"Keeper."
The word hung in the stale, parchment-scented air like a heavy curtain. It sounded prestigious—the kind of title given to a guardian of a holy relic or a cosmic seal. But in my experience, the grander the title, the more it usually involved soul-crushing paperwork or a "once-in-a-lifetime" opportunity to die for a cause you didn't choose.
"…Hey," I said, leaning back against a shelf of cold, obsidian-like wood. My legs were still a bit shaky from the sheer scale of this place. "What exactly is a 'Keeper'? You keep throwing that around, but I haven't exactly signed a contract. I don't see any benefits packages or dental plans."
The Voice didn't hesitate. Its tone was as smooth as polished glass and just as cold.
"A Keeper is the one who Records."
I frowned, tracing the spine of a book nearby. "Like a scribe? You brought me across dimensions to be a glorified secretary?"
"Not literally," the Voice clarified. "Your life—your decisions, your actions, and the consequences thereof—is the recording. There is a specific continuing book on the Designation Levels that exists solely to chronicle the lives of the Keepers.
A chill crawled up my spine that had nothing to do with the drafty silence of the void. "So, what? I'm being live-streamed into a hardcover? Is there a comments section I should be worried about?"
"In a sense. Keepers are selected based on specific criteria: a deep-seated obsession with knowledge, high analytical power, and a balanced moral compass. You were chosen because your mind operates with the efficiency of a supercomputer. You are a vessel with no ceiling."
I looked at my hands. I did love books. I liked to think I was reasonable. But being a "supercomputer" felt like a lot of pressure for a guy who once spent twenty minutes looking for his glasses while they were on his head.
"And let me guess," I said, my eyes narrowing. "I'm the first sucker to get this job? the first winner of this particular lottery?"
"No. You are the second."
I stilled. My hand, which had been reaching for a new spine, stopped mid-air. The silence of the Library—a place where the only living things were me and the voice if it could even be considered living in the first place—suddenly felt deafening.
"The second? What happened to the first guy? Did he retire to a nice beach somewhere? Tell me there's a pension."
"The first Keeper was brought here at the dawn of the universes, dimensions and all the worlds, five thousand years ago. He served until moments before your arrival."
Five thousand years. The sheer weight of that time made my head spin. He wasn't just a librarian; he was a living monument. A man who had outlasted empires, stars, and probably several versions of the "end of the world."
"He died," the Voice said.
The bluntness of it was like a physical blow.
"Died?" I repeated, my grip tightening on the shelf. "Inside the Library? I thought this place was a sanctuary."
"He died outside. At the age of five thousand, the first Keeper exited the Library. He was a socially awkward individual, an introvert who spent four millennia in the library reading books as a fanatic of knowledge. He grew curious. He wanted to see the worlds for himself, rather than through the ink of the books he read."
I gripped the edge of the shelf. "And?"
"The Library cannot perceive the intentions of living beings; they possess free will and thoughts that defy analysis. His Record simply... stops. It suggests he died abruptly, likely in a single move. You must understand, the Library is a gateway to a near-infinite tapestry of worlds, each ranked by the power of its inhabitants. He was a pure fanatic—a man who would rather read ten books on Mana than cast a single spell. He loved the idea of power but never the application. He spent five millennia hoarding secrets he never once practiced, until his curiosity for the 'real' magic he'd only read about finally lured him through the doors. He didn't just step outside; he accidentally stepped into a high-level world, a realm where even the air can be lethal to the uninitiated. Despite having the knowledge of ten floors above and ten below, he was a scholar in a war or slaughterhouse. He fell instantly, a victim of his own untested wonder."
"Can I choose where I land?" I asked, my grip tightening on the shelf. "Or is it just a blind jump into the dark? Because it sounds like the last guy tripped and fell into a woodchipper."
"The Library serves as a gateway to a near-infinite tapestry of worlds," the Voice explained, its tone devoid of pity. "Each is ranked by the inherent power of its inhabitants. The previous Keeper was not 'spoiled' or led into a trap; he was simply a victim of his own nature. He was a pure fanatic—a man who would rather read ten books on Mana than cast a single spell. For five thousand years, he chose the comfort of theory over the grit of application. He loved the idea of power, but never the practice of it."
I looked down at the blue book in my hand. A scholar in a slaughterhouse.
"His curiosity finally outweighed his caution. He wanted to feel the 'real' magic he had only ever seen on parchment. When he stepped through the threshold, he did not choose a world suited for a beginner. Driven by a scholar's greed to see the most 'magnificent' sights first, he accidentally bridged into a High-Level world—a realm where the very atmosphere can be lethal to the uninitiated. Despite having the theoretical knowledge of twenty floors, he was a master of nothing. He fell instantly, a victim of untested wonder."
"The Keeper's job is to increase their own state, To unable oneself to access all the levels" the Voice continued, ignoring my existential dread. "You must master all fifty-one floors and eventually impart knowledge to those you deem 'worthy.' You are the Librarian, the Shopkeeper, and the Judge."
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my pulse. I was a vessel with no ceiling, but the ceiling of the outside world was clearly made of lead and falling fast.
"Alright," I said, my voice hardening. "I get the job description. Now, what about you? You've been living in my head since I woke up. I'm Aren. What's your name? What are you?"
"I have no name," it replied. "I am a Voice Assistant. I am part of the Library's architecture."
"No name? That's inconvenient. I'll just call you 'Voice' for now. Low-effort, but accurate."
I didn't wait for a response. I turned back to the shelves, my eyes landing on a thin, blue-bound volume: Mana and Magic for Beginners and A Guide to Self-Healing.
I pulled it out, feeling the weight of the paper. It was light, but the implications were heavy.
"Voice," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "You mentioned I was chosen for my 'balanced morality.' But let's get one thing straight so we don't have an internal HR dispute later."
I opened the book. The letters began to dance, settling into a language I shouldn't have known but understood perfectly.
"Just because I'm reasonable doesn't mean I'm a saint. I'm human. I'll make mistakes—some accidentally, some very much on purpose. I believe in karma, but only if I'm the one delivering it. If the world tries to crush me like that bookshelf did, I'm not turning the other cheek."
I thought about the kid I saved back home. That was a 'good' deed, and it got me a one-way ticket to a void.
"Morality is a luxury for the living," I said, looking into the darkness of the upper levels. "I plan on staying alive. If I have to use every bit of forbidden knowledge in this place to strike back at a world that eats Keepers, I will. Are we clear?"
The Voice remained silent.
I flipped to the first page of the blue book. If I was going to survive the 'higher-level' world, I needed more than just a balanced compass. I needed a weapon.