnian panicked, instantly clamping his hands down on Hock's shoulders to keep the heavy-set man from collapsing.
Elenio's hiccups abruptly ceased, the recipe parchment in his tiny hand nearly slipping to the marble floor.
Cyrene and Zura stood paralyzed, their lips parted in sheer disbelief.
All around them, the sprawling ocean of Humans, Undines, Dwarves, and Beastfolk who had witnessed the spectacle instinctively recoiled en masse.
Their faces drained of all color, consumed by an absolute, suffocating horror.
Hock drew a heavy, ragged breath before letting out a low chuckle.
"GWAHAHAHA... well, I'm going to die shortly anyway," Hock's baritone laughter echoed through the tense air. "It appears this particular page was bound directly to the physical description of my right eye. Gwahahaha."
Hock slowly lowered his hand.
The right side of his face had flattened into an eerie, featureless canvas.
His right eye was completely gone. In its place was nothing but smooth, undisturbed skin—as if an eye, or even an eye socket, had never existed there to begin with.
"Hock... your eye..." Finnian muttered, visibly rattled.
"I am perfectly fine, Your Highness." The rotund baker offered a reassuring smile, though the deep crease in his brow betrayed the immense agony stacking up inside him.
"Fine?! ave you completely lost your goddamn mind?! You just performed a page severing! You know that shit is illegal, right?! The Grand Library could have you executed on the spot, you idiot!" Finnian yanked Hock's arm roughly, his voice laced with volatile frustration.
"Gwahahaha... I highly doubt that. I didn't tear out someone else's destiny; I severed my own. So it shouldn't be a problem, right, Grand Archivist Cyrene?"
Cyrene, having just set Elenio down, let out a heavy sigh. "Technically, yes. But still, what you just did was incredibly extreme, Hock."
The petite Elf stepped closer to Hock, standing on her tiptoes to cradle his face.
Her delicate fingers gently brushed over the blank expanse of skin where his eye should have been. "Doing this just makes you look like a condemned criminal who suffered a page-severing punishment. Why would you go to such lengths?"
Hock merely smiled.
He walked over to Elenio, dropping down to one knee to level himself with the heavily scarfed boy.
He presented the glowing, crimson page of his Codex right in front of Elenio.
"This short paragraph might not be enough to stop Lady Zura or Lady Cyrene from accidentally detonating the kitchen," Hock joked with a raspy chuckle, his remaining weary eye softening with profound warmth. "However, this is the exact narrative in which I discovered the recipe for those chocolate cheesecake cookies."
One of his rough, calloused hands offered the crimson sheet, while the other reached out to gently ruffle the boy's spiky, burgundy hair.
"If you are so confident in the reserves of your ink, take this. Have it transcribed into the Codex of whoever you trust to bake your treats."
Elenio accepted the torn page with both tiny hands, completely ignoring the dense, suffocating magical aura radiating from the paper.
The boy stared deeply into Hock's remaining eye. His ruby-red irises shimmered, reflecting the lingering tears at the corners of his swollen eyes.
Standing behind Hock, Cyrene could only stare at the torn Codex fragment in her son's hands with an incredibly conflicted expression.
As a high-ranking official of the Grand Library of Babel, she knew exactly what the loss of that page entailed.
"Hock... do you truly understand what you've just done?" Cyrene asked.
Her voice had softened significantly, stripped of its usual cheerful cadence.
"Of course, My Lady..." Hock stood up, turning to face Cyrene with a burden-free smile. "The Young Master is a dear friend of mine. He has saved me more times than I can count, and he has never once hesitated to call this lonely commoner his friend."
Hearing such a pure, heartfelt confession, Cyrene could only draw a long, deep breath.
A warm smile graced her lips as she gazed upon the baker with profound respect.
"May the First Quill return your paragraph to Midgaria's narrative of happiness."
Hock returned the smile, bowing deeply to the pure-blooded Elf. "Thank you, My Lady. Please keep a close eye on the Young Master so he doesn't rot his teeth out with all those sweets."
With his piece said, Hock shifted his gaze.
His warm eye locked directly onto the crimson-haired prince.
Noticing the baker staring at him, Finnian immediately narrowed his golden eyes.
"What are you looking at?!" he snapped harshly, crossing his heavily scarred arms over his chest.
Hock didn't take the slightest offense.
Instead, he offered a small, dignified bow, delivering his final respects. "Thank you, Your Highness. I only wish I had something of actual value to offer you and your fiancée."
"I don't need your goddamn charity!" Finnian scoffed arrogantly, snapping his head away. "I can buy anything you own ten times over with my transaction ink. Now get your fat ass back in line and go die already!"
