It's been two weeks since deployment, and my rations are beginning to run low. The silence of Subsector-9 has become the norm, pressing against me with an eerie stillness. The endless white shelves stretch on without end, their towering forms casting no shadows, as if light here simply existed without source or direction.
Finally, after what has felt like an eternity, I'll see Eight again. The first face I'll have seen since arriving.
I tightened my grip on my sword, double-checking the few supplies I had left before stepping away from my station. My assigned route to the meeting point is a lonely one, I run my hands along the bookcases as I walk. The smooth surface of the shelves feels familiar beneath my fingertips, the faintest trace of dust clinging to my skin. Unlike the untouched corridors beyond, these books are meant to be read.
I've spent hours flipping through them, though the texts seem to shift in nature—sometimes historical accounts, sometimes instructions written in a language I had never heard of. And sometimes, unsettlingly, they hold the most despicable writings.
I shake the thought from my mind as I step forward, adjusting the weight of my sword. Though it is only thanks to the blessings of the Counsel that we eat I still cant help but hope for variety within what we are assigned.
The path to the meeting point is carved into my memory now, each turn familiar, each step predictable. I have been walking it recently to get a feel for the area. But anticipation builds in my chest nonetheless. Eight will be there. The first real conversation I'll have had in two weeks.
As I near the opening, the silence begins to shift—not breaking, but bending. A presence ahead.
Then, I see her.
Eight stands at the center of the meeting point, arms folded, her black librarian uniform a stark contrast against the pale, reflective floors. A pack is slung over her shoulder, her stance relaxed but alert.
For a moment, I hesitate. What do I even say first?
Then her gaze meets mine, and she grins. "You look terrible."
A breath of relief escapes me before I can stop it. I shake my head, managing a smirk. "And it looks like you've been helping distribute rations. Must be nice."
She chuckles, adjusting the blade strapped to her waist. "I won't lie, deployment hasn't been easy. But it looks like you survived."
I gesture towards my subsection. "Barely. Rations are running low."
Eight's expression shifts, a flicker of concern crossing her face before she glances toward the shelves. "We'll figure something out. But first—tell me everything. How's Subsector-9 been treating you?"
For the first time in weeks, I allow myself to relax—just a little.
At least for now, I'm not alone
I exhaled, shifting the weight of my sword before finally stepping closer. "Subsector-9 has been… quiet. Too quiet."
Eight arched an eyebrow. "You're complaining about silence? Silence is a good thing remember? You must be losing it."
"Maybe." I let out a dry chuckle, but the truth weighed heavier than I liked to admit. "Something about this place feels different lately. Like it's waiting for something."
Eight studied me for a moment, then nodded. "You're not the only one who's noticed."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
She hesitated, then reached into her pack and pulled out a book—one that looked far older than the pristine volumes around us. The spine was cracked, the pages worn and yellowed. That alone was unusual. Books didn't age here.
She handed it to me, her voice lower now. "I found this in my sector two days ago."
I flipped it open, skimming the first few lines. The text was familiar—a story of a man gone mad with power, I had read a few similar writings in the past weeks. But as I turned the pages, something shifted. The words twisted, paragraphs overwritten and smeared, ink bleeding into unnatural shapes. Entire passages had been altered. Corrupted.
I snapped the book shut. "Who did this?"
Eight's expression darkened. "That's the problem. We don't know. Of course, it was likely the rouges, but I didn't get a notification of tampering in my subsection.
I gripped the book tighter. The idea of defacing books—defying the counsel—was unthinkable.
I handed the book back to Eight. "You reported this already, right?"
She nodded. "Of course. The Counsel told me to hold onto it until the keepers arrive. Supposedly, most of them are tied up elsewhere."
I frowned, my fingers instinctively tightening around my sword's hilt. "Great. So we're on our own for now."
A brief silence settled between us, the weight of unspoken concerns pressing down. Finally, I motioned toward the carts of rations near the portal. "I'm guessing the one labeled 'Nine' is mine?"
"Yeah," Eight said, clearing her throat. "You'll need to bring it back every two weeks to swap it out for a fresh one."
I nodded, though neither of us moved right away. The unease lingered between us, heavy and unshakable.