I shoot up, gasping for air, my heart pounding in my chest. I look around and see only the posters on the walls, a bookshelf in the far corner loaded with manga and graphic novels, and a desk with a monitor and multiple gaming consoles set up on it. I was in my room, in my house, in my hometown of Langley, Washington, and above all; I was safe. Realizing this, I flopped back into my bed and let out a breath of relief, allowing my heart to settle. I had my eyes closed in an attempt to better relax, but the sound of sucking drew my attention. I pick my head up and see my younger brother, Caleb, loudly sucking the dwindling contents of a can of soda with a straw, looking at me casually as he does it. I let out an annoyed sigh and say "I thought I told you to stay out of my room?" Caleb releases the straw from his lips and replies, "Yeah, you did, but it's almost noon, so I was just checking to see if you were dead or not." "Well I'm not, happy?" I ask rhetorically and annoyed. Caleb simply shakes his hand in an "unsure" gesture. "Speaking of you dying, it looked like you were having a seizure or something, and you were talking in your sleep. Were you having a bad dream or something?" Caleb asks. I think for a minute, knowing I had had a dream, but for the life of me I couldn't remember. "I think so, can't remember though." I answer with a shrug. "If you ask me, it's all those damn video games, rotting your brain." Caleb suggests, putting a bit of enphasis on the curse, Caleb knows our mom doesn't approve of him cursing, which is why he only does it in front of me. "Well, I didn't, so shut up, and watch your mouth." I say, to which Caleb responds "You watch it!" I lunge at Caleb, causing him to run out of the room, this was the typical coarse of events with the two of us; Caleb would do or say something he shouldn't, I would warn him against it, Caleb pushes back, I lunge at him, and he runs away. I've never actually made the effort to chase after Caleb when he screws up, and I'm not really sure what I'd do if I caught him, but it gets him to leave me alone for a while so I'd say the system works.

I roll back into bed and close my eyes, hoping to get a bit more rest before I absolutely have to get up, unfortunately, I had to pee, so I guess I was up for the day. While I religously refuse the idea that video games rot your brain, I had to admit I might have been pulling a few too many all nighters, and it might be good for me to get out of the house. I grab some clothes from my dresser, a simple t-shirt and pair of jeans, socks and underwear too, of course, and open the window to air out "The Funk," as my mom would call it, before going to the bathroom for a shower.

My name is Isaac Crowe, I'm 22 years old with shoulder length blond hair, greyish-blueish-greenish eyes, and a bit of scruff on my face. I'm not a gym rat with a six pack but don't need a forklift to get out of the house either, so I'd say I'm in relatively decent shape. I had been attending college to become a professional writer up untill earlier this year when my mom asked me to come home to help out with Caleb. Last year, our parents got divorced because Dad was sleeping with his Pilates instructor. I wasn't all that broken up about it, to tell the truth, even before I left I could tell their marriage was on it's last legs, Caleb, however, took it the hardest, he began acting out, he was angry all the time, shouting at people, getting into fights, he even had to be brought home in handcuffs by the police one time. Desperate, Mom called me, asked me to come home and reel Caleb in. I didn't know what she expected me to do, I was a very different kid at Caleb's age, I had a more "go with the flow" attitude whereas Caleb is a spiteful salmon swimming up a waterfall, nevertheless, it was for Mom, so I switched to online courses and moved back home. I figured Caleb's acting out was because of the divorce as well as being a teen full of hormones, so I signed him up for baseball to get his mind off things as well as burn off that energy. Fast forward a year and Caleb's the star batter of his team. Personally, I think he imagines the ball being our dad's face, but his grades are up, the shouting matches are down, and Mom hasn't gone to bed with a bottle of Chardonnay in months, so for now it's a non-issue.

After a shower, I get dressed and throw on a hoodie, grabbing my phone, wallet, and keys as I head for the door. Caleb's in the living room watching sports, "I'm heading out." I announce, Caleb waves a hand without taking his eyes off the screen, I shake my head as I slip on my Nikes, 'He's more like me than he cares to admit.' I think to myself. I lock the door behind me, and make my way down the street, listening to Panic! At The Disco through my headphones.

