June 20th, 1983
Most of those who could not endure even a fraction of Azathoth's image—along with many members of the Erebus staff August had simply taken a dislike to—had been locked inside the library.
It had become less a room of records and knowledge—
and more a feeding ground.
A man came sprinting through the maze of shelves, his footsteps uneven and frantic as he burst into view of the group.
His face was pale with terror.
His breathing was ragged.
"This place is insane," he cried. "There are monsters everywhere—"
Something moved in the dark.
A massive, bony hand shot out from between the shelves and clamped around his head before he could finish.
He barely had time to gasp.
"Shhh," a voice whispered from the darkness.
The hand tightened.
"This is a library."
The voice almost seemed to smile.
"A beautiful library."
The man was dragged backward into the shadows.
The group heard his muffled scream—
then the wet tearing of flesh.
The crack of bone.
The unmistakable sound of a body being pulled apart.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
And in that moment, they understood the first rule of surviving the library.
Make noise—
and you die.
Moments later, a figure emerged from between the shelves.
She wore a smile.
Or at least, something that tried to resemble one.
Her face had been warped in a way that pulled her mouth far too wide, stretching it deep into her cheeks until her teeth were constantly visible, as if her expression had been forcibly carved into place. Her brown skin looked untouched otherwise, which somehow only made the distortion more disturbing. In each of her eyes, there were far too many pupils—small, shifting black dots that drifted over one another in restless patterns, overlapping and separating as though they could never agree on where to look.
She was dressed elegantly.
A beautiful black lace dress draped over her frame, paired with high heels that clicked softly against the library floor.
In one set of hands—the upper, human-sized pair—she held a book and a ring of keys.
The lower pair were another matter entirely.
Those arms were far longer, thin to the point of looking skeletal, and ended in the same enormous bony hands that had snatched the screaming man into the dark moments earlier. Fresh blood still coated one of them, wet and gleaming in the dim light.
Despite everything that was wrong with her, they recognized her.
Silvia Silva
The facility's recordskeeper.
"Hello, valued guests," Silvia said pleasantly.
Her voice was warm.
Too warm.
Like a librarian greeting children.
"Welcome to my beautiful library."
Her neck twitched.
A sharp, mechanical jerk.
Then again, several words later.
Every eighth syllable, like clockwork.
"Do please respect our rules," she continued, her smile never changing, "and remain beautifully quiet."
Nicholas's hand immediately moved toward his gun.
But before Nicholas could raise the gun, Eliza caught his wrist and gave a firm shake of her head.
Wren stepped forward carefully.
"How do we leave this place?" she asked.
She kept her voice measured, respectful.
If this thing could still be reasoned with, then maybe—as long as they obeyed her rules—they could survive long enough to escape.
Silvia's stretched smile did not falter.
"You wish to leave my beautiful library?" she asked, almost wistfully. "What a shame."
Her many pupils shifted and overlapped, all settling on Wren at once.
"Mr. Roswaal has made the rules quite clear. No guest may leave unless they retrieve the book containing their personal records."
"August, of course," Jasper muttered.
She lifted the ring of keys in one hand and gave it a light, taunting jingle.
"Of course," she added sweetly, "there is another option."
From within the folds of her dress, she produced a photograph.
It was tucked inside a black protective sleeve, hiding the image from view.
"You may also leave if you choose to look at this."
A silence followed.
Then Dorothea let out a long, irritated sigh.
"We'll take option one."
Silvia inclined her head, pleased.
"A beautiful decision."
She clasped her upper hands together over the book she carried, while the lower, bloodied pair hung at her sides like patient weapons.
"Now then," she said, her tone brightening, "you must remember that the library has rules."
Her neck twitched.
Once.
Sharp and sudden.
"Failure to follow these rules will result in… disconnection."
The word lingered in the air like a threat she enjoyed saying.
"Rule one," Silvia said, raising a finger. "Do not make excessive noise."
A second finger.
"Rule two. Do not touch books that are not your own."
A third.
"Rule three. Do not damage library property."
A fourth.
"Rule four. Do not enter the red room."
Her smile widened further at that one.
"And lastly…"
She raised her final finger.
"Rule five. Violence is prohibited against your fellow guests—except against those who break the rules."
"Our records?" Nicholas asked, keeping his voice low. "They're just scattered somewhere in this place? No hints? No system?"
Silvia tilted her head, her overlapping pupils shifting restlessly in different directions before settling back on him.
"No," she said brightly. "No beautiful hints."
Her smile widened further, teeth stretching unnaturally at the corners of her mouth.
"You must rely on your own minds… and your own luck… to find what is assigned to you."
She took a small step back, her heels clicking softly against the floor.
"Good luck, my dearest, most beautiful guests."
Then she paused.
The pupils in her eyes trembled.
"And I have looked through all of the records," she added almost casually. "They are truly fascinating."
Her gaze drifted toward Nicholas.
Especially him.
"Yours most of all, Nicholas."
With that, Silvia gave a small, elegant bow, book clutched neatly in her upper hands while the lower pair hung loose and bloodstained at her sides.
Then she turned and disappeared back into the maze of shelves.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Eliza leaned closer to Nicholas, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"What did she mean by that?"
Nicholas kept his eyes forward.
"I have no idea," he said lightly. "Probably just more of her insane rambling."
His tone was easy.
Dismissive.
But inside, he knew exactly which file she had found so fascinating.
And that frightened him more than he let show.
Wren stepped forward, then turned back to face the group.
"We each have to find our own records if we want to get out of here," she said, keeping her voice low enough not to echo. "If you come across someone else's file, do not take it. That breaks the rules." Her eyes moved between them. "Just mark the shelf somehow. Make it obvious enough that the owner can find it later."
Jasper looked around at the endless maze of shelves and swallowed hard.
"So… we're splitting up?" he whispered. "That sounds like an absolutely terrible idea."
"It'll be faster," Wren said. Her tone was firm, though she clearly didn't like it either. "And whether we want to or not, speed matters right now. I don't want to stay in the hellhole for any longer, letting August run amok outside."
She made the choice quickly, before anyone could argue too much.
"Jasper, you're with Dorothea. Nicholas, you're with Eliza." Then, after the briefest pause: "I'll go alone."
Dorothea frowned immediately.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?"
Wren didn't answer right away.
For a moment, her thoughts drifted back to the impossible figure she had seen just before they entered the library.
Arlo.
Standing.
Waiting.
Then gone.
She forced the memory back down.
"I'm fine," she said at last. "I need a little space to clear my head anyway."
It wasn't entirely true.
But it was close enough.
Without waiting for anyone else to stop her, Wren turned and stepped into the maze of shelves first, her figure disappearing deeper into the library's shadows.
The others were left to watch her go.
Then, one by one, they moved as well.
June 20th, 1983
On this day, the surviving group of Erebus made their first recorded encounter with the Azathoth-contaminated organism later designated:
The Librarian.