“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, Teo,” the stranger said with a faint smile. “I’m Sir Phleas, keeper of the Library of Babel.”

  He rested a gloved hand on the flank of the winged direwolf beside him. The creature watched Teo with bright, unsettling intelligence.

  “And this is Daros.”

  The beast’s wings shifted slightly, feathers brushing against one another with a dry whisper.

  “A golden vorex,” Sir Phleas continued. “Quite a rare sight in the South. In fact… the only one you’ll find down here.”

  Daros tilted his massive head as if he understood every word.

  “Vorex are remarkable creatures,” Sir Phleas said. “Loyal to a fault. Gentle, most of the time. But if their master is threatened…” He gave a small shrug. “Let’s just say they remember they’re still wolves.”

  He gestured vaguely toward the horizon.

  “For centuries the Four Great Races of the Continent have bred them as mounts. Each people favors a different lineage.”

  “The Ethereal Elves once rode the white vorex,” he added after a moment. “Though that line is gone now.”

  “The Common Mages keep the brown ones in the East. You may have heard of Dromegard—the most renowned among them.”

  His eyes drifted northward.

  “The Vendalions ride the red vorex there.”

  Sir Phleas looked back at Teo, faint amusement in his gaze.

  “So you see… each of the Great Races guards a corner of Ardoras. And each, in its own way, has shaped these magnificent animals.”

  Teo was overwhelmed by the sudden deluge of information. He believed Sir Phleas, but couldn’t shake a hint of suspicion.

  “That’s all well and good, Sir Phleas,” the boy managed, taking a deep breath, “but it doesn’t explain how you know me, why you took my sister, or why a librarian is dressed like a warrior and carrying a sword.”

  Sir Phleas returned Teo’s suspicion with a smile. “Well, kid,” he said, “if it’s answers you want, I’ll give them. Let’s start with your last question. Yes, I’m the guardian of the Library of Babel, and I do carry a bronze sword. While those might seem contradictory in the human world, they’re not here on The Continent. Like the universe, the Library is a vast, complex place with infinite possibilities. Its books are like the stars, containing the destinies of everyone in Ardoras. But it’s also an enigmatic place, full of secrets and dangers. It’s a labyrinth with no beginning or end, no exit. You have to traverse seven levels, one for each city on The Continent. And as you go, the Library’s galleries can hide monstrous creatures, ready to prey on travelers. That’s why I carry this sword and wear these clothes; I’m the protector of those who come to Ardoras hoping to find their loved ones.”

  Hearing this, Teo’s eyes filled with tears. He thought of his father and his sacrifice to protect him and Steffi. He didn’t care about the dangers he’d face on The Continent if it meant seeing his father again.

  With a calmer tone, he replied, “You said there are seven levels, and the books guide the way. But how can we move forward when the books are gone, replaced by those strange symbols on the walls?”

  “We Ixarions aren’t just the most illustrious warrior race in Ardoras,” Sir Phleas said proudly. “We also possess a rare gift. We call it Phenomenal Omni-Perception.”

  Teo frowned. “And… what exactly does that mean?”

  Sir Phleas studied him for a moment, as if deciding how much to say.

  “Imagine the history of the world as a vast tapestry,” he said at last. “Every moment that has already happened — and every moment happening right now — is a thread woven into that tapestry.”

  Teo nodded slowly, trying to follow.

  “An Ixarion can see those threads,” Sir Phleas continued. “All of them. The past. The present. Once an event occurs, it becomes part of the weave forever. Fixed. Unchanging.”

  Teo blinked. “I’m sorry, Sir Phleas… I didn’t understand half of that.”

  Sir Phleas laughed softly. “Fair enough. Let me try again. Think of it this way. Humans experience time moment by moment. But to us Ixarions, those moments never really disappear. We can still perceive them — as clearly as if they were unfolding right in front of us.”

  Teo stared at him. “So you can see the past?”

  “Yes. Every thread that’s already been woven.” Sir Phleas paused. “But not the pattern.”

  “The pattern?”