It was a nippy October afternoon, the sky was cloudy and the breeze was light, most people complain about the cold, but I revel in it, it was the unbearable summer heat I couldn't stand. While there were plenty of bookstores in Langley, I prefered going to the library, a genuine article, and remnant of a bygone era. It was an old, decrepit building, the kind that was built in the 60's and everyone stopped caring about in the 90's, but that's kind of why I liked it so much; it was like hanging out in a house everyone thinks is haunted.

The sound of a bell jingles as I open the door, and I hear the voice of "He-Who-Haunts-These-Halls" call out to me. "Afternoon, Isaac." Al, the elderly librarian greets, not even bothering to look up from his vintage Playboy magazine. "You know, one of these days someone who's not me is gonna come in here, and you're going to feel pretty silly thinking it's me." I joke, and without missing a beat, Al retorts with "The day someone besides you comes into this fire hazard is the day they condemn it." I chuckle at the old man's gibe, saying "I'll be in the back." as I wander off. "Yeah yeah." Al responds unenthusiastically.

The reason I liked coming to the library rather than a bookstore, besides the privacy, was that the library was old, as was everything within it, all the books were stiff with yellowed pages, and most were out of print, it was like the Pacific Northwest's Library of Alexandria. However, the reason most of these books were out of print was because they sucked or were incredibly racist, there was an entire shelf of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. That said, every now and then I'd find treasure amongst the trash, something someone wrote that wasn't that popular at the time but I found interesting, usually in the Fiction section. An added bonus was that all these books were written back when the back of the book had a description of the story rather than what some critics thought of it.

As I scoured the shelves, my fingers brushing over the spines, I begin getting the same feeling I get when there's nothing new on Netflix; I've either seen it or I'm not that interested in it, nevertheless I check, wondeering if I'm bored enough. I get to the end of the isle and turn to walk back, I had reached the highest shelf I was able to see clearly, the one above it needed a ladder or something to stand on, I didn't trust any of the chairs in this place not to break under me, so I got on my toes and stretched out my arm. I couldn't see what I was grabbing but I pulled it out anyway, this proved to be a mistake when multiple books came crashing down on top of me. 'It would appear that Al keeps the hard covers on the top shelf.' I surmise, rubbing the lump on my head. I begin picking up the scattered books and stacking them, but stop when one of the books catches my eye, a hardcover book wrapped in a dull red leather, it didn't have the name of the book, nor it's author but instead had six strange symbols arranged in a circle on the cover. I had to admit, I was curious, and after quickly checking to see Al was still fixated on the centerfold from the 70's, I sat down and opened the book.

On the first page was written

Tԋҽ Lҽɠҽɳԃ σϝ Tԋҽ Sιx Hҽɾσҽʂ

'Huh, I guess that's what the story's called.' I thought. There was still no author, but at the bottom of the page someone had written "Thou shalt not forsake The Seventh." 'Ugh,' I groaned internally, 'I hate it when people write in books.' Memories of text books filled with Hitler mustaches and Frida Kahlo unibrows came to the front of my mind. 'And what does that even mean, "Thou shalt not forsake The Seventh?" Is there a seventh hero, is this a spoiler, a reference, some inside joke?' I shook the thoughts away and turned to the next page.

Iɳ ƚԋҽ Ⴆҽɠιɳɳιɳɠ, ƚԋҽɾҽ ɯαʂ ɳσƚԋιɳɠ, ɳαυɠԋƚ Eαɾƚԋ ƚσ ʂƚαɳԃ υρσɳ, ɳσɾ Sƚαɾʂ ƚσ ʂԋιɳҽ ɳσɾ Sƙყ ƚσ ԋσʅԃ ƚԋҽɱ.

Tԋҽɳ ƈαɱҽ Tԋҽ Cɾҽαƚισɳ, α ɱσɱҽɳƚ σϝ ʂυƈԋ ρσɯҽɾ ƚԋαƚ αʅʅ ƚԋιɳɠʂ ɯҽɾҽ Ⴆσɾɳ, Ⴆυƚ ɳσɳҽ ʂσ ɠɾҽαƚ αʂ Tԋҽ Sιx Eʅҽɱҽɳƚʂ.

