The shelves were a mess. He knew because as he walked he had studied them here and there. He had even thought of organizing them, but that was before he had seen how massive the library really was.
Now he had to if he wanted to leave.
He got to work.
No sense in putting it off.
"Can you keep notes for me?"
{Yes.}
"Good good, okay, um, well...do you know all the categories in the Library or any information at all?"
{Yes.}
"What are they?"
{Do you want a list of all 96578 categories or would you prefer that I organize them for you.}
Beads of sweat were already forming on Albion's furrowed brow. It was frustrating just thinking about having to organize all of this.
"Yes...please."
The list was formed, and there was everything from history to how to create spell models. The real problem wasn't the main categories, there were only a few. It was all the subcategories...and all the possible sub-sub-categories within them.
This was going to be hell on…wherever this was.
"Is there any good way to go about this..."
{There are some tools in the office for organizing.}
"Office...where is that?"
{Middle of the first floor.}
With a destination in mind, it wasn't hard to find where he was trying to go. He was hoping for something, a bit more magical than what he found.
It was a pen, some paper, adhesives, black paint, and some thick boards to use as signs. There were a lot of them at least.
He had to mark and organize every book on every level. It was going to be beyond difficult. But the journal was able to keep track of everything he needed.
He worked shelf by shelf. Organizing the books, dusting everything off, organizing and marking everything with the correct number.
“What number do I give this?”
Most of the writing was impossible for Albion to understand. There were so many books here that were written in all sorts of different languages.
In fact.
He rarely found books written in Aberelthian.
{13245.24}
After he numbered the books, he had the journal keep track of their number and any information he could use to distinguish it.. It took down each and every note he asked it to, and it would tell him anything he asked it to repeat to him.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
It was beyond helpful in such a situation. If he had to write everything down by hand this task would take him ages. Literally. But if he found a book that belonged in a specific spot he only had to ask. It was his saving grace.
Weeks went by.
Slower than Albion thought possible.
He didn’t hate the work but the monotony of recording, labeling, and organizing the shelves was too much for him.
He never hungered.
His body never got tired.
His wrists would start to hurt every now and again but with a short break, they were back in working order.
It was as if he never even needed to rest...he still did sometimes, just to get a break from the mental agony that was organizing endless shelves of books.
The work would be so much more bearable if he could take a nap every now and again.
Just to have a break from the tedium.
If there was no clear goal he would have gone insane.
“24356”
“24357”
“24358”
He had to write every sign by hand as well as place them correctly and in a way that wasn’t confusing.
He owned a little bookstore.
He was not cut out for this level of work, but he did it anyways. He had too.
Shelf by shelf he cleaned and organized.
He put the signs on the shelves, with categories and numbers to help himself out.
He hung signboards from the ceilings so he could navigate through the shelves more efficiently, and he had the book create a map of the entire building for him floor by daunting floor.
It turned out, the library was even larger than he had first expected, there were 15 floors, and each floor was the same size, save for the first floor. Every other floor had a wide circular opening that allowed you to see all the way to the ceiling from the first floor.
It was a sight to behold, such an incomprehensibly large library.
He went, floor by floor, for...god knows how long. He couldn't even estimate anymore. His mental clock was all out of wack. In the end, through sheer willpower, he completed his work.
Every book was labeled and placed in its correct spot. He also had the journal copy short descriptions of every book for future personal use. One of those books could come in handy after all. One book would certainly never be needed again though…blegh.
He was done.
He was exhausted.
He was ready to go home and rest for a few days.
"Can you tell me how to get out now? Please!?"
Albion was practically begging at this point.
Well, no, he was actually on his knees. Begging the hovering journal to release him.
He had tried asking multiple times to leave early. Or at least do half the work another time. But the journal wouldn’t allow it.
{The conditions have not been met.}
It sure loved to say that.
{Too much dust, go dust again.}
"IT TAKES DAYS TO DUST EVERYTHING!"
{You can leave when you finish.}
‘Stupid journal…”
A few days later, his faithful duster still in hand, Albion stood before his greatest foe. Tears streaming down his face.
"Please..."
{Take out the ring.}
'THANK THE HEAVENS'
He called his ring out. Much like the journal all he had to do was will it to appear and it would materialize on his finger as if it had never left in the first place.
‘This thing sits inside me too doesn't it?’
He still didn’t want to know. No matter how curious he was.
{Trace an opening for yourself against any surface. Then just go through it}
Albion walked towards one of the bookshelves, and on the wide side of it, he traced a doorway. And just like the book had said. One appeared.
{Think of your destination…somewhere you have been. You can only go somewhere you have been before.}
He thought of his room. His soft bed. The warmth of the wood stove. The comfort of fresh clothes.
Then he stepped forward.
