Maybe he was on something.

Gorren paced from library to library, brain working overtime. He had always prided himself to be someone that did his homework, and be he damned if he wasn’t going to honor the habit now.

Part of him, the knowledge-crazed nominally, would have loved to charge back in there and try to take the book on the fly, but that wouldn’t have done now, wouldn’t it? He couldn’t risk his life on the basis of just conjectures and theories. He needed data, facts!

Instead, he had bid his time, studied his prey like a patient hunter. It hadn’t been easy to squash down his impatience, and the timeless quality of the place didn’t help his irritation at feeling precious time slink through his fingers, but he had done it. He had slunk amidst the libraries like a rat, painstakingly forcing himself to wait for the right time, until he knew enough to succeed.

Now, maybe, he finally had enough.

Pacing quickly, temper barely held in check, he quickly recalled his findings.

The creature. He wasn’t going to sugarcoat it: that thing was a mystery after the other. Putting aside its nature, that was bewildering and he’d need more study to understand it, its behavior was simply illogical. He had tried exactly ten, nerve-wracking, lung-wrenching times to sneak back into the central hall and each time his attention had barely strayed to the book, the creature had set itself in motion, trying to catch him. After his first escape, he had cursed his cowardice. Why don’t stand and fight? He had the power of an archmage, he could repel a dragon, let alone that wretched abomination. He swore that next time he’d fight. And still, every time the creature had slid in his direction, not even a flick of air moved by its passage, his conviction had melted like butter under the sun, and he had scurried away in panic.

Gorren stopped, and threw his hands into the air, cursing his cowardice. He simply couldn’t do it. When that beast came for him, he felt like ice talons were squeezing his heart. His legs wobbled, his knees buckled, his breath caught in his throat and any thought of courage disappeared from his mind, along with all of his strength. Was the nature of the beast that kept him from facing it? Was his own lack of bravery? Was some kind of spell? He couldn’t tell, mainly because during the overwhelming panic couldn’t focus enough to understand if something arcane was being cast.

And talking of spells…

He stomped to a stop before one of the few pieces of walls not covered by a library. The mirror was massive, large enough to easily reflect five people at a time. Its frame was made of platinum inlaid with gems and pearls that twinkled like stars and was encased into a massive case of black wood polished to a sheen.

It was a marvel, but Gorren had eyes only for the stunted figure that scowled back at him from the center of the mirror.

It was like someone had taken the ugliest goblin of all time, dumped him into a bucket of gray paint, attached a scraggly beard to his too-big head, and pulled his nose until it almost touched the pointed chin.

Gorren was almost apoplectic with rage. The sonofabitch had shrunk him! Made him into a goblin…child…thing! Oh, he was going… he was going to… he didn’t know what he was going to do, but it was going to involve sharp objects, a sturdy sack and many angry vipers!

Gorren got close to the mirror, curling back his lip. The goblin in it sneered, showing a row of sharpened teeth. The sclera of his eyes was black, with golden pupils like the ones of a feline. That was from before, he was certain of it. The subtle difference he had felt on his face were the bumps left by the larger teeth on his skin, and the eyes didn‘t hold the same magical residue of the rest of his body.

Normally, he would have been concerned. Right now, he was just fiercely happy to have something he could bite hard with.

The worst wasn’t even having being shrunk to half of his previous height. The worst had come when he had examined the magical residue left on him by the creature’s spell.

Wasn’t the wonkiest transmutation spell he had ever seen? It fucking was! It was just what a beginner would have thrown if at the same time someone was peeling his nails off with tongs. For that… that indecency to be able to pass his shields was more than an impossibility, it was an insult!

Thankfully, to save him from having a heart attack had come to a realization. In the residue he had found a sliver of Crux; and that had explained why his shields had been pierced so easily. Mortal magic couldn’t stop undiluted Crux. A purified sliver of it, used as a sort of arrowhead, would have allowed any spell, even the wonkiest, to pierce any mortal barrier.

The problems didn’t end there. After the spell had run its course, the Crux had clung to his form like sugarcoating on a cake. It reinforced it, preventing him from transmuting himself back!

Anger surged, and Gorren passed a few moments kicking things around and snarling.

When he was calm enough to think again, breath a bit short, he forced some encouragement down his gullet. The Crux was in a contained form, enough for him to keep it under control. At least, he wouldn’t risk being torn apart by unbound creative energies.

But back to the business at hand.

