Julien stared at the floating prince for several seconds.
Or perhaps not a prince anymore.
That distinction was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.
The ghost sitting atop one of Veritas' reading tables possessed the memories of a man named Ethan from Earth, the appearance of Crown Prince Alaric Veyne, and a growing tendency to question concepts that most natives accepted without thought.
It was exhausting.
"You're thinking too loudly again," Julien muttered.
Alaric looked up.
"Can you hear thoughts now?"
"No."
"Then how do you know?"
"Because every time you make that face, either you want some new ideas or I develop a headache."
Alaric considered this.
"Fair."
Julien sighed.
The historian moved toward one of the shelves and pulled out a small leather-bound book.
It was noticeably thinner than most books in Veritas.
The cover was decorated with crude drawings and colorful illustrations.
Alaric raised an eyebrow.
"A children's book?"
"An educational text," Julien corrected.
"It has smiling clouds."
"It explains fundamental reality."
"It has smiling clouds."
Julien ignored him and handed it over.
Alaric took the book.
The moment his fingers touched the cover, he noticed something strange.
The edges of his transparent hands became slightly more solid.
The sensation was familiar.
Anchoring.
His existence immediately stabilized.
"Wait," Alaric said.
"You've mentioned Anchoring several times."
Julien nodded.
"Because it's important."
"And Narrators."
Julien nodded again.
"Also important."
Alaric opened the book.
"I still don't know what either of those things are."
Julien pulled a chair over and sat opposite him.
"Then read."
Alaric looked down.
The title was written in large golden letters.
"Welcome To Veritas! A Beginner's Guide To Reality!"
There was a smiling sun in the corner.
Alaric already distrusted it. What is this...He glanced at Julien and looked back at the book.
Still, he began reading.
"Long ago, before stories, before kingdoms, before people, there was only Celestia."
A colorful illustration showed two figures floating among stars.
One was a young woman dressed in silver robes.
The other was a young man carrying a lantern made of constellations.
Below them were their names.
Amaia.
Aseir.
Alaric continued reading.
"Amaia and Aseir were siblings who loved adventure."
"Together they traveled the endless Celestia."
"They wandered beyond stars."
"Beyond dreams."
"Beyond possibility."
"Until one day..."
"They found a Page."
Alaric blinked.
A page?
The illustration showed an ordinary white sheet of paper floating in infinite darkness.
Julien watched silently as he read.
The next page continued.
"The Page was empty."
"Amaia wished for happiness."
"Aseir wished for wonder."
"So together they wrote."
The drawing showed the siblings kneeling over the page.
Mountains appeared beneath their pens.
Rivers.
Forests.
Cities.
People.
Animals.
Entire continents.
The illustrations became increasingly elaborate.
"Their words became reality."
"Their wishes became existence."
"And the Page became..."
VERITAS
Alaric paused.
"So Veritas was literally written into existence?"
Julien nodded.
"According to theology, mythology, and historical consensus."
"That's insane."
"Welcome to Veritas."
Alaric continued reading.
The next chapter began.
"Amaia and Aseir loved their new world."
"But they still wished to explore Celestia."
"They could not remain forever."
The illustrations showed the siblings looking sadly at their creation.
Then came another image.
Two glowing fragments emerging from their chests.
Soul shards.
"Using pieces of their souls and Divine Ink..."
"They created two caretakers."
The next page revealed them.
Alaric stared.
One was a man.
Tall.
Beautiful.
Possessing twelve enormous white wings.
Long white hair cascaded to his waist.
Golden eyes shone like stars.
Beneath him was written:
LEKARDIA
Beside him stood a girl.
Younger.
Calm.
Elegant.
Twelve black wings spread behind her.
Long dark hair flowed around her like liquid night.
Beneath her was written:
GUINEVERE
"The First Narrators."
Alaric frowned.
"There."
He pointed.
"Narrators."
Julien nodded.
"Keep reading."
Alaric turned the page.
"The Narrators were guardians of stories."
"They observed."
"Recorded."
"Guided."
"Balanced."
"For a time, Veritas was peaceful."
"There was enough food."
"Enough land."
"Enough happiness."
The illustrations showed smiling villages.
