211. The Floor of Civilization
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Whilst Brandar sunk into another long night, someone moved frivolously somewhere within the Nexus. The upper Sanctums where the Beholders and the Arbiter gathered were endlessly gripped with political wars and conflict. Further below, past the middle Sanctum saw the layered residential floors sleep in the comfort of their impenetrable haven.

The Beholders knew no rest. Neither did the Arbiter. The esteemed Nexus rose and rose further than one could see. If a bird could fly as high as the world would allow, then they’d find that it continued further into the boundless void beyond.

Inconceivable was its scale. No one truly knew where the physical boundaries of the upper and lower Sanctums laid. The Nexus was as enigmatic as its middle Sanctums, which housed the Warped Stone and the Chained Theocracies’ Original Chain – the technology that allowed for the opening and closing of pocket dimensions.

But something far more magnificent laid within its central Sanctums.

The Eternal Library.

And above in the upper Sanctums were the Floors of the Archetypes.

The halls of white within the upper Sanctums were an endless maze with no right or wrong path. The Nexus itself was selective of who could venture through its pearlescent halls. Light shone through the glass ceiling. A perpetual twilight existed beyond where the bright sun and glistening moon could be seen sharing the same sky, intertwined in a galactic tango.

A girl roamed these halls, carrying her trusty red book in her arms. Its weight dragged her around each sharp corner, driving her as she struggled to correct herself. She slipped at one point, the high-pitched screech of her rubber soles echoing in her lonely world.

An outsider would assume that she was being chased by something. Instead, the lady – the Archivist – was chasing something else. Soon she came to a hallway made from fine walnut wood. Lanterns hovered along wooden beams and high ridges. The once comforting hall was disturbed by her clumsy sprint as beads of sweat dripped from her chin, and the lanterns swayed in tandem with her restless heart.

At the end of the hallway stood a pair of intricate doors. Symbols of a yellow club, a blue diamond, a red heart, and a black spade were inlayed into the wood. A single giant page with a pale crown acted as the lock, and it wonderfully twisted, emitting a small ember.

Only the diamond and heart symbols glowed along this door, which soon creaked open as she rushed through, her shoulder leading her as she quickly lost balance.

“A-Arbiter!” The Archivist cried, nearly trampling on her simple dress as she was suddenly engulfed in a world of blue.

The door instantly disappeared, and the marble floors became the pavement of a street from a distant world.

A replica city that she could barely remember surrounded her in all its wonderful glory. Empty high-rises, stores, and all manners of concrete structures made up the urban complex that sprawled so far away with the same, monotonous scenery.

This was the Floor of Civilization. A modern world where only she existed, and where a permanently cool filter seemed to gloss over everything, making the world appear blue. There was neither a sun or moon in the sky. Just darkness, with no star in sight. The light came from the buildings themselves rather than streetlights – a technology not found on the world Frost called Earth.

Rather, this came from the home she remembered. A world that she could not remember the name of.

“Arbiter… Arbiter? Hello? I’m… I’m here with the books.” The timidly said, unable to keep her eyes away from the pale strips that ran through the middle of the streets.

The sidewalks were filled of shadows just in her periphery. But in reality, there was nothing there at all. An anxious Archivist found herself stranded in the middle of the street, unable to move as she remembered why she hadn’t visited this place in over…

One hundred years later and I’m still like this. Walk. I need to walk.

The young lady’s past was filled with ups and downs. Ever since regaining her memories from the defeated Heart of Ours, she recalled the hatred that was aimed at her for simply trying to record everything down in a rapidly dying world.

She held her breath and struggled to drag her eyes up ahead. When she realized that there was nothing there, and no one laughing or throwing stones, then she began to walk. A bright light shone behind the shoulders and heads of skyscrapers.

That light belonged to the Arbiter.

“I told you to wait for me at the entrance... I wonder if she still remembers me.” The Archivist was a self-depreciating person. Always anxious and lacking the courage to do things that most others could. The one thing she was good at was bookkeeping and archiving, hence her renowned title.

Her personality was overtly timid, and she never really spoke unless it was to someone she trusted or to herself. Normally, she drew her words into the air using magic to communicate with people.

Abandoned underpasses, subways of mag-lift trains, museums of relics of the past, such as flatscreen television and motorized vehicles – To her it felt like a trip down memory lane. But the emptiness of a world once filled with life caused her to feel oddly out of place. Even if that world was used to taking the life of others.

She remembered her precious friend’s encouragement on that blue sunset, and it gave her the courage she needed to push on. Suddenly, a voice in her head spoke.

“Why are there roads if cars are a thing of the past?” The monotone voice belonging to her newest friend, Nav asked.