Tԋҽʂҽ ʂιx ρɾιɱσɾԃιαʅ ϝσɾƈҽʂ σϝ ɳαƚυɾҽ αɾҽ ɯԋαƚ αʅʅσɯҽԃ ʅιϝҽ ƚσ ϝʅσυɾιʂԋ υρσɳ ƚԋҽ ɯσɾʅԃ σϝ Vყƚαʂ

Tԋҽ Sԋιɳιɳɠ Sυɳ,

Tԋҽ Gυιԃιɳɠ Sƚαɾʂ, Tԋҽ Mყʂƚҽɾισυʂ Mσσɳ,

Tԋҽ Bσυɳԃʅҽʂʂ Sƙყ, Tԋҽ Sԋιϝƚιɳɠ Sҽα,

αɳԃ Tԋҽ Eɳԃυɾιɳɠ Eαɾƚԋ.

Fɾσɱ ƚԋҽʂҽ ϝσɾƈҽʂ ԃσ αʅʅ ƚԋιɳɠʂ σɯҽ ɳσƚ ʝυʂƚ ƚԋҽιɾ ʅιʋҽʂ, Ⴆυƚ ƚԋҽιɾ ɱαɠιƈ αʂ ɯҽʅʅ.

My interest had been piqued, the story felt like a fairy tale or like a bible from a fantasy world, and on the other page was an illustration of the passage; a black spot in the center with the six symbols from the cover around it, and around them images of people and animals, there was even what looked to be a dragon over the symbol representing The Sun. 'And I like how they switched it up from the usual earth, air, fire and water trope., that's pretty creative.' I thought to myself. I was about to turn the page when something else caught my eye, just as the page before, someone had written "Thou shalt not forsake The Seventh." It looked to be the same handwriting as the first. 'What is with this guy?' I thought, annoyed as I turned the page.

Bυƚ ƚԋҽ ρҽσρʅҽ σϝ Vყƚαʂ ԃιԃ ɳσƚ ʅιʋҽ ρҽαƈҽϝυʅ ʅιʋҽʂ ϝσɾ ʋҽɾყ ʅσɳɠ, ϝσɾ σɳҽ ԃαყ ƈαɱҽ Tԋҽ Bʅιɠԋƚ.

Tԋҽ Bʅιɠԋƚ ɯαʂ α ϝσɾƈҽ σϝ ԃҽαƚԋ αɳԃ ԃҽʂƚɾυƈƚισɳ, ƚԋɾҽαƚҽɳιɳɠ ƚσ ҽɳɠυʅϝ ƚԋҽ ɯσɾʅԃ ιɳ ԃαɾƙɳҽʂʂ.

Tԋҽ Pҽσρʅҽ ƈɾιҽԃ συƚ, Ⴆҽɠɠιɳɠ ϝσɾ Tԋҽ Eʅҽɱҽɳƚʂ ƚσ ʂαʋҽ ƚԋҽɱ, ρɾαყιɳɠ ϝσɾ Tԋҽ Bʅιɠԋƚ ƚσ Ⴆҽ Ⴆʅιɳԃҽԃ Ⴆყ Tԋҽ Sυɳ, ʂɯαʅʅσɯҽԃ Ⴆყ Tԋҽ Eαɾƚԋ, σɾ ԃɾσɯɳҽԃ Ⴆყ Tԋҽ Sҽα, Ⴆυƚ Tԋҽ Bʅιɠԋƚ ɠɾҽɯ υɳαႦαƚҽԃ.

'Oooooo, conflict.' I smirked. I was something of a fan of bad things happening in fiction, because to me it meant one of two things was about to happen, either A; the protagonist was about to get substantially more awesome, or B; everyone was going to die in painful, horrible ways that breaks one's heart. I'll admit, I kind of hated the latter, I almost cried watching Apokolips War, but the fact that a fiction was able to make a person feel that way was amazing to me. The illustration on the other page depicted the text just as the first did, showing people, praying and looking afraid, surrounded by a dark cloud, what I assumed was The Blight, and just as before, the words "Thou shalt not forsake The Seventh" were written at the bottom, the words were darker and sharper this time, as if whoever wrote it was getting frustrated, but I paid it no attention and turned the page.

