In the age before memory, upon the world of Demos, there was written a book — a book that held within it the breath and shadow of all things. Mountains, stars, beasts, rivers, even the dreams of gods were etched upon its pages. It was called the Book of Everything, and it was said that the Great Lizard himself inscribed it with claws dipped in starlight.
The tome was vast beyond measure, bound in living leather that pulsed faintly with magic. Yet by its own will, it could shrink small enough to rest upon a single palm. It was a paradox of knowledge — infinite, yet contained.
Only the Great Lizard could open its pages without peril. For any other being who dared to read its sacred script would find their mind torn asunder by truths no mortal heart could bear. Within it lay the raw design of creation — words that could unmake sanity itself.
From its boundless wisdom, lesser books were born. Fragments, copied and tempered, became the chronicles of history, the grimoires of magic, the treatises of art, and the bestiaries of the world. In fragments, the knowledge was safe; in wholeness, it was ruin. Thus none among mortals sought the original, save one.
She was not a man, but a demon, and pride guided her hand. She stole the Book of Everything and read its pages beneath the pale stars. When dawn came, her laughter cracked across the heavens. Now she dwells upon the frozen summit of Brokeback Mountain, a creature half-shadow, half-madness — the keeper of truths no soul should ever know.
And the wind that howls across those icy peaks still carries her laughter… and the whisper of the Book's turning pages.
Part 2-The Mountain's Secret
In the wake of the demon's madness, when the pages of the Book of Everything were scattered across the frozen world, a call went out from the Great Lizard himself. To mend what had been broken, a company was chosen — nine souls bound by fate and fire. They became known as the Nine Heroes.
Their names are still sung in the old tongues: Ada, Haru, Primm, Yuudai, Owen, Raven, Shoji, Tatsu, and Cole.
Primm was a demoness whose very soul was sealed within her staff — a vessel of dark light and forbidden power. She wielded the old demon magics, her gaze carrying both sorrow and strength.
Yuudai was a berserker of ancient blood, gifted with the curse of might — the power to grow into a towering giant when rage and magic intertwined.
Haru, the smallest among them, was a forest elf whose voice could calm beasts and soothe Yuudai's storms.
Owen, the summoner, called forth spirits of forgotten ages to fight beside him.
Cole, the shapeshifter, could take the form of any creature under the sun or moon.
The others — Ada, Raven, Shoji, and Tatsu — were warriors of steel and will, sworn to guard their companions with blade and heart alike.
Together they ascended Brokeback Mountain, where the icy winds screamed with the laughter of the mad demon boy. All along the slopes, torn pages of the Book of Everything drifted like silver leaves, whispering fragments of creation and ruin.
The Nine climbed higher, seeking to gather the scattered knowledge and seal it once more — before madness itself devoured the world.
The climb was endless.
Frost bit their armor and tore at their cloaks as the Nine pressed upward through the blinding white. Each gust of wind seemed to whisper — voices not of air, but of memory. Pages fluttered across the snow like dying birds, their ink glowing faintly in the stormlight.
It was Primm who felt it first — the pulse of the pages, the hum of forbidden magic calling to the mind like a song. Her eyes widened, the faint runes along her staff flaring crimson as his voice rang out through the gale.
"Do not look at them!" he cried. "Do not read their words! They are illusions — the Book remembers what it was, and it will make you see what you most desire… or most fear."
Haru turned his face away just in time, shielding his eyes as one of the pages unfolded before him, revealing the image of his lost forest — green, alive, untouched by war. Yuudai's great hand closed around Haru's shoulder, grounding him as the elf trembled.
"They whisper lies," Primm warned, his voice echoing through the snow. "The Book is alive. It hungers for thought."
Around them, the mountain warped. The snow became glass, reflecting scenes of their pasts — childhood faces, lost loves, battles they had never truly won. Raven swung her blade through one reflection, shattering it into a thousand shards of light.
But the light did not fade. Instead, from those shards rose shapes — phantom beasts born from the pages' power. They howled and circled, eyes gleaming with ink and sorrow.
"Form the circle!" shouted Tatsu, his sword blazing with runes. Cole shifted into a great white wolf, growling as he leapt between his comrades and the illusions. Owen summoned a spirit of flame to light their path, while Shoji's spear thrummed with power.