"That's too harsh, Finnian," she chided gently yet firmly.
Finnian snorted loudly, turning his face even further away to hide the awkward, embarrassed flush that was suddenly creeping up the tips of his ears.
Zura then stepped forward.
ith exceptionally graceful movements, she unraveled a thick woolen scarf and draped it securely around Hock's massive neck—ensuring the fabric would lock in the baker's fading warmth.
Hock smiled so widely that his remaining left eye narrowed with deep, emotional warmth.
Immediately following that poignant moment, the thick-spectacled Ink Novice trainee who had been terrified earlier stepped forward once again.
With a nervous, bowing gesture, she signaled to Hock and began guiding his heavy frame away.
Beneath the silent gaze of the four onlookers, Hock walked with a steady, resolute stride.
His heavy footsteps echoed softly against the marble tiles, carrying the lingering warmth of his final buttery aroma further and further away.
The old man did not look back.
He marched straight through the thin mist rising from the steam generators, heading toward a massive circular altar at the absolute heart of the Grand Hall.
The altar was forged from pure black obsidian, polished to such a high sheen that it mirrored the surroundings like a dark glass mirror.
Upon that sacred stage, a long queue stood in immaculate alignment. Creatures of every caste and creed—an aged Beastfolk warrior, a human mage, down to a haggard-faced commoner dwarf—all waited at the precipice of their ultimate destiny.
Hock took his place at the very end of the line.
In unison, they lowered their bodies, kneeling upon the chilling obsidian stone.
The atmosphere instantly locked into a heavy, suffocating solemnity.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
With well-practiced motions, their hands summoned forth their respective Codices.
Rolled parchments, dense volumes, and stacks of worn paper floated upward, coming to a halt directly before their chests.
Both of their hands were raised palms-up, entirely surrendering to the final chapter of their existences.
TENG.
The sharp toll of a silver bell sliced through the air.
A thick, heavy aroma of lavender incense suddenly billowed outward, entirely banishing the stagnant air of the chamber. From behind the towering, shadowed stone pillars, three figures stepped into the light.
Elenio tugged at the hem of Cyrene's clothes. "What are they?"
Cyrene offered a gentle smile and took her son's small hand. "The Terminal Colophoners. They are the ones who assist the First Quill in executing the Codex archiving ritual."
"Ooh... so they're grim reapers." There was an unmistakable trace of cynicism in the boy's innocent remark, but the Elf chose to ignore it, already long accustomed to his sharp nature.
The black silk robes of the Terminal Colophoners dragged across the floor, layered beneath pristine white cloaks embroidered with rigid gold threads that mapped out strict margins along the hems.
Their massive hoods were pulled down low, burying their faces in absolute darkness.
One of them hoisted a censer of burning incense, while the figure standing in the center raised his head.
His baritone voice resonated through every corner of the hall—cold, hollow, and utterly devoid of human emotion.
TENG.
The bell chimed a second time.
An extraordinarily dense, biting chill crept outward from the surface of the obsidian floor.
Hock closed his single eye as he felt the numbness begin to claim his knees.
The second Colophoner swung the censer, letting the sacred prayer flow.
"The Quill of Destiny has pressed its final period. We fold the creases of your pages; we measure the thickness of your loyalty."
Accompanying the rhythmic chant, the body of the old Beastfolk warrior at the front of the line gradually turned pale.
His skin withered, drying into the stark texture of paper-white.
Hock could feel it happening to himself.
The tips of his thick, calloused fingers were slowly eroding, dissolving into fine flakes of white paper dust that drifted lazily into the air.
"Every comma that once delayed your steps, we now straighten."
The Colophoner's tone pitched higher, demanding absolute and unyielding surrender.
"Every question mark that caused you to doubt, we now erase. Your essence is no longer flesh... your essence is now Script."
TENG.
The third toll rang out with piercing clarity.
The Colophoner in the center spread his black-gloved arms wide, severing and drawing out the life essence of the entire congregation simultaneously.
"In the name of the First Quill that etched the very beginning! We close your volume, we seal your book spine. Return to the womb of Midgaria's Great Book!"
ZAAASH!
Instantly, the Codex of everyone lined up at the altar shot forward, gathering in a neat hover behind the Terminal Colophoners.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
"Rejoice!" the lead Colophoner proclaimed, spreading his arms wide. "These are the loyal souls who have completed the tale penned by the First Quill!"
A thunderous roar erupted from the spectators.
"WOOOOOO! YEAH! SAFE TRAVELS!"
"May the First Quill return your paragraph to Midgaria's narrative of happiness!"