Bυƚ, ιƚ ɯαʂ σɳʅყ ιɳ ƚԋҽ ԃαɾƙɳҽʂʂ σϝ ƚԋҽ ϝιɳαʅ ԃαყʂ ɯԋҽɾҽ ʅιɠԋƚ ƈσυʅԃ ʂԋιɳҽ Ⴆɾιɠԋƚҽʂƚ.

Sιx ɯαɾɾισɾʂ ʂƚσσԃ αɱσɳɠʂƚ ƚԋҽ ԋυԃԃʅҽԃ ɱαʂʂҽʂ αɳԃ ϝσυɠԋƚ Ⴆαƈƙ Tԋҽ Bʅιɠԋƚ, ҽαƈԋ ɯιҽʅԃιɳɠ ƚԋҽ ρσɯҽɾʂ σϝ Tԋҽ Eʅҽɱҽɳƚʂ αʂ ɯҽαρσɳʂ.

Tԋҽ ɯαɾɾισɾʂ Ⴆαƚƚʅҽԃ Tԋҽ Bʅιɠԋƚ αƈɾσʂʂ Vყƚαʂ, αɾɱιҽʂ ɾιʂιɳɠ ιɳ ƚԋҽιɾ ϝσσƚʂƚҽρʂ ƚσ ϝσʅʅσɯ ɯԋҽɾҽʋҽɾ ƚԋҽ ɯαɾɾισɾʂ ʅҽԃ.

The illustration showed a man clad in armor, riding a horse, with an army of soldiers charging alongside him, and holding his sword over his head, at least I think it was a sword, there was a blank, sword shaped space where the sword should be. 'It's probably supposed to mean his sword shined brightly or something.' I concluded. And once again, "Thou shalt not forsake The Seventh" was there at the bottom.

It was starting to bug me; seeing the repeated and nonsensical vandalism. 'What is this even supposed to mean?' I ask internally, 'A seventh Hero, a seventh Element, what?' I turn the page to continue, hoping to evenmtually get some sort of answer, but what I found only brought more questions.

The pages were completely scratched out, the text and illustration were marred in black. Upon closer inspection, I realized it wasn't just scribbles, but the phrase "Thou shalt not forsake The Seventh" over and over again. Before, it had felt like someone's convoluted attempt at a prank, but it was begining to feel like someon'e decent into madness. Without thinking I turned the page, as defaced as the last, and then the next page, and the next, and the next. I quickly thumbed through the pages, searching for respite from the stranger's supposed madness, I found it in the middle of the book, but it wasn't just the writing stopped, but where the story stopped as well. On one page was the scribblings, and on the other was nothing, no text, no illustration, not even the now disconcerting "Thou shalt not forsake The Seventh," it was just blank.

I continued thumbing the rest of the pages, and it appeared that they were all blank, all the way to the back cover. I closed the book, turning it over to the front, my mind still reeling from the experience. I stand up and walk out from between the bookshelves. "Hey, Al, what do you know about this-" I stop midsentence when I see the geriatric is no longer where he always was. "-book?"

Al's absence was worrying, as the man never moved from his desk, there was even a rumor in high school that Al was animatronic, like the band at a Chuck E. Cheese. I leaned over the desk to see if he was somewhere behind but found nothing, then decided to forgo the golden rule of the library. "Hey Al, where you at?" I called out, thinking he had perhaps gone to the bathroom, but I didn't hear a response. 'Actually, I don't hear anything.' It struck me that it was too quiet, even though it was a library, there was always the sound of the broken radiator or cars driving outside, but there was no sound. As the thought that I somehow went deaf crept into my mind, there was a sudden burning feeling in my hand. I wince, dropping the book, and notice the fading orange glow where my hand was on it.