Each time he had roused its attention, the beast had pursued him, and each time it had retreated back to its place when he had got away from the central hall. It tried from time to time to throw some other spells, but he had made sure to dodge them all.

So, now the things were two: that creature’s mind worked in a completely different way from a human’s, or it was playing with him.

Gorren tended to the first. It would explain many things, from that strange “trap”, if it could be called like that, to the behavior of the creature, and it would just make sense, given its home plane. If it was playing around with him, then why take his blows during their first meeting, instead of jumping straight away to the library-scheme or, even better, use its massive power of manipulation to better box him in?

Sure, nothing could be truly discarded for certain, the creature was too alien and he still didn’t know enough, but his instinct told him that he was on the right track and goddammit, he was sick of thinking about it.

So, taking for good that he had to do with a creature whose mind processes worked in completely different ways from human, where he went from there?

Well, knowing your enemy is half the fight. He theorized that the creature’s mind revolved around the concept of “desire”. It had found him into the maelstrom of the Crux following (smelling out?) the desire intrinsic to human nature. Maybe his resistance had confused it, forced its mind to adapt. It had managed, but only partially, creating a little world with the desires of his missed victim, so that it could attract him to itself, evidently certain that he’d think like it thought, following his desires at the exclusion of anything else. Like breadcrumbs, he had built the world with objects ordered in a rising ranking of “most desired”, and had acted when it had felt his desire for the last book. But then, why it held itself from chasing him? Again, he couldn’t be sure, but he felt that it could be because of rejection. Maybe the creature interpreted his coming as his desire to come to it. Maybe it acted only if it felt that his prey was somewhat willing? Maybe rejection repelled it? Confused it?

Mh, he was digressing too much.

Gorren grumbled, grudgingly fascinated. It was all theory, but he had made trials with hiding his desires during his ten attempts, and he had found only partial confirmations and no firm opposition to it.

If he was right, and he was fairly certain to be it, that creature was fascinating indeed. Could be called lesser than a human, able to understand only desire? But then, it could manipulate the Crux in such a way… no, not lesser nor higher. It was just a different kind of lifeform; by a human point of view, skewed, tilted to focus on just an aspect of existence at the exclusion of the others. One thing was certain: it was different, its mind was different, its logic was different.

Many more questions were raised or left unanswered, but that was what interested him, so he was going to stop there for now.

He rubbed his hands together, and cackled softly, suddenly gleeful. If he was right, that book at the center of the hall was the thing he had most wished for in all of his life. Or maybe, what he most wished for right now: answers. Whatever it was, he couldn’t wait to have it in his hands.

And, if everything went as he hoped, that moment was about to arrive.

The central hall was exactly as he remembered it. If he looked hard enough, he was sure that even the dust on the floor had conserved the same disposition.

Gorren wiped his forehead with the back of a hand, hissing softly. The beast was there, just out of perception, waiting for him. Well, guess what. This old man had tricks up his sleeves.

Combat wasn’t his specialty, but now that point was moot. If he couldn’t stand his ground, he couldn’t fight. He’d have to be tricky. Luckily, trickiness had a second name: mind magic, and that, alongside alchemy and dimensional magic, was just his specialty. He had tried a partial version of this method in his previous attempts, as testing runs. Now he would go all the way in.

He closed his eyes, focusing inward. His being appeared before him as a knot of strings. The knot roiled and twisted, and each string seemed to be made by a different, dizzying color.

He intoned a mantra, pushing his focus to a deeper level. The strings’ fell into sharper focus. He recognized differences and similarities, nuances barely visible but full of meaning.

As the mantra echoed in his mind, the image changed.

The knot fell upon itself and, impossibly, at the same time enlarged and changed while remaining the same. He found himself watching three entwined circles, each radiating a bewildering array of meanings. The first represented the body, and it was the simplest and most definite. The second was the mind, formed into layers that permeated each other while remaining different. The third was the soul, ethereal and inscrutable.

Gorren focused on the second. With an ease born by practice, he made his mind’s structure appear before him. It took the form of a box full of objects. He willed another box to appear, a side-mindscape that bulged from him like a pocket from a jacket.

With attention, he pushed into his mind-box and started to pick certain objects. His desires, his ambition, those he put into the other box, then closed it and put a seal on it. On his sense of duty, he scribbled an order using the words of the mantra like ink, then put it back into the box.

Done all of that, he opened his eyes.

