Librarian of the Void

6: A Skill with No Owner

Leo did not move.

The restricted collection remained dark behind the glass. The black card lay on the floor between the shelves, its pale word still visible.

Threadstep.

Behind Leo, Professor Ruth’s office light had gone out.

He heard a key turn in the corridor.

His first thought was that Professor Ruth had returned.

His second thought was that the key sounded wrong. Professor Ruth’s office door had a smooth modern lock. The sound behind him came from an older metal mechanism, heavy and deliberate.

Leo turned.

The corridor was empty.

The office door stood open by a few centimetres.

He stared at it.

'Of course it is open now. Why would anything in this place behave normally?' he thought.

The grey book under his arm pulsed with warmth.

A warning appeared.

[Unregistered movement detected.]

[Investigation integrity at risk.]

[Recommendation: Preserve current evidence.]

Leo looked at the black card behind the glass.

He had no idea what investigation integrity meant. He also had no idea how to preserve evidence that was separated from him by a locked partition.

He tried the access panel again.

This time, the small light beside the lock was already green.

The glass door unlocked with a soft click.

Leo froze.

He had not entered a code.

He had not used his staff badge.

The door had opened because something had decided to let him in.

"This is how people die in horror stories," he muttered.

He pushed the door open anyway.

The restricted collection smelled different from the public library. The air was dry and bitter. The books were packed so tightly that their covers touched. Some had metal clasps. Others were wrapped in old cloth. Several shelves had warning strips across them, though the strips had faded until only fragments of red remained.

Leo walked toward the black card.

It disappeared.

He stopped.

The card had been on the floor less than three metres away. Now there was only dust and a thin rectangular mark where it had rested.

His class window opened.

[Evidence fragment moved.]

[New location: Unavailable.]

[Cause: External interference suspected.]

Leo looked around.

The shelves did not move. No footsteps sounded. The only thing that changed was the air. It felt colder near the back wall, where a row of boxes rested beneath a faded label.

Unresolved Inheritance Disputes.

Leo hated how interesting that sounded.

He crouched beside the boxes and opened the first one. It contained reports from the early days of the Integration, each marked with handwritten notes. Most concerned people who had awakened skills that did not match any existing category.

He read a few titles.

A healer whose wounds closed incorrectly.

A scout who could hear gates before they opened.

A child who received a class with no description.

The final report in the box had been torn in half.

Only the bottom remained.

...movement path was visible for less than one second. The subject returned to the starting point without crossing the space between. Further testing suspended by order of—

The signature had been cut away.

Leo placed the fragment on top of the grey book.

For a moment, nothing happened. He almost laughed at himself for expecting another magical response. Then the torn paper became transparent. Fine grey lines flowed from its edges into the pages of the book, copying the incomplete path before the paper returned to normal.

The book opened by itself.

[Evidence fragment accepted: Restricted inheritance report]

[Restoration progress: 6.41%]

The progress made him uncomfortable.

It was not a reward. It felt like a door unlocking somewhere he could not see.

He scanned the rest of the box. Another file mentioned the royal assassination, but the first page was missing. The report identified the victim as Arthur and described the attacker as an unknown woman wearing a dark coat.

Unknown woman.

The official report had called the accused unknown. This version at least added a detail.

Leo searched the neighbouring boxes.

There were more movement incidents. Not all of them used the word Threadstep. Some described impossible steps, missing seconds, and witnesses seeing a person arrive before they had left.

A pattern formed slowly.

Every report had been marked for removal.

Every report had been separated from the normal skill catalogue.

Every report stopped before naming the user.

His phone vibrated.

Leo nearly threw it across the room.

A message from Claire waited on the screen.

Are you alive? You skipped breakfast and Professor Ruth is looking for you.

Leo typed a response.

Currently in a restricted archive investigating a murdered movement skill. You?

He deleted it.

Running late. Tell Ruth I’m shelving books.

He sent the message.

Claire replied almost immediately.

You are literally holding a book, so technically that might be true.

Leo almost smiled.

Then the grey book turned a page.

The new page contained a single sentence.

[The owner had a name.]

Below it, the ink spread into a black stain.

Leo leaned closer.

A second sentence appeared.

[The name was removed from the record.]

His amusement disappeared.

The cold near the back wall grew stronger. Dust lifted from the floor and moved toward the empty space where the black card had vanished.

Something was being erased.

Or rewritten.

Leo picked up the torn report and placed it inside the grey book. The pages absorbed the paper without tearing. The silver thread on the cover brightened.

[Evidence fragment accepted.]

[Restoration progress: 8.02%]

[Required clue updated: Identify the erased owner.]

[Investigation status: Active]

The System offered one final line.

[Warning: This record has been observed by another party.]

Leo read the message three times. The System did not say who the other party was, whether they could see him, or whether they had noticed the Library itself. The lack of details was starting to feel deliberate, even though he knew the System had no intention behind it.

That was almost worse. A neutral warning could not be reasoned with.

Leo slowly looked toward the restricted collection entrance.

A shadow had appeared beneath the glass door.

Leo stayed behind the nearest shelf instead of walking directly toward it. The decision felt cowardly, but cowardice and survival had apparently become close relatives. He listened for breathing, footsteps, or the scrape of a shoe against the floor.

There was nothing.

The shadow did not have feet. It simply occupied the narrow space beneath the door, as if something on the other side was standing in a place where a body should not fit.

It was too tall to be a person standing normally, and it did not move like a reflection. The shape remained on the other side for three seconds.

Then it slid away.

Leo held the book against his chest.

He wanted to leave.

He also wanted to know the name.

Those two wants were beginning to become a problem.

He shut the box, returned it to the shelf, and stepped toward the door. The moment his hand touched the handle, the collection lights turned on.

Every warning strip glowed red.

Across the restricted shelves, dozens of black catalogue cards appeared between the books.

Only one was close enough to read.

A line of pale writing covered its surface.

She was not supposed to be remembered.

The card burned without heat.

Leo opened the door and ran.