The oldest library was the final battlefield. A place full of power and mysteries immune to time, as well as to the whims of poor mortals and those unfortunate souls who were not blessed with the promise of death. The fourth hidden and forbidden wonder, Temiberin.
This is the final stage of the play, here comes the end of a story.
Here was written the last page of an endless number of battles, tales of heroes and gods that the great powers swore that no one would remember.

With statues of obsidian, marble and silver, the men of letters pointed out the paths in the most beautiful of labyrinths, but he did not need them, he knew every inch of each aisle as he did the lines of his hands.

The shelves were full of books, scrolls, relics and lost treasures. the accumulated knowledge of forgotten worlds and civilizations. Every corner kept secrets and powers that would make any man tremble in reverence or  lead to any man reigning over others for centuries. But he was not interested in that, a mortal had more power than the gods could desire.
Countless were the chambers and hidden rooms that swarmed the library, from small and dark cells that hid dark secrets, to immeasurable rooms full of the greatest grandeur and art, gardens, fountains and rooms full of treasures and beauty that would fill the soul.  But he wishes to not have to go through them all.
This is the oldest library, his home, like that of so many other seekers of truth. Men of letters, they called them, were the guardians of the truth and all the treasures it contained. Hunters and collectors of knowledge, sages, philosophers, alchemists and magicians, beings obsessed with a single goal only one objective: "Lex et Veritatis, regendi e Machina." 
But he was not interested in power. Only one idea occupied his mind, a question that had him obsessed and terrified at the same time:
How to stop Fate?
How many sacrifices were necessary? How many were the victims of that tireless search? How many had to fall for him to go so far? Hundreds, thousands, countless souls were consumed to save their brothers. He did not feel anything, nor pain, nor remorse for the blood that covered him, only duty. After so many sins committed he could not fail in his task, or all those deaths would have been in vain.

He walked through the dark chambers with nothing to fear from the shadows or the dangers contracted with the knowledge accumulated by eons. Searching for the oldest answers, advances without pause, trying to understand the mysteries that hid a lost art even for the gods.
How to stop our destiny? kept asking. Obsessed with that response, he sold his life, his freedom and even his soul.
Old books were read and abandoned, the corridors became his home, the days lost their name, little by little the smell of parchment and oak merged with him and his mind became accustomed to silence and solitude.
Only his iron lamp could bring light to those paths forgotten by man. The flame was his shield and his guide. The golden light illuminated the road while protecting him from its destiny, from the shadows that grew vicious. Sinister smiles reminded him that the days became endless, whispers confused him, in his reflection he could find the visions of what would come next, but finally it was the wandering of the lost that kept him awake no matter how tired he was.
One day he sighed and the countless years were sand between his fingers. The silver sand disappeared at the bottom of a crystal clock, it ran faster and faster, He could see that time was running out but he could not remember for what!
He did not remember what he was looking for!

A bell rang in the distance and he gave his answer. With the sound of a thousand chains splitting and of crystals breaking, destiny kicked the door. A grave silence rose in the library, no one could breathe, until a laugh sounded loud, it was hysterical and demented, ending in a long cry and a scream full of pain and panic. The lights of the torches began to dim slowly. One by one they became extinct, like fireflies at the end of their lives, the library was plunged into darkness.
More and more quickly, he was desperate to find the answer to a question he did not know, terrified by what was hunting him, by the familiarness of that smile. The darkness reigned but the men of letters fought bravely in forgotten corridors, taken by the ancient darkness. Holding relics and ancient powers made him face the end. Worlds trembled at the power that the Men of Letters carried. But it was not enough.

No one could hear their screams when the claws dismembered them, nor see their expressions of the deepest terror when they were chewed before they became dust in the jaws of the shadows.
Cornered he inhaled filling his lungs, the air tasted sweet and knew he was ready. With nothing but an iron rod he slashed the shadow that hunted him when a kind steel pierced his heart.
Damn him who died without feeling pain.