Without his desire, the world appeared to him like a grey place, unattractive and boring. A terrible sense of unease surged, but he pushed it back. He still chanted his mantra, and the words impressed into him a duty to follow.

He started to make his way toward the center of the room.

The side-mindscape pushed against his thoughts like a throbbing buboes, the parts of him he had sealed inside straining to escape.

Still chanting, he hurried, hiding his presence under a cover of Mana. The beast didn’t move.

He had just stepped over half of the way that the book appeared before him.

It floated atop of its dais, making the room look drab and shabby with its brilliance. Gorren watched it, but felt no desire towards it. Duty compelled him to go and take it, nothing else.

He hazarded a mental glance toward the creature. It didn’t move. The bulge in his mind strained, like a volcano about to erupt.

Gorren felt a surge of satisfaction and sprinted forward.

The dais was solid gold, a meter tall. He had to hoist himself on it, but, given the nimbleness of his body, it wasn’t a problem at all.

Standing up, he faced the book. Now that he was close to it, he could feel whispers caressing his mind. They spoke to him of secret knowledge and revealed mysteries, of broken barriers and reached completeness. He didn’t feel particularly spurred by them. It was just duty.

The book floated too high up for him to reach it, but as he reached for it, it gently came to him. His fingers tingled when he touched it, Mana rippling along his skin. The whispers joined into breathless joy. The bulge in his mind struggled like a chained beast. He grasped the book and pulled it. Whatever energy was keeping it afloat gently gave way, and he found himself holding the object. It felt as light as a feather.

He turned to the beast. Academic satisfaction surged through at seeing it still motionless. It looked like his theory was right. It felt and could react only to desire. Without it, it couldn’t recognize the presence of other beings.

Deeply satisfied, he clutched the book to his chest and strode away. Now he just had to get back to the library and he would be safe.

He had made ten paces when the beast exploded into activity.

No subtleness. No elegant and spooky gliding into the air. The creature launched a keening cry that smashed the silence and sent a spike of pain running through his brain.

The side mindscape gave way with a crunch. Whirling, eyes wide as the world slammed back into its normal colors, Gorren saw the beast flop through dimensions and to the floor, all thrashing limbs and shrieking incoherence. He almost stumbled when the alien attention gripped him. A cloud covered his thoughts, and he lost his reasoning.

He turned and scrambled away, book clutched to his chest.

Hearing through the daze of terror the beast giving chase, his mind ran in confusion. How had it spotted him? Was his theory wrong? Could it react to more than just desires? Impossible! All of his studies, his observation, his tests! He couldn’t be wrong!

Terror overwhelmed him. He ran with all his might, throwing aside any other concern.

He dashed into the corridor and a moment later heard the creature slam against the libraries. Venturing a quick glance, he saw the creature scramble against the obstacles, trying to force its way into the too-tight passage by sheer brawn. Books and wood flew into pieces before it stopped and curled. Gorren felt Mana flare into a burst and, to his horror, the libraries distorted, rippling like water to allow passage at the creature.

He put his head down and pushed his legs to go faster. He didn’t need to imagine the thing following this time. Crashes and sounds of splintering wood, alongside snarls and shrieks, were proof enough.

Running with all he had, he forced himself to think. Terror clouded him, but he found that if he wasn’t actually standing his ground, he could power through it.

He refused to admit that his theory was wrong. It put back into question too many things for him to do it. Then, only the book remained. For some reason, that creature that he had believed incapable to perceive its surroundings without Mana or desire perceptions, was able to perceive that book. Why? What kind of book was that?

Surprisingly, pulling it away from his chest cost him some effort, but he managed to do it enough to take a quick peek at the title on the cover.

He stumbled, choking. He smacked against a candelabrum, and kept on running, ignoring the ache on his shoulder.

Hilarity surged, pure and undiluted, mixing to the terror, and he actually started to cackle.

“I knew it!” He screeched, tears stinging at his eyes. “I knew that i was chosen! I knew it!”

That was not a book, that was The book. That marvel, twinkling with silvery light while nestled into his arms, held on his cover with lines of solidified Mana and light not other title but the one and only De Res Aeterna. That was no book that could be found buried into ancient libraries, or manuscripts copied by hand by some wizened archmage. That was a legend.

There was only one De Res Aeterna, the grimoire of Ur the God of Magic and Knowledge. Its appearances into the mortal realms could be counted on a single hand, and each of it had coincided with the rise of an archmage whose deeds had shaped the world. That book wasn’t inherited, passed or stolen. Only Fathomless Ur decided to whom it was passed, and the person whom the choice fell was the Chosen of a God.