Then, entirely on it's own, the book opened, the muffled thump of the hard cover on the carpeted floor audible in this soundless space. I stared in disbelief as the pages slowly turned, one after the other, then they picked up the pace, turning quicker and quicker, until the rapid flipping of pages sounded like the fluttering of a flock of birds taking flight. Then, a light came from the pages, a small yet bright light which quickly grew brighter until I had to shield my eyes from it.

The sound of the pages turning ceased, I opened my eyes and found myself no longer in the library, or anywhere else for that matter. The only way to desribe the place I stood, or lack thereof, was nowhere, absolute darkness surrounded me, I couldn't even see the floor, 'I can't even tell if there is a floor.' I think to myself as I stomp my foot on nothing, no sound coming from it either, but I wasn't falling, so I had that going for me at least.

I begin walking, not entirely sure if I was going anywhere or if there was anywhere to go, but stop when I see something in the distance, a small light, like that of a star. I continue walking towards the light until a unsettling thought crossed my mind. 'Oh fuck, am I dead? Did I die when those books fell on me?' In an instant I was struck with the combined feelings that I was going to throw up, pass out, and suffer from my heart exploding. I held myself up on my weak, shaky legs, my breathing rough and labored. I eventually calmed down, my heart steady and the nonexistant room was no longer spinning, but I was quickly confronted by a new barrage of feelings, ones that made me wished my heart had exploded. If I was dead, it meant it was over, everything was over, that I would never again see Mom, or even Caleb, or know the touch of a woman. 'God damn it, I don't even know any women!' I cursed myself, thinking about how I wasted my life playing games and being alone, when I should have been out making friends and having experiences. 'Is this what heart ache feels like?' I thought as I sunk to the nonexistant floor. I wanted to cry, but ended up jamming my thumbs into my eyes, the anger I felt for myself colliding with the sorrow.

I sat there for a while, long enough to sort through my emotions. When the crying stopped I remembered why I hadn't lived the life I thought I should have before; it was because I hated people. Well, "hate" may be too strong of a word, in all honesty I didn't know anyone well enough to hate them. 'I think the problem was I didn't care enough about people to want to get to know them.' I thought to myself as I looked back on my life. 'Most people just didn't seem that interesting, not as interesting as the characters in a video game, at least. In fact, if I think about it, I didn't waste my life playing games, my life was better because I played games. I got to experience things I could never have in real life: I've defeated countless villains, and become one myself once or twice. I've faced off against the hordes of the undead and forces of evil, and known the love of many women, sometimes elven or alien women. So fuck that normie life, I'm a gamer and I'm fucking proud of it!' I proclaim to myself, picking myself up off the nonexistant ground. I begin walking with a newfound resolve, having decided that if I was really and truly dead, there was nothing I could do about it, and that I was fine with the life I lived. 'Still a little sad about Mom and Caleb, though, and even Dad now that I think about it, but what's done is done. I love you guys.' I say as if to communicate with my family telepathically.

The light grew as I got closer, yet still seemed so far away, but I kept going. Eventually I got close enough that the light had become difficult to look at, and even felt a little warm, but I continued. My stride slowed and staggered as the blinding light and blistering heat overwhelmed me. 'Who knew walking towards the light would be such a pain in the ass? I would've asked to take the stairs if I thought anybody was listening.' I complained as the light seeped through my shut tight eyelids. I began waving a hand out in front of me, reaching blindly for whatever I could find within the light, and for a moment there was nothing, but then I found something to hold onto. The object was round, a little bigger than my hand, firm yet squishy. I continued kneading the object until the light faded and the heat subsided. I crack one eye open, checking to see if it was safe, and breathed a sigh of relief as I opened the other eye.

Both eyes immediately went wide when I saw what the round, firm yet squishy object I was holding was. My entire body went stiff as a board as my hand was on the breast of a tan skinned woman, with dark hair and brown eyes, wearing a tight black t-shirt and cut-off denim shorts. The woman wore a neutral expression for a moment until it seemed she realized something, she looked down to my hand then back up to me. 'Shit shit shit shit, come on Isaac, say something!'

"Uh....Hi?"