The library was a commanding building, much older than any of the modern construction around it. All sturdy stone and carefully carved wood, with frosted windows across its front and a great glass dome for a roof, a perfect view of the towering treetops that defined New Diagory, and the equally perfect shade they provided.

The library was only two floors from the outside, a grand central room and another four towers in each corner, but entering revealed its true size: Another seven floors carved deep into the earth. A wide opening in the center of each floor allowed one to look over the edge and view the totality of its scope, more books than could be read in a lifetime filed away in corridors that reached out of the dome’s light and into the earth.

The library, for its sheer magnitude, was not an echoey place. A hall devoted to literature and learning, it was decked in plush furniture and cozy rugs, crackling fireplaces in each tower maintained by an expansive staff. Huge tapestries, each multiple stories long, hung from the glass ceiling and into the opening, depicting hundreds of years of ancient histories and mythologies.

Minor damage by the entrance was still being repaired, the doors had been entirely removed for the time being, each was so old and ornately made they had to be repaired by master craftsmen, who, being masters with a love for their craft, were delightedly making their way to New Diagory at all speed to work on a piece of history.

Serra breathed deeply as they entered the library. It was a warm, familiar place to her, a place of refuge after her impromptu exit from Hell, before she came to live with Seren in their humble apartment.

“So… uhm, what are we looking for?” the nature spirit questioned.

“We will not find it up here, they assaulted the lower levels,” Autumn cast an eye about. Traces of the battle were still all about, scuff marks on the hardwood floors, a splintered window in the roof above, a shattered railing where they had taken a dive. Autumn rolled their shoulder uncomfortably, recalling the landing, “the archives, eighth level.”

Down the winding stairs they traveled together, wood creaking beneath the quiet murmur of readers and the crackling of the grand fireplaces. The lowest floor was the darkest, by nature of its distance from the windowed ceiling above. A number of electronic lights, wrapped around support pillars and running along the edges of the ceiling, illuminated the space with the assistance of hanging lights done up in the style of old lanterns.

The floor was cold stone, dry and covered by comfortable rugs. In the center of the space, an information desk, circular with five librarians milling about inside. An effort had been made to keep even their computers in line with the library’s aesthetics, housed in custom wood casings.

The archives were kept locked, sealed behind great wooden doors like the entrance, considered too important for the general public to have immediate access. Autumn approached one of the librarians, an older fairy with pale pink skin in comfortable green robes, their name tag read: “Rosenthal.”

“Pardon me, we need access to the archives, we-”

“Archives are closed, you’ll need to fill out a request form.”

Autumn took the form and began filling it in, Roxie shoving by them to reach the desk, “we were, uh, here not long ago. During the attack?”

The librarian looked them over for a moment, their eyes glimmering with the faintest recognition, “...ah, yes, I think I remember you…” their eyes passed onto Serra, “Ser! Good to see you, good to see you, dear.”

“Mornin’, Rosie.”

“Wait, you… think?” Autumn looked up from the form.

Roxie waved them off quickly, “we were the adventurers who stopped the attack, we just wanted… well, we were hoping to do some follow up investigation.”

“Ah! Yes, yes of course, forget the form,” the paper was snatched from Autumn’s hands in a flash, an old metal key shoved absentmindedly into them instead, “Serra, we’ve got the next book in the Hell’s Passion series in, if you’re interested. I had a read myself, no spoilers, but I just can’t wait to hear your thoughts.”

“Course, Rosie, you get it ready. I wanna do some browsin’ after we’re done here.”

“Right away, dear, right away.” Rosie hurried off into the library, leaving the group to their adventure.

“You still haven’t said what we’re looking for,” Seren pointed out, as the key was inserted into the ancient lock.

“It’s more of a… know it when you see it, sort of deal,” Roxie smiled.

“Basically, we’re clueless, just look for anythin’ weird,” Serra kissed the top of Seren’s head, stepping forward to pull the huge doors open.