Gorren hadn’t ever dared to hope, not even acknowledged the hope that the honor could one day fall upon him, that he could… he could…

“Ur, My lord!” He shouted, tears streaming down his eyes. Even while running for his life, he couldn’t contain the happiness. It welled into him, springing unstoppable.

Ur of the First Circle, Ur the Almighty and Omniscient, Ur the Seeker, the only God he had ever shown true obeisance. To be acknowledged by Him was the greatest honor he could imagine, apart from completing his research. It repaid him of any fatigue, any misfortune. His life was made worthy by that single moment. He was truly blessed. More, he was Chosen!

“My Lord!” He screamed at the darkness that replaced the sky. “I won’t disappoint you! I will bring my research to completion, even if it cost me all eternity to do it!”

He launched a mocking gaze at the creature still pursuing him. How pathetic that thing looked now! Weak, stupid, limited. It dared to stand against him, the Chosen of a God! The thought alone was hilarious!

The cloud of terror that had been sieging him disappeared like fog under a storm under his newfound sense of purpose and exhilaration. He was chosen! He was invincible, unstoppable! How could he ever fail?

The solution to his conundrum appeared to his mind, clear like the summer sky. After all, hadn’t he prepared it beforehand, just in case of a chase?

He pushed the book against his chest and with a burst of mocking laughter threw himself feet-first under a library.

The walls separating the corridors were interrupted from time to time to allow deeper libraries to be set without ruining the alignment of the books. To one of these openings, he threw himself now, while reciting a spell of transmutation at the same time. His supernaturally nimble body folded easily to pass through the opening between the floor and the first shelf of the library, and movement was provided by his momentum and the slippery coating he had transformed his skin into.

He was on the other side in a moment, quickly jumping back to his feet and running away again. His nose throbbed where he had smacked against the foot of the library, his legs ached and his skin gave him painful tugs as it transmuted back, but for him, none of that mattered. The only thing that he could feel was exultation and the magnificent presence of the book against his skin.

Behind, he felt the shrieks of the beast. He breathlessly laughed, feeling, now that he wasn’t under its attention anymore, the last shreds of the fog leaving him. Now he’d coat the book in a layer of occluding Mana and…

He felt a tug that wasn’t from his shifting skin. The front of his body was swarmed with tingles. The corridor before him shifted and twisted, before ripping apart and disgorging the creature that he thought was chasing him.

Gorren launched an exclamation, stumbling to stop his momentum, and dashed back the way he had come, the beast thundering in his wake. Was that thing jumping through dimensions? That world was technically its propriety since it had created it, but that wasn’t fair! He had to mask the book’s presence now!

He tried to focus, but with the direct attention of the beast, the cloud of terror had returned as well. He tried to use his newfound sense of purpose to steady his thoughts, but this time it wasn’t enough to breach it. The presence oppressing him was ten times stronger. He could even feel shreds of chaotic thoughts flow from it, urgency, and… fear?

“A-ah!” He stuttered. “You are right to be afraid, mutt! With his book, i will destroy you!” He exclaimed, but the words felt hollow. Terror oppressed him like never before, and he had to use all of his focus just to keep his legs moving and not freeze like a scared rabbit.

Terror spiked suddenly, hitting him like a physical force. He stumbled, the need to just stand down and die overpowering his mind.

He rebelled against it like a cornered dog. He wasn’t going to die there! He was chosen! Chosen! His fate was to rise to the highest knowledge, to take his revenge! He was going to reach higher, he was going to… to…!

He slipped, limbs not answering, and smashed against a library. Pain flared into his side, and he fell, books falling after him. The floor was so cold that it took what little breath he had away. He scrambled like a beached fish, limbs not moving properly and mind threatening to shut down under the wave of absolute terror. It had stopped being an emotion. Now it felt like a foreign force crushing his mind.

Desperately clutching the book, he used his last shreds of strength to drag himself in the space beneath the library. He had barely done so that the beast collided against the library. An avalanche of books came down, and the wood splintered and cracked.

Gorren covered his head, expecting to be crushed, but miraculously the library remained standing. Amidst the chaos of terror, Gorren felt the Mana of the creature holding it together. It didn’t want him to be crushed? Or maybe for the book to not be damaged?