I don’t know. No one really changed anything. We left things as they were. I-I think. I remember something happening one day. Lots of sadness and confusion. But…

“You’re more concerned about what happened to yourself.”

It feels like a nightmare walking down these roads. I’m happy that they’re empty, but also sad. I loved this place… I really did.

Nav was a comforting voice despite how cold it felt. It was warm much like her book, and strangely enough, she could only hear Nav whenever she was close to her precious book. The phenomenon was similar to how Nav could apparently speak to other Archetypes and Beholders if they were close enough to Frost but she had been so secluded in her Library that she never gave it a try until Frost suspected her of being…

… I’m so sorry… I’m sorry…

She could never reveal the contents of the present, less she wished for the written future to change. The contents of the books were ever changing, but the ones that dictated the future couldn’t. Merely uttering its contents also allowed for the Librarians to steal this information.

It was why she never let herself peer into Frost’s book, because it would mean that its preserved contents would inevitably change.

This book was the only remaining remnant of her precious friend. Of the old world she loved, and the world her friend tried to…

I don’t remember. What did ‘he’ want to do? I’m so scared of being hated but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

“Is that why you’re seeking help from the Arbiter? She never knew you had direct contact with Frost?”

I never told anyone else. It’s… pathetic, isn’t it? Everyone’s fighting and I’m combing through books spying on bad people and doing nothing about it. I have a book with me. For… for something important, but –

“You wish for the Arbiter to encourage you?”

To tell me what to do. I couldn’t ever do things alone. I know that much…

“So you continue to cling onto the past, like that book?”

… I’m sorry…

Eventually, she stumbled upon a harbor and noticed that the light originated from somewhere above. She searched for directions, accidentally finding a small hill that led up to the bridge above. Her legs ached as she hauled her book along. The missing safety rails and barricades of the roads that curved around the hill was telling of the kind of society they lived in.

But there was evidence that those things were once there.

There was a saying she cherished.

People first shape their city. Afterwards, the city shapes them. Everything was colorful at one point, then when everything became black and blue everything went downhill until it all went red. If we took care of everything I think… we would have made it. I still don’t know how I died, or if I died at all. Its scary to think about.

“Yearning for mortality and realizing that your existence is comprised of nothing more than a series of zeroes and ones is equally as terrifying. I wonder if the binary system was still used in that world. I for one cannot remember either… but a blue world does sound familiar to me.” Nav comforted her, causing a small, sheepish smile to form on her face.

“Children of the city used to gaze up and only see neon stars from billboard signs… all against a background of black, or in the reflection of murky pools. Greed… suppression of desires… the Corrupted Frost defeated are all about the problems of our civilization, I think.” She said, staring up at the tips of several wings that could be seen poking from behind the pillars of the bridge.

Twelve massive wings rose to the skies as pale feathers began to shower the world. Beyond the fluffy snowfall she could see the hue of a red and green horizon hundreds of kilometers away. The Floor of Civilization was a world in itself. A copy of the old in a way.

The feathers caused her to sneeze as a single figure sat idly on a small throne made from several interlocking rings. Sleeping eyes riddled them as the feathers slowly began to retract into her back, ceasing the feathery rain.

“U-Um… Sorry. I got lost.” The Archivist apologized in a soft voice, causing the distant, feminine figure to close her eyes and softly smile.

She should not have been able to hear her voice.

But this figure – the Arbiter – could hear all.

Her pale garb was like that of a military officer’s uniform. It was trimmed with golden fabric, and her long, elegant, pale hair was puffy as if made from marshmallows. The Arbiter bared the appearance of a human, but upon closer inspection one could find exactly 7, thick, fuzzy tails attached to her back.

They interlocked and formed a giant white lotus flower.

Then, the Arbiter spoke with a voice that seemingly came from everywhere at once. The Archivist gulped upon seeing the woman’s serrated teeth as one of her tails removed her peaked cap.

“But you’re here, no?” Her voice was divine, and carried the authority which she could only describe as a Goddess. She didn’t know who exactly this woman was in the past, but she seemed to recognize the Archivist. “With the book of an old friend, and a book of brewing trouble. Come, dear friend. It has been a while since we’ve last spoken. Ah… this sea of melancholy. I wonder if you called me here to bring back unpleasant memories. I jest. Angels do not bite.”

She smiled with her razor-sharp teeth on display, never meant to intimidate the poor Archivist who struggled to cross the bridge. Then, the Arbiter’s tails blossomed and began to wave invitingly as she opened her eyes, revealing a pair of golden irises.

“Unlike that miserable trumpet of mine.”

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