An Unnamed Book

Amelia pushed open the heavy glass doors of the public library and stepped inside. The chill of the morning air gave way to a quiet warmth—an old building, thick with history, and the scent of musty paper that always made her chest tighten in a familiar way. The day had barely begun, and the library was nearly empty except for a few early risers tucked away in corners, already lost in books or their own thoughts.

She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, her long dark brown hair falling in soft waves down her back. She moved with the cautious grace of someone who preferred to keep to themselves, whose every step was measured and deliberate. Her brown eyes swept the room quickly, looking for a place to disappear.

Another weekend alone, she thought, smirking to herself. Could be worse. Could be with people.

She had never been one for crowds or small talk. She wasn’t shy because she lacked confidence; she simply found the social rituals exhausting and pointless. If she spoke, it was usually blunt and laced with enough curse words to clear a room. Talking to herself was easier. At least then, she could say what she wanted without worrying about who was listening.

“No friends, no bullshit. Sounds like a plan,” she muttered under her breath, knowing no one was close enough to hear.

Her boots clicked softly against the polished wood floors as she wandered deeper into the library, past rows of gleaming new releases and popular novels that smelled faintly of fresh ink and paper. She never wasted time there. Instead, she slipped into the less-traveled corridors where the light dimmed and the air smelled heavier—damp with age, dust, and secrets.

This section was a quiet sanctuary, almost forgotten by most visitors. The shelves groaned under the weight of thick, leather-bound books, some with cracked spines and pages yellowed by time. The fluorescent bulbs buzzed faintly overhead, casting long shadows between the stacks.

Amelia let her fingers trace over the spines, feeling the textures—the smooth gloss of newer books, the rough grain of older tomes. Her eyes caught something different—a black leather-covered book, wedged awkwardly on a rather high shelf like it had been shoved there and forgotten.

The cover was worn and cracked, but not from use. It was as if the leather had simply aged with the slow passing of decades, curling at the edges and dulling in the spots where light had faded it. No title in bright ink, no embossed letters—just that deep black hide that felt cold even to the touch.

Curiosity tugged at her, a rare feeling that prickled her skin. She raised herself up on her tippy toes, barely reaching the book. She then pulled the book free, and ran a fingertip over the spine.

There was no title at the book's cover. She gently opened the book to see the Latin words: Arcana et Portae at the first page. 

She flipped the pages, gazing at them with curiousity. They were brittle but intact, filled with strange diagrams—circles inscribed with indecipherable symbols, lines weaving in complex patterns, notes written in a careful, angular script.

Amelia’s eyebrows furrowed as she scanned the