“You’re a mystery after the other… ngh… damn you.” He grunted when the mental pressure, with the disappearance of direct attention, lessened. It felt like someone wrenched a nail from his head. At least he found himself able to think straight once again.

He pushed himself against the wall, clutching the book against his thin chest and trying to make himself as smaller as possible. Not so difficult when he was already so small. Thankfully, the beast didn’t seem smart enough to understand that it could just push a tendril beneath the library and grab him. Instead, it was pushing itself against the library, making the space ripple like it was attempting to bend it enough for it to enter in the tiny space. Gorren knew that in time it would.

He swallowed, trying to calm his thundering heart.

He tried to evoke the Mana coating on the Book, but the mental assault had left him devoid of strength. He could barely hold his own covering, let alone try creating another.

So, he was trapped like a rat, with a beast that could seemingly trace him everywhere instantly and no way to run. Not the best situation now.

“I am Chosen. I am Chosen. I am Chosen.” He rasped, eyes bloodshot. A spike of pain made him grunt, and he had to use an arm to not fall on the floor. He recognized the symptoms of Thamaturgic Stress. His mind had been already strained with his self-manipulation. The mind attack of the creature had taxed it even more.

He felt something drip from his nose. He touched it and his fingers returned covered with blood.

“I won’t die here.” He growled, clutching his fist until the knuckled turned white.

Outside, one of the limbs of the creature probed the entrance. The creature was learning. He had to be quick.

He had only one chance now: the book. He had to open it and hope that he would find something that could save him. No, that was wrong. In the grimoire of Ur all formulas were inscribed. What he had to hope was that his tiny brain would be able to understand its greatness.

He laid the book down and stared at it. He would have preferred that moment to be more solemn, but now he lacked the time. Fighting guilt and asking Ur for forgiveness, he laid his hand over the cover. His fingers tingled where they touched the ornated cover.

With a stuttering breath, he slammed it open, just as a limb intruded into his refuge. Light, strong and pure, erupted from the pages, bathing him into golden hues. He faintly heard the beast shriek but his mind was already away. Whispers talked to him of secrets and knowledge, revelations that were at the same time hymns to the glory of the one that seek for knowledge. They wrapped him into a gentle embrace.

The floor, the wood, the library, the beast, everything disappeared into the golden mist. Gorren floated into it, he was part of it. The light was knowledge and reason and magic, and he was in the light, taken away from the world, unbounded and free.

For a moment, Gorren An-Tudok felt at peace.

Then his feet touched the cold stone.

He blinked, his mind slowly uncoiling, and left his gaze wander around. He was in a strange room. The floor was stone inlaid with veins of gold and silver forming into strange curling patterns. Two walls were bare stone, devoid of any ornamentation, while the other two were much more strange. One was completely covered with a red tapestry, embroidered to show what looked to be a maze-like library stretching to the horizon. A tiny, half-seen figure was caught scampering between the corridors. Gorren took a step back, eyes widening as he recognized the dead-like flesh and maw-head. He blinked, and when he brought his gaze on it again, the creature was in another point of the maze.

Still, nothing evil happened, and he understood that the creature, wherever it was, couldn’t perceive him anymore.

With grudging unease, he turned to the last wall. It was the strangest by far. In fact, there was no wall at all. Rock simply ended at both angles, giving way to a liquid-like surface swarming with dizzying arrays of colors. The colors mixed, changed, divided, never standing still, with such vitality that the “wall” seemed almost alive.

Gorren recognized immediately the scent of Crux. He corrected himself a moment after. Not Crux, but an early form of it. Straining his tired senses, he could feel that beyond the “wall” there was true, undiluted Crux, and more importantly, the tipping point that he couldn’t see into the library.

He slumped to the ground, panting, each breath he took prayer to Ur. A thousand lighted candles. Fifty night of fasting under the crescent moon. A hundred spells of celebration. An hour of prayer, every day for ten years.

Ur had saved him, he had no doubt about it. He had saved him and brought him to a place where he could study the Crux, undisturbed and under the best conditions, he could hope for. The book was gone, but he didn’t need it anymore. His God had given him everything he needed to advance his research. Now, it fell to him. If he had what it took to be His chosen, he would have to show it.

Feeling deeply humbled and deeply blessed, Gorren kneeled, touching the floor with his forehead. The stone was cold, but he didn’t pay attention to it.

He stood like this for a long time, ignoring his aching body, thanking his God from the bottom of his heart for the chance that He had conceded him.