The archives were vast, themselves taking up another two floors beneath the library’s lowest public level. Centuries of records were stored in this place, if anything was publicly available, it had been filed away here.

“This is gonna take… ages,” Seren looked about with wide eyes, towering shelves, “Autumn, could you do that trick? The, uh…”

“Retrocognition. We know when, we have the date and time of the attack, it is a matter of where,” Autumn’s eyes scanned the halls of shelves, countless newspapers, records, information of all sorts, “spread out?”

“...best move in pairs,” Serra shook her head.

“Then let’s go already!” an impatient Roxie grabbed Autumn by the wrist, dragging them off to the left.

“Ah, just a moment! We must take our time!”

Seren giggled quietly to herself, leaning against Serra’s arm, “Roxie hasn’t changed a bit.”

“Wouldn’t be Rox if she did.”

-

Over the course of two hours, the group searched methodically, making their way down to the very lowest level. The archives weren’t like the library itself, deathly silent and claustrophobic, tight hallways with tall ceilings, neatly organized shelves with records dating back centuries. The same hanging lights hung here, dimly illuminating the passageways in a soft orange glow.

The floor here hadn’t been carpeted, the sound of their footfalls echoing as Roxie and Autumn walked about, the clunk of Roxie’s shoes mixed with the thump of Autumn’s boots.

Roxie’s vision had begun to feel fuzzy in the first half hour, let alone the third, trying her best to remain focused on the rows and rows of papers, “anything?

“Nothing…” Autumn, who was far more attentive, focused on an intersection up ahead. Here was where the Knights had looked, in vain, for a piece of the Reverberance Arch. The floor had been torn up, huge chunks of stone shifted aside to no benefit.

A few slashes marked the floor, one unfortunate mark across the records themselves, dried blood still stained the stone beneath their feet. The groups’ efforts here had been focused on damage control, to great benefit.

Autumn traced a finger along the remnants of the errant strike, how much information had been lost just to one blow… they paused. A gap in the records, easily missed, where a newspaper had been taken. A lead at last.

“Something here…” they quickly scanned the labels on the shelf and the papers around it, “hundred and… twenty-six years ago, July.”

“The records go back that far?” Roxie shook her head, not important, “forget that, let’s find out what they took!”

Autumn stretched their mechanical shoulders, pinpoint pupils turned from white to green, arcane marks beginning to stretch out from their sockets. From their vision, the lights dimmed, then blinked out, swallowing all but the most immediate surroundings in the inky black.

Time unwound around them, winding back faster than the eye could catch, coming to the moment eight days ago. So much had transpired in that time, the Knights’ attack on the bank, arranging the attacks on their bases and giving chase to Nixielogue. Was it any wonder something back then had slipped their notice?

At last, the moment arrived. Knights marched in double time, hauling heavy equipment to crack the stone floor. Autumn watched as they passed by, setting up their machinery in a hurry.

It was the next arrival that caught their eye. A woman in a clean coal-colored suit joined them, black shirt and tie beneath. Long hair, dyed red and tied back into a neat bun. Small, circular ruby sunglasses rested on her nose, eyes like spilled ink scanning the shelves. A bounty hunter, like an adventurer but less scrupulous, Autumn had had the misfortune of working with her sort before.

She carried in one black-gloved hand a broadsword in a matching sheath, with the other she thumbed through the newspapers, coming to a stop on their mysterious missing document.

Autumn shifted to see over her shoulder, reading the headline, “Disaster in Alliterash: Blizzard blindsides city.”

Roxie watched impatiently as Autumn peered through time, the automaton moved suddenly, raising to their toes as though to read over someone’s shoulder. At least something would come of all this.

She froze. The softest set of footfalls, just behind her, set her hairs on end. With a deep breath, she wheeled around.

Something cold and metallic seized her by the throat, smashing her against the shelves. Old newspapers rained down around them, as the grip of a towering machine began to choke the life from her lungs.