Seven Twisted Stars

Prologue (option 1): The Books That Never Burned

~WM dimension~

Jassin's knuckles impacted the window, and the air filled with frozen shards of glass.

The pieces shot past him, grazing the hair on his arms, whistling past his ears. He inhaled slowly, watching the darkness behind his closed eyelids, and silence returned as the shards never impacted the floor.

His feet twisted on the tile as his elbows pulled back to his sides. The glass shifted around him — he felt it, moving with him, as much a part of his body as his arms or legs.

His eyes opened to a field of orange glittering, and beyond that, dimness.

Carter shrugged her shoulders as if to squeeze away from the encroaching bookshelves. It wasn't that she had a problem with the dim lighting — she had lived the first half of her life in the hours of dusk and dawn, and the second in this neverending half-light. No, it was the dust and wood and paper that she hated. The shades of tan and brown. The white tile on the floor, the painted concrete walls. Nothing malleable, nothing raw, and absolutely nothing new.

As she reached a cross section in the maze of shelves, her hand went to the wire coiled about her wrist. Cool, quiet, and full of potential. It was everything she had left, yet it meant nothing if she couldn't use it.

Jassin flexed his fingers, waiting as the glass condensed in a thick layer around his forearms. For too long, he'd failed to complete his mission, but now by the Gods — by the very God who'd created this damned place — he was going to.

He turned from the jagged remnants of the window and stepped in among the shelves.

Carter knew the way by heart. She had puzzled out the quickest route through this place years ago — it felt like centuries ago. Each time she walked it, she did so with the intention of finishing what she'd come here for. Each time she walked it, she ended up turning around and walking right back.

But that wasn't going to happen today.

She didn't care about the stupid book anymore. She didn't care about the story it contained. The only relevant story was hers, here, today, and its continuation somewhere else tomorrow.

The people of Jassin's kingdom had spent years trying to open any of the Gates scattered across the land before someone finally managed to open them long enough to allow one person through. Back then, Jassin had been honored to be the person selected. But back then, he had thought differently of the Gods and their wishes for Humankind.

He didn't care about the stupid book anymore, or whatever wisdom it supposedly contained. Written by a God or not, it wasn't worth what he was about to do.

He had decided that his freedom was.

Carter reached the wall and glanced toward the staircase ahead of her, glowing with light from the floor above. Her fingers swept dust from the walls as she climbed. For the last fifteen years, she'd stayed down in the library's basement as much as possible; the darkness was preferable to what awaited her above. But she'd waited long enough.

She reached the top of the stairs and turned to the window for the first time in months, gazing out at the flames beyond. This was one of the last unbroken windows, and it shielded her from the heat, framing an almost picturesque view of the fire that consumed the outside of the building.

It had been a mistake to train Jassin with the magic his body had absorbed since entering this dimension. At least, if what he said about Ruka was true.

Ruka loves violence. Ruka breeds violence.

Jassin had taken a long time to admit it. Yes, Ruka was God of Fire, but he was also God of Knowledge, and Jassin's people had highlighted that aspect in their worship. Besides, neither of those domains were inherently violent; that was just a matter of personality and — dare he say it — imperfection.