"Gamer, Mountaineer, Carpenter, Writer, Doctor, Musician, Lawyer, Athlete, Racer, and the list goes on..."
From thin air, more cards materialized, floating and rotating in a complex geometric pattern before Alab's eyes. They weren't just cards; they felt like snapshots of his own fragmented identity.
"Along a certain line, aren't you all of these?" Polo asked, his voice echoing in the vast cerulean space. "And I believe there's still so much more to you… which is why I've chosen you. You are the only one who has lived enough lives to record a new one."
Alab, still struggling to accept the physics of the room, dismissed it as an elaborate prank. Perhaps his colleagues had drugged him for his retirement party. He stood up, his legs feeling strangely light, and rushed to the nearest door set into the wall. He flung it open, expecting to see a hospital hallway or a prank crew with cameras.
Instead, he found himself staring into an endless, dizzying blue horizon. Floating doors dotted the landscape like distant stars, and an azure sky stretched both above and below him. There was no ground. Too late, he realized his forward momentum had carried him past the threshold. He plummeted.
The wind shrieked past his ears. The room of Mozzafiato shrank into a tiny square above him. But instinct—the primal, lightning-fast reflex of the racer and the athlete—took over. His right hand lashed out, his fingers catching the edge of a floating tile that had drifted near the door. He dangled over the infinite void, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
With a guttural growl, he hauled himself back into the room, his muscles straining. He collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air, the cold reality of the void still clinging to his skin.
What is this place?
The near-fall shattered the last of his skepticism. Pranks didn't involve the suspension of gravity. He forced himself to remain calm, acutely aware of the two men watching him. His thoughts raced—not to his medical degrees or his legal cases, but to his family, his girlfriend, the simple Earth he had just begun to appreciate.
Alab sighed, approaching the two men again. "Son, brother, lover, and friend," he said softly. These were the roles that actually mattered, the ones he had neglected in favor of his "Jack of All Trades" titles. The words hung in the air, simple and heavy. Polo and Merlin remained silent, their expressions unreadable.
"Please," Alab pleaded. "I need to go back. I have things I haven't finished. People I haven't told..."
"I'm afraid you can't," Polo replied, his voice tinged with a sincere sadness. "The transition is one-way. But do you see that monitor there?"
He pointed to a rectangular screen that seemed to manifest out of the air. It displayed a staggering number: 1,500,000.
"Those are Information Points," Polo explained. "They are the currency of the record. You can gather them once you arrive in Gaia. You must accumulate a certain number to return to your world. The numbers you see are mine—the remnants of my life's work, spent mostly on the cost of bringing you here. Once you enter Gaia, your ledger resets to zero."
The weight of the situation settled on Alab. He hadn't been offered a choice; he'd been conscripted into a cosmic bureaucracy. "How many points do I need to go home?"
"1,000,000,000."
The number was so large it felt abstract, like a distance in light-years. Alab didn't flinch, not yet. He was used to dealing with large datasets. "How do I get them?"
"Observation," Polo said, gesturing to the open sky. "You simply observe and record. We Librarians are usually on the sidelines, the invisible witnesses to history. Mozza," he gestured to the room itself, "has a mind of its own. It is a living archive. What you see and learn, Mozza sees and records. New information is highly valued. Major historical events, the discovery of new places, the birth of new races—these things 'please' the room. And as it is pleased, your points grow."
Alab's initial panic began to subside, replaced by the grim, analytical focus that had carried him through law school and residency. "Tell me more about the Librarians."
"Merlin will orient you on the technicalities," Polo said, nodding to the bald man.
Merlin stepped forward. "Before we discuss the office of the Librarian, you must understand Gaia. It is not like Earth. It is a world where the 'Higher Gods' and 'Lower Gods' are not myths, but forces of nature. It is home to Dwarves, Elves, and races that haven't been named yet. Life began there over 10,000 years ago. Two thousand years ago, humans were the weakest race, nearly extinct, until a Higher God named Linawa appeared."
Alab listened, his mind categorizing the lore like a new medical history.
"Linawa struck a power stone with his hammer," Merlin continued. "That is how 'Smithing' power spread among humans. It is an affinity—a bond between a person and an object. A blacksmith and his hammer, a soldier and his blade. It allows a human to transcend their biological limits. But Smith powers are random. The Librarian's power is also a Smith ability, but it is unique. It is a complex, evolving power that produces other Smiths by recording their essence."
Alab looked around the room, noticing that with each explanation, the space changed. "What are these doors in the walls?"
"They're the legacies of previous Librarians," Merlin explained. "They're called Thesis Doors. Before a Librarian dies or passes on their inheritance, they must summarize their life's work into a 'Thesis.' Here in Mozzafiato, that Thesis becomes a door. Polo is creating his now, using his remaining points to craft a gateway. This is your room now, Alab. You can open my Thesis Door whenever you wish, as I am your primary guide."
"Would you like to see?" Merlin asked.
Alab nodded. Merlin walked to a door on the far wall and pulled it open. A thick, white smoke billowed out, smelling of old paper and rain. As the smoke cleared, white tiles began to knit themselves together, forming a floor and walls, creating an entirely new wing of the room. Bookcases filled with thousands of volumes lined the walls.
"This is the library," Merlin announced. "The books here are free—consider them default knowledge about Gaia and Mozzafiato. You have writing materials, a calculator, and the tools of a chronicler."
Near the entrance of this new room, a small, wooden stall had materialized. It looked like a merchant's booth from a medieval market. Merlin sat behind it, a mischievous glint in his eye. "This is my Thesis: The Mahika Rental Stall! You can rent magic and abilities using your Information Points."
Alab walked over and browsed the list of "Rentals."
Speed Boost (50 IP/hr), Extra Vision (100 IP/hr), Voice Change (20 IP/hr)... He paused, squinting at one entry. "Extra Breast?" He looked at Merlin. "Why would anyone need that?"
"In Gaia, disguise is often the difference between recording a war and dying in one," Merlin said with a shrug. "Though some Librarians used it for... less noble pursuits. My Thesis is about utility. There are no permanent passive skills for a Librarian; we must always pay the price of our knowledge."
The room suddenly began to vibrate. The cerulean sky outside started to dim, turning a deep, bruised purple.
"Oops," Merlin said, standing up. "A new Librarian's soul is too 'heavy' for Mozzafiato to hold for long. The tether is pulling you toward Gaia. Alab, we'll see each other again soon. You need to recite these words before you leave. They are the anchor."
He handed Alab a piece of parchment. Reluctantly, feeling the absurdity of the moment but fearing the void more, Alab read aloud:
"Gather the knowledge, protect what may be lost! Create what can help!"
As darkness enveloped the room, swallowing the sofas and the doors, Merlin offered a final piece of advice. "There are many gates in Gaia. One in particular, recently discovered by Polo, might be of interest. It's in Kuko Village. The people there are kind-hearted, but they lack fighting skills. Learning about them could earn you a lot of Information Points quickly. Start there, Alab. Start the record."
The world vanished into a point of white light.