Romans & histoires Book Fragment

The one she swore she’d never open unless she had to. It wasn’t really a book anymore at all. It used to be, once — long ago, before water and smoke and teeth and panic had worked on it. Now it was a block. Thick and lopsided, bound in mismatched leather, edges burned and split. Half the pages were gone, charred to curls. The writing that remained had bled in places, ink like old blood, symbols Baylee didn’t recognize, stuttering between languages that shouldn’t have sat together.

“As long as you remember why you came back.” I reached for the new bundle and unwrapped it, my excitement returning. The familiar scent of old parchment filled the air as I flipped through the worn pages. But my smile disappeared when I spotted something strange. “Ingrid…” I murmured, holding one of the books up. “This one’s also damaged again.” She leaned over, and her brows furrowed. “What?” Pages were missing yet again!. Not torn from the spine like yesterday's own, but sliced out cleanly. Precise. Intentional.

The book belonged to her. She knew it with absolute certainty. Arthur stared at the image. “What is that?” Nobody answered. Because before anyone could— The final restoration fragment appeared. Older than every fragment before it. More damaged. Yet somehow clearer. The text emerged slowly. Painfully slowly. As though history itself resisted revealing it. Then the sentence completed. THE DREAM WAS CREATED TO PROTECT WHAT WAS WRITTEN IN THE BOOK. Silence consumed everything. The wind stopped. The horizon folded. The countdown vanished.

I bypassed dozens of detailed sketches showing claws and muscle fibers until I reached a section marked with a faded red ribbon. The ancient book fell open naturally to the bookmarked pages, and the bold, handwritten ink at the top of the parchment caught my immediate attention. "I found a specific chapter near the end of the book," I told Connor, leaning my elbows on the wooden podium to read the faded script. "Just take the damn pictures, Jaslyn!" Connor yelled through the small speaker, the sudden noise making me jump. "Stop yelling at me, because I need to read this," I snapped back to quiet his panic.

I said, rubbing my temples. Merek was a pale shape next to me. He wasn't solid today, but I could still feel the coolness of his presence. He was staring at a fragment of a prophecy that had been hidden inside the binding of an ancient book. It was a piece of parchment that looked like it had been burned at the edges. I read the words again. My voice shook.

My body went numb as I clo⁠sed the lid,‌ my hands trem⁠bli‌ng vio⁠lently. I sat on the b‌ed for a long moment, staring at‌ not⁠hing because this couldn’t be real and any second now, I’d wak⁠e up in my apartme⁠nt safe and free. Slo‌wly, deliberately, I⁠ broke the loaf into‌ tiny pieces and pl⁠aced them inside the b⁠o⁠x with the finger. Th‌en I clo‌sed the lid and carried i‌t to the wall, setting it down wh⁠ere I knew the hidden door was. That was my own m⁠essage.

Mode of transportation and plane tickets are not a problem since we decide to use Brian’s private jet. ’Goodbye Miami’ I whisper to myself as I stare at the place where I have had all my happy moments and fair share of problems too, the place that had been my home. I am leaving the place to move on from some people but I am never going to leave the memories. I just need a fresh start but I sure as hell will keep the memories locked up deep within me and I will unleash them when the time to satiate my burning desire for revenge is up. Author’s note; Thank you for reading, stay safe.

I couldn’t refuse but helped all of them. I opened the martial book took the chanting booklet with the aim to start reading. The first instruction just came up if you want to read open the booklet. I decided to open it and to my surprise, the book has increased in size by itself. I tried to flip the first page to start from the second page because on the first page the written were blur it was not eligible. Just as I flipped the first page something fell to the ground. My attention was on it so I picked it up and it was a small white substance. It began to increase in size. I looked at it closely with my eyes widely opened. There was some inscription on the white substance.

Legends of the End Times. Okay. A little on the nose. She pulled it out. The book snapped open like it had been waiting for her. Pages fluttered violently — way too violently for the still air. Most were gone. Torn out. Clean edges, not ragged. Deliberate. Only one page remained. Scrawled in handwriting that wasn't printed: She will bloom when all else dies. Aria stared. The ink bled at the edges. Not like water damage. Like tears.

"They'll use you." Mara let go of me abruptly and turned to one of the shelves. Her fingers moved quickly, pushing aside jars and bundles until she found what she was looking for. A book. Old. The leather cover was cracked, edges worn like it had been handled too many times. She brought it over and set it on the table. Dust lifted when she opened it. The pages were yellowed, fragile. Covered in ink that had faded but not disappeared. Drawings filled the margins. I leaned forward despite myself.