“I am all ears.”

“As you’ve already understood, I believe that we all are personages of a Book, living, well, in the Book itself. This is not some delusion only I believe in; we are talking about a proper religion here.”

I anticipated something of a sort, so the absence of surprise on my face was understandable. Paige expected more, I guess. She puffed her lips but continued.

“Disciples of this cult believe that we all live the Book which is written by the Author. There are even theologists that research the Author. They explore the world to find out something about the Author or investigate and document the world’s rules. As Bookinism is the major religion on Atlantida, they are very respected people. Scriveners, they are called.”

“Atlantida?” - I knew what Atlantida was, but the context was vague.

“Or Atlantis. The name of this world. I am sure you know the legend about the lost continent in our previous world, which was known under the same name - everybody here knows this legend. The world is named partially after the Altantis from a legend - in time, you will understand what I am talking about - and partially because there was a city in our previous world called Atlantic, and it was full of slot machines. At least legends say so. Moreover.."

"I guess you diluted too much the topic that was too thin already. Commercial breaks, remember?"

"Oh.. Yeah. Sorry. Sometimes I got too excited talking about this. I want to be a Scrivener also - that is why I travel so much.”

“...”

“Commercial breaks... Got it. So if we are personages in a book - all our actions, while we are awake, are written somewhere in there. The Author just does not write about dreaming so often - this is why the world doesn’t know what to show us. The concept of dreaming is present, but the actual dreams are not. When we go to sleep or pass out, we see those sketchy scenes instead. Usually, no one remembers the visuals, but the verbal part is always some catchy phrase that is hard to forget. Scriveners think that those commercial breaks are deliberate artifacts of the Author rather than some sporadic pieces of garbage humor. That he passes some message to us via them.”

That was an interesting story that left more blank spaces than it filled.

“So no one in this world ever has dreams when sleeps? Even children?”

“Kids do have dreams, till the age of fourteen, if I am not mistaken. Some earlier, some later, but everyone in this world loses the ability to dream real dreams at some point. After that, kids officially become adults and see either nothing or commercial breaks while they sleep.

There are rumors about dreamers, though, people that see dreams all the time. The rumors are very quiet and spread no further one dominion. The rumors die when Scriveners come into the dominion. They can be… hm.. persuasive.”

This book religion sounded like a complete hiatus, but I didn’t want to focus on that and irritate Paige with my doubts. Instead I grimaced in pretend disbelief.

“Why is that so? Can it be somehow connected to the fact that you want to be one of them, and you shot a random bystander without doubt or hesitation? Several times! If this is the type of a usual Scrivener, I am not surprised.”

Paige blushed for a moment, but shortly after that, liquid steel poured from her eyes. The flask from thick metal squashed in her hands like an origami swan. It cooled her down a bit. She blew into a flask, returning it to the original state, filled the flask with cold water from a stream, made three big sips, and turned to me.

“This is very dangerous world, Tad. I have seen things you can’t even imagine.” - She took two steps towards me, just enough to be able to point her finger directly into my forehead. “And in a similar situation, I would do it again without doubt or hesitation.”

I thought this event would put an end to our conversation, but she continued if nothing happened. I really don’t know much about this world; maybe nothing happened indeed; maybe it is a usual Thursday for her. Or is it Friday already?

“So if you would see a proper dream in your sleep - keep your mouth shut if you don’t want troubles.”

We approached the end of the valley with the Winged Elm when the first light from the rising sun crawled out of the skyline and galloped to us, followed by countless siblings. The valley appeared to be on a wide plateau. Spring which followed us from the Elm itself, turned into a thin waterfall near a hundred meters tall. The wind was turning it into a vapor halfway to the ground, dispersing its wet several hundred meters in all directions. The greenery thrived in these area forming thick shrub which smoothly transformed into the woods which covered almost the entire field of view.

I stopped there in disbelief, admiring the picture. Comparing to the sketchy plateau we were standing on, this view amazed.

“So what exactly traits of the Author did those Scrives of yours distilled until now.”

Paige approach and stood beside me.

“Impressive, right? Atlantida is filled with all sorts of impressive things along with all the other peculiarities. When I just got here - all I wanted is to go back. If I were asked this question now - I would not know what to answer.”

She found an old site of fire in the shadow of a big head-shaped boulder. In the center of the ashes, she put a flat stone, previously extracted from her bag. While doing all these manipulations, she continued her speech.

“Most of the things unveiled by the Order are classified, and only higher hierarchs of the Book church have access to it. But some are cultivated among the people. The most common became canonical dogmas even other religions acknowledge. Three virtues. The Author is fair; the Book, he is writing, provides an equal opportunity for each personage to become the Protagonist. The Author is merciful; he never burdens personages with more than they can handle. The Author is absent; most of the time, he doesn’t care about his Book and its personages; you are the only reason for your failures and successes; you have free will to do anything until he notices you.”

I sat beside her on the broad stone, watching fire coming out from the flat saucer-shaped stone, heating the water in the forbearing flask. Paige called this stone a receipt item, and for now, it was enough for me.

“What happens when the Author notices you?”

“You either die, or disappear, for the Author wrote the Book and the Book is all about balance and equal opportunity. If the Author notices you - you break both pillars his Book is standing upon.”

“Harsh.”

“Yes. There are lesser-known traits. For example, have you noticed that our speech and even thoughts are somehow weird and bumpy. From time to time, even extremely awkward. Scrives think the language the Author writes this book with is not his native and he still is trying to conquer it. It also indicates that the Author is relatively new to writing, and his Book has only begun, even if first personages appeared in this world thousands of years ago...

“Interesting. What about his laziness, boredom, and lack of creativity?”

Paige looked at me with a suspicious stare.

“If only I could kill you back then… As the Author has three virtues, he has to have three iniquities, for he is all about balance as his Book is. Sloth, fatigue, and banality - those three are his inquiries. I won’t explain more about them since it seems you already know about them.”

We were sitting near the boulder drinking herbal tea, talking about some nonsensical things, and I was feeling pretty good. Either my psych was that stable, or I was just too dumb to worry, but when Paige said what we need to sleep for a bit, I closed my eyes and fell into the deep…

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