The End of the Dream

Chapter 7

Upon Host's arrival, you immediately understood Wilford's word of advice.

Host was a tall man with hair swept back from his face, a streak of blond amongst the otherwise dark tresses. His tan trench coat was far from the oddest fashion decision you'd seen that day. Rather, most immediately striking were the bandages covering his eyes. They seemed to be bloodied and stained, as though the eyes beneath had been carved out of their sockets and the wounds still wept.

Despite this, he looked directly towards you, without you even having made a sound that may have alerted him to your presence. He could see you, as Wilford had said. But the prickling of the hairs on the back of your neck made you feel he could see far more than vision alone would ever grant.

Dark greeted him with cursory pleasantries, before getting to the crux of the matter regarding use of the library. Host turned away, but the moment still left you unsettled.

You were invited along, though for what purpose you were still unsure. You asked as much while the group of you wound your way through the office corridors and downstairs.

"We must figure out what it is, precisely, that the crystal is capable of—or, rather, what Mark believes it capable of," Dark explained. "Then we may know his intent with it."

"You don't know already?"

Dark gave you a terse smile. "I know much. But not every nuance."

Any further elaboration was delayed by your arrival, in what appeared to be the basement of the building. The entire floor was divided into only two rooms. The smaller was a study area, with a collection of desks, reading tables, and comfortable chairs. It had an old-fashioned aesthetic, harkening back to the libraries of Victorian times; polished wood, arched ceilings, rich colours.

The larger room was the library proper, housing a sea of shelving that stretched further than you could see. Interestingly, the majority of their contents seemed not to be books, but folders and sheathes of papers, carefully bound and arranged. Curiously, you eased one out, and immediately recognised it.

"These are... scripts. The same as the ones Mark had?"

There were so many.

"Yes, and no. They are records of the same events, but the transcription is unlikely to be identical."

You followed Dark's gaze, eyes falling upon Host. Wilford was currently engaged in animated conversation with him, which, although holding himself stiffly as ever, Host did not seem averse to.

"I referred to Host as our archivist. He sees all of these events as they occur, though he does not partake himself, and is able to give them a voice and narration. These scripts are the result."

The size of the room took on a new level of daunting. "How is that possible. One person wrote all this? How long did that take?"

"You will come to find few laws apply the same way here. Time, for one. Wilford and I, though we technically came into being in our current existences at the same time, are very different ages. I am approaching a century of existence. Wilford is closer to three centuries."

You stared at Dark, trying to process this new information. He did not look much older than thirty, physically. Nor did Wilford.

"As to Host's existence, he was here long before either of us. That is as much as I can say."

"Okay." You swallowed. It was, again, a lot to take in. "You say that few laws apply the same way here. What... what is here, exactly? What is this place, what is any of this?"