  “The design of the tapestry as a whole. The truth that lies beneath it — what philosophers call the noumena. That deeper structure shapes everything, including the future.”

  Teo rubbed his temples. “So… the future already exists?”

  “In a way,” Sir Phleas said. “Not as a simple line of events waiting to happen. Think of it more as a design that already is. What we call the present is simply the moment when another thread becomes visible in that design.”

  Teo was quiet for a while.

  “So the past and present come from that design?” he asked finally.

  Sir Phleas nodded.

  “To see that design — the whole tapestry, not just its threads — requires a seventh sense. Only one race possesses it.”

  “The Ethereal Elves,” Teo murmured.

  “The Sigmodelles of Ephymera,” Sir Phleas confirmed.

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  He placed a firm hand on Teo’s shoulder.

  “That’s how I know who you are.”

  Teo looked up, startled. “What do you mean?”

  “An Ixarion recognizes every thread already woven,” Sir Phleas said. “And we know noble blood when we see it.”

  “Me? Noble?” Teo shook his head. “You’re mistaken, Sir Phleas. I’m just a kid who lost his father… and wants him back.”

  “An Ixarion is never wrong!” Sir Phleas declared with theatrical indignation.

  Then he turned and gestured down the path.

  “Come. There’s something I want to show you.”

  “Wait!” Teo said, suddenly anxious. “My cat, Noel! He jumped down when I chased that shadow! He’s lost! My dad asked me to take care of him. I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to him!”

  “Alright, alright,” Sir Phleas said, “we’ll find him. He can’t be far... Daros!” he called to the golden vorex. “We’ll ride him to find Noel faster.”

  Teo mounted the winged direwolf with Sir Phleas’s help, and they took off through the Library’s corridors. Each gallery was the same: archaic stone monoliths carved with indecipherable symbols.

  “Sir Phleas, what do those symbols mean...? Oh my God! What’s that?!”

  Just then, the same shadow flashed past, and a frog-like humanoid creature emerged from the darkness, creeping towards them on all fours.

  “It’s an eyesore,” Sir Phleas explained, “a creature from the lower levels, living in the shadows.”

  The eyesore, disturbed in its territory, croaked loudly, puffing out its chest. The sound was so disturbing that Teo wasn’t sure if it was echoing off the walls or inside his head. Daros, agitated, flapped his wings wildly. Sir Phleas tried to control him, but lost his grip. The vorex spun, crashing against the walls, and Teo fell to the ground near the eyesore.

  The creature rushed at him, its large eyes filled with a translucent membrane, and sharp teeth protruding from its mouth. Teo covered his head, waiting for the attack. But a light silhouette jumped over him, landing on the monster’s back. It was Noel, the white cat with a black patch over his left eye.

  Noel hissed, digging his claws into the eyesore’s skin. The creature thrashed, trying to reach him. Finally, it managed to strike, and Noel crashed against the wall with a thud. The eyesore pounced, opening its mouth wide.

  “No!” Teo yelled, filled with anger. He extended his arm, and as he opened his hand, the eyesore was pulverized.

  Teo ran to Noel, picking him up gently. “I’m so glad you’re okay, buddy!” he whispered, tears in his eyes. “Thank you for protecting me... Thank you!”

  The cat looked at him, licking his hand.

  “Now you see, Teo Sacks, what I meant!” Sir Phleas said, approaching. “The blood of an illustrious race runs in your veins! And now, the land of your birth claims you!”

  Daros limped towards them. Sir Phleas stroked his head.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Sir Phleas said. “You’re no ordinary human; your blood is the legacy of the Vendalions!”

  Teo shuddered. “No, it’s not possible,” he said, shaking his head. “How could I be? I was born on Earth, my parents are human. I don’t have any special qualities. I can’t be a Vendalion!”

  “You don’t have special qualities?” Sir Phleas sneered. “You just turned that monster to dust with a flick of your hand! A human can’t do that!”

  Teo clutched Noel, hiding his face in the cat’s fur. He was afraid.