"Papa! May our paragraphs intertwine once more!"
Death.
The single word flashed across Elenio's young mind.
His ruby eyes stared straight ahead at Hock's stiff, lifeless body resting upon the altar, awaiting the orders of the Colophoners for the Ink Novices to clear the corpses—a process that remained a massive, unsettling mystery to the public.
"There are no funerals, huh?" Elenio murmured, his gaze never wavering.
Finnian arched a single eyebrow. "You're talking like those heroes from Earth again."
Elenio fell silent.
"Nothing like that exists in Midgaria," Finnian continued nonchalantly, his voice sharp and dismissive. "Once the Codex archiving ritual is finished, their empty husks are processed directly by the library."
"Where to?"
It was just two words. Yet, that innocent question successfully silenced Finnian and those standing nearest to them.
A heavy, awkward pause hung in the stagnant air.
"Come along, Elenio. Didn't you say you wanted to see the Manufacturing Market?" Cyrene hastily broke the tension, deftly steering the conversation away.
"Are Finni and Zura coming?" Elenio asked.
"Huh?!" Finnian glared in sheer annoyance. "I've been babysitting you since this morning! Don't push your goddamn luck!"
Cyrene let out a soft chuckle, her melodious voice instantly reviving the dampened atmosphere.
With an incredibly casual, elegant motion, she reached into the pocket of her uniform cloak.
She pulled out a unique mechanical device and handed it directly to Zura.
The object was a small bottle forged from thick glass, its body encased in intricately engraved, dark yellow iron plating.
Gaps within the metal armor revealed a dense, pitch-black ink churning dynamically inside, almost as if it were alive.
At the neck of the bottle sat a serrated metal ring and a small lever designed to lock the flow.
A four-wheel dial ring stamped with numbers 1 through 10 was mounted to its side, while at the very top, a tiny clock needle vibrated constantly—a precise indicator of the steam pressure required to pump the ink during magical transactions.
The denizens of Midgaria referred to this destiny-value transference machine as an Ink-Reservoir. Or more commonly: a Rez.
"Here, take my Rez just in case Elenio wants something at the market later," Cyrene said, offering Zura a playful wink.
Seeing the device, Finnian immediately crossed his heavily scarred arms over his chest.
"Hah?! Hell no! Why the fuck are you even bringing that?" he rejected flatly. "I'm not buying that brat a single goddamn thing, and besides, I have absolutely no intention of tagging along with you guys!"
Cyrene was not intimidated in the slightest. Instead, she tilted her head, pressing a dainty index finger against her cheek.
A sweet, radiant smile graced her beautiful face, but the glint in her eyes carried a mischievously wicked threat meant entirely for her student.
"Oh~ is that so, Finnian?" Cyrene giggled with an exaggerated, mock-sympathetic lilt. "What a pity. I was actually planning to excuse you from your weekly duties if you came along. But since you're refusing... how about tomorrow you help me re-catalog the entire archive of ancient manuscripts in the dusty West Wing Sector? All by yourself. Without a single break~"
Twitch.
Finnian's face contorted violently.
That veiled threat struck his absolute weakest point.
Re-cataloging a locked, forgotten sector was an absolute nightmare of psychological torture for a temperamental person like him.
"Dammit..." Finnian roared in pure frustration, a heavy vein throbbing dangerously at his temple. "I am an imperial prince! Not your son's goddamn nanny!"
Cyrene giggled innocently once more. "But you're still my most obedient student, aren't you?"
"And what the fuck does being your student have to do with babysitting this rotten brat?!" he snapped in total, bitter resignation.
Despite his barrage of coarse curses, the prince ultimately turned on his heel.
He stomped his feet aggressively, storming ahead of them toward the exit—a clear, wordless sign that he had been forced to surrender and join the group.
Zura could only shake her head with a faint, understanding smile, well-accustomed to the teacher-student dynamic that the Elf invariably won.
"Be a good boy, Elenio. We'll meet later at the Chronicle Hub steam station," Cyrene murmured, gently tapping Elenio's nose.
Elenio, who was still holding Cyrene's hand, had completely calmed down, though his eyes remained heavily bloodshot and swollen.
His tiny fingers on his other hand tightly clutched the cookie recipe sheet and Hock's crimson Codex page, gripping them as if they were the most priceless relics in the entire world.
Beneath the dim, cold glow of the Grand Hall's steam lamps, the four of them walked side by side.
Leaving behind the altar of death still shrouded in artificial cheers, they passed through the towering iron gates of the Grand Library of Babel, stepping out into the bustling, chaotic roar of Midgaria's Manufacturing Market.