Through it all, Primm stood unmoving, her staff planted firmly in the ice, chanting in the demon tongue. Her voice battled the wind itself, sealing the illusions back into silence.
One by one, the phantoms faded — leaving only the drifting pages, faintly glowing, waiting to ensnare the next mind that dared to dream.
The Nine pressed on, their breath harsh, their hearts heavy. Above them, thunder rumbled through the storm, and a distant laugh — high, hollow, and mad — rolled down the mountain's spine.
The demon girl was waiting.
And the Book was not yet done dreaming.
At last, the Nine reached the summit of Brokeback Mountain. The storm had quieted there, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Shards of ice caught the pale light, and among them, the torn pages of the Book of Everything drifted like falling feathers.
And there — standing amidst the storm's dying heart — was her.
A girl.
Her hair was the same deep red as Primm's, burning like a wound against the snow. Her eyes shimmered with the same infernal glow, yet carried a sorrow too old for her face.
When her gaze fell upon him, she laughed — a sound sharp and trembling.
"You look like me," the demon girl said, her voice cracking between madness and recognition.
Primm stepped forward, staff glowing faintly from the soul bound within. His breath misted in the cold as he met her eyes.
"Yes," he answered softly. "I know you. You are me."
Her laughter broke into tears, running hot down her frozen cheeks.
"Then why do you fight me?" she whispered.
Primm's hand tightened around his staff. "Because I must."
The others waited in tense silence, the air heavy with power. Then, without turning, Primm called to his companions.
"Gather the pages — but do not read them. Keep your eyes closed if you must."
He drew a small leather satchel from his cloak, runes glimmering faintly across its surface, and threw it toward Owen, the summoner.
"Use this — it's warded. The magic will contain their hunger."
The Nine began to move carefully through the frozen clearing, collecting the glowing pages, their hands trembling as the whispers of forbidden knowledge brushed their ears.
But the demon girl's eyes darkened. She clutched her head and screamed — the mountain itself seeming to cry with her.
Her tears ignited, turning into trails of burning light. With a sudden burst of fury, she lunged at Haru, claws bared and wild magic bursting from her skin.
"No!" Primm's voice thundered through the storm.
He swung his staff forward, the soul-light inside flaring like a captured star. The ground rippled, and an unseen barrier shattered the girl's strike. Energy rippled across the ice, hurling both of them apart.
When the light faded, Primm stood alone amid a ring of molten snow, his staff smoking. The demon girl lay on her knees, trembling, tears falling again — this time in silence.
He looked at her, not with anger, but with aching sorrow.
"You were the part of me that broke," he said quietly. "And I came here to make you whole."
Above them, the last pages of the Book of Everything drifted down — soft, shining, and perilous — as though the mountain itself waited to see which Primm would rise.
Part 3-Primm's Wholeness
The winds began to rise again. The torn pages of the Book of Everything circled the summit like a thousand stars caught in an unseen orbit, whispering to one another in a language older than the gods.
Primm and the demon girl stood at the center of it all — two reflections bound by soul and sorrow, their eyes locked. The others watched, unable to move, feeling the air tremble with power.
The girl Primm's tears shimmered in the light of the swirling pages.
"I was born from your grief," she said softly. "All that you hid inside your heart — your anger, your pain, your fear of what you are. The Book gave me form."
The boy Primm's hand trembled as he reached toward her.
"Then if you are me," he whispered, "we were never meant to be apart."
Their hands met.
In that instant, the storm stopped. Time itself seemed to bend. The Book's pages froze midair, glowing like the eyes of creation. From where their fingers touched, light poured out — red and gold, soul and flame. It spread through the air in a slow, radiant wave.
The heroes shielded their eyes as the two Primms merged, their forms folding into one another — a single figure of light and shadow, of sorrow and serenity. The mountain shook, the wind cried, and when the brilliance faded…
Only she remained.
Primm — now whole. A girl with the same red hair, but gentler eyes. Her staff glowed faintly, no longer heavy with torment but humming softly with peace.
The Nine stood in silence. Owen's enchanted satchel pulsed as the last of the pages fell into it, harmless now, their whispers gone. Haru stepped forward, his voice quiet and trembling.