  “We Ixarions are gifted with Phenomenal Omni-Perception. I know who you are, and the Library confirms it.”

  “What do you mean?” Teo asked.

  “Only rarely does the Library reveal its hieroglyphs: it’s what we Ardorians call ‘The Fated Path.’ That path is only open to a member of the Four Great Races. The last traveler who took it shares your ancient heritage.”

  “Another Vendalion... like me…” Teo whispered.

  “The Seven Levels are for mortals seeking their loved ones, but a member of the Four Races is assigned The Fated Path.”

  “But how can I be a Vendalion, Sir Phleas, if my parents are human?” Teo asked, starting to believe.

  A sound like cracking eggshells filled the air, and one of the wall inscriptions glowed a warm blue. Others followed, illuminating the gallery like a starry night.

  “Elvish runes,” Sir Phleas said, noticing Teo’s astonishment. “Clues of the noumena.”

  “What do they say?”

  “‘The Book of Beginning and Destruction leads to Galath,’” Sir Phleas read. “‘In Thoros, first, and then in Ephymera, the answers must be sought. As it was in the beginning, so shall it be in the end: blood shall betray blood, or Luria shall be consumed by fire.’”

  “What does it mean, Sir Phleas?” Teo asked, his tension growing.

  “Teo, I haven’t told you everything. I’m the last of my race, existing since the beginning. I’ve seen and written it all. The Book of Beginning and Destruction is mine, revealing Ardoras’s history. Dark truths hide within, and the wrong reader risks madness. The Continent is a miracle built on the remains of many ghosts that do not rest in peace.”

  “But how?!” Teo cried, sadness overwhelming him. “I thought death didn’t exist here.”

  “Death is neither the last nor the worst fate,” Sir Phleas said.

  “Does that mean my dad’s gone?” Teo asked, fearing the worst.

  “No,” Sir Phleas said quickly. “Humans who die against their will on Earth live eternally in Luria, guarded by the Ruler of Galath.”

  “You’re going too fast, Sir Phleas!” Teo said, frustrated.

  “Only those who embraced life with love and devotion revive in Ardoras. Those who chose death, through suicide, erased their existence. Luria is The Continent’s capital, home to The Revived. Galath, a grand fortress at its heart, houses the King’s throne.”

  “Where is Luria, Sir Phleas?” Teo asked, eager to see his father.

  “In the North…” Sir Phleas said, his tone bitter.

  “Wait…” Teo said, thinking. “You said the North was guarded by…”

  “...the Vendalions,” Sir Phleas completed the sentence. “Teo, Dromegard brought you here not just to reunite with your father…”

  “What does that mean?” Teo asked, his distrust returning.

  “The Ruler of Galath is a tyrant—the last, most sinister Vendalion. The last... except you.”

  “I hope you’re not saying what I think!”

  “Vendalions are monstrous, bloodthirsty beings!” Sir Phleas thundered. “Their power and ambition know no bounds! They take everything in their path! Only another Vendalion can challenge them. Countless Ixarion, Mage, and Sigmodelle legions fell fighting their tyranny. My race perished on the battlefield. Elves and Mages surrendered long ago before suffering the same fate. Vendalions have since fought each other for absolute power. Raen is the last—the cruel Usurper of Galath! And you, Teo, are our last hope.”

  “If that’s true, why do you trust me?” Teo asked, dismayed. “Am I not, according to you, a damned Vendalion?!” he yelled, his voice breaking.

  “Once, a very long time ago, there was a Vendalion who watched over peace in Ardoras and dispensed justice across the Four Points. He was the King of these wondrous lands before the uprising of others of his lineage and the advent of war. We Ardorians know him as the Founding Father. Under his rule, The Continent was a prosperous place, full of hope; he was an exceptional being! But one day, he disappeared without a trace and was never heard from again. Legends say that one day he will return to redeem all the inhabitants of Ardoras and punish Raen for his crimes.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” the boy asked, still sad.

  “What the legends didn’t say, Teo, was in what form he would return…”