Children playing.
Different races coexisting peacefully.
Then the images gradually darkened.
"But people changed."
A city burned.
A soldier stabbed another.
Kings marched armies.
Monsters hunted weaker species.
Nobles chained servants.
Entire races were pushed into slavery.
Wars erupted across the page.
Alaric's expression became more serious.
The text continued.
"Human greed grew."
"Fear grew."
"Hatred grew."
"Even Narrators could not stop every story."
Alaric glanced at Julien.
"So Narrators aren't gods."
"No."
"What are they?"
Julien folded his arms.
"They are administrators."
Alaric blinked.
"Administrators?"
"Reality management."
Alaric stared.
Julien shrugged.
"Divine bureaucracy."
"That somehow sounds even worse."
"It often is."
Alaric snorted and continued reading.
The next pages depicted devastation.
Civilizations collapsing.
Species exterminated.
Kingdoms destroying one another.
Then came a chapter title.
THE SACRIFICE OF LEKARDIA
The illustrations changed style.
More solemn.
More detailed.
The twelve-winged man stood above the world.
Watching countless wars unfold.
Watching suffering spread.
Watching stories devour one another.
Then came a single sentence.
"To preserve Veritas..."
"Lekardia anchored himself."
Alaric paused.
"There."
Julien leaned forward.
"Anchoring."
The historian pointed toward the page.
"Read."
"A Narrator exists outside stories."
"But Lekardia entered one."
"He bound himself to reality."
"He gave up eternity."
"He gave up freedom."
"He became part of Veritas."
"And with his existence..."
"He forged the Eight Commandments."
An illustration showed eight radiant laws descending across the world.
Chains of golden light connecting continents.
Stabilizing reality itself.
Alaric stared.
"So Anchoring means becoming part of a story."
Julien nodded.
"Exactly."
The realization slowly dawned.
Alaric looked at his own hands.
His own existence.
The reason books helped him stabilize.
The reason memories mattered.
The reason names mattered.
Stories mattered.
Everything here was stories.
Anchoring meant connecting yourself to one.
The stronger the connection—
The more real you became.
A chill crawled down his spine.
He turned another page.
THE SACRIFICE OF GUINEVERE
The illustrations grew darker.
The black-winged girl stood alone above the world.
Watching countless futures unfold.
Watching stories collide.
Watching abnormalities multiply.
"Guinevere saw that laws alone were not enough."
"So she destroyed her own existence."
Alaric stopped.
"What?"
Julien nodded quietly.
"Read."
"Her soul became ink."
"Her memories became pages."
"Her being became a record."
"And thus was born..."
THE BOOK OF VERITAS
Alaric felt his chest tighten.
The illustration showed an enormous tome appearing above the world.
Infinite pages.
Infinite words.
Infinite stories.
The very thing they had discussed repeatedly.
The source of Endings.
The source of Living Annals.
The thing governing existence itself.
The Book of Veritas.
"Through the Book..."
"Fates could be recorded."
"Stories could be balanced."
"The normal and abnormal could be separated."
"Thus Veritas endured."
The next page simply read:
END OF VOLUME ONE
And below it:
TO BE CONTINUED
Alaric slowly closed the book.
Silence filled the library.
For a long time neither spoke.
Finally—
Alaric looked up.
"That raises significantly more questions than it answers."
Julien laughed.
"Correct."
"So Narrators exist outside stories."
"Usually."
"They can Anchor themselves."
"Yes."
"And Anchoring means becoming part of reality."
"Correct."
Alaric tapped the cover thoughtfully.
"And if someone is losing their existence..."
Julien's expression became serious.
"...they Anchor themselves to something."
The ghost looked down at the book.
Then around the library.
Then toward the endless shelves containing countless stories.
Slowly, another realization emerged.
A disturbing one.
"If Veritas was created from a Page..."
Julien froze.
Alaric's eyes narrowed.
"And if reality is governed by stories..."
The historian already knew where this was going.
"Alaric—"
"Then where did the Page come from?"
Silence.
Julien stopped speaking.
For the first time since arriving in Veritas--
The historian had no answer. And how could he even answer that, that is something the ghosts of old ages know, the sages or the narrators..