"It's over," he said. "Come with us. The Great Lizard will want to see you."
Primm smiled faintly and shook her head. The mountain wind played with her hair, and for a moment she looked like part of the sky itself.
"No," she said softly. "This is where I belong. The Book's power must rest here — and so must I. The world below has no place for what I've become."
Yuudai clenched his fists. "We can't just leave you here."
She looked at him then, eyes full of warmth and sadness.
"You won't be leaving me," she whispered. "Every page you carry now holds a piece of me — not my sorrow, but my strength. Take it with you. Tell the Great Lizard… the Book is dreaming again, but peacefully."
A hush fell across the mountain as the wind gentled, no longer cruel, but soft — like a sigh after a long weeping.
The heroes stood there for a long moment, then turned and began their descent, the glowing satchel heavy with the pages of creation.
Behind them, at the peak of Brokeback Mountain, Primm stood alone, watching the sunrise spill across the endless snow. Her hair shimmered in the light, and for a heartbeat, her reflection flickered through the frost — two faces, one soul — before fading into the morning.
And the wind carried her whisper down the slopes:
"Tell them… I am whole."
Part 4-The Unseen Path
The descent from Brokeback Mountain was silent.
The snow that had once screamed in the wind now fell gently around them, as though the mountain itself mourned. None among the Nine spoke.
Haru walked at the rear, clutching his small satchel of gathered pages. His shoulders trembled, and though the cold bit his skin, it was not the frost that made him shiver. He turned once, looking back toward the peak now veiled in mist.
"She's gone," he whispered. His voice broke, and tears froze against his cheeks. "She's gone, and I didn't even say goodbye."
Yuudai rested a massive hand on his shoulder, his own eyes heavy with sorrow.
"She chose peace," he said softly. "That was her way of saving us."
The Nine journeyed homeward through snow and shadow until at last they reached the Library of the Great Lizard, a vast hall carved from the bones of the world itself. Pillars of black stone rose like mountains, and between them were shelves upon shelves of books older than empires. The air hummed with ancient magic.
The Great Lizard rested upon his great couch of living moss and woven silk, the light of his golden eyes filling the hall as he watched the weary heroes draw near.
They knelt before him. Owen held out the enchanted satchel.
"We have returned the pages, Great One," he said. "The Book of Everything is whole again."
The Great Lizard — now in his human form — accepted the satchel with calm grace. His hands were steady, long-fingered, and crowned with faint traces of silver scales that shimmered like forgotten stars. His golden eyes held the weight of countless ages as he listened to their tale — the mountain, the illusions, the demon girl, and the merging of the two Primms.
When they finished, silence filled the great hall, deep and ancient as the sea.
At last, the Great Lizard spoke, his voice low and resonant, carrying the warmth of distant thunder.
"The Book's power is not meant for the eyes of flesh. Its pages will remain sealed — for to gaze upon them is to touch eternity, and eternity is not kind."
He rose slowly from his moss-covered couch, the folds of his long robe catching the soft light of the Library. His gaze lingered on the satchel, then lifted to the heroes.
"As for Primm…" he said softly, "perhaps she is whole again. Perhaps not. Wholeness is not always peace, and peace is not always life. But her spirit endures — that, I feel."
The Nine bowed their heads. They had thought their quest's end would bring joy — the restoration of balance, the triumph of courage. Yet all they felt was the ache of what had been lost.
The Great Lizard rose then, his tail sweeping across the floor in a slow arc. He turned to his shelves, placing the satchel upon the pedestal where the Book of Everything rested, sealed once more by magic older than time.
But as his claws brushed the cover, his gaze lingered for a heartbeat.
One page was missing.
He said nothing of it to the heroes. His ancient eyes softened with something like a smile.
"Go now," he said quietly. "Rest. You have done what few could do. The world breathes again because of you."
The Nine departed, their hearts heavy with the silence of the Library. And when the doors closed behind them, the Great Lizard looked once more upon the empty space in the Book.
Somewhere, high above the world, the wind stirred faintly — carrying with it a single glowing page, drifting like a falling star over the white peaks of Brokeback Mountain.
And if one listened closely, through the whisper of the snow and the turning of the world, one could almost hear a voice — calm, distant, and whole —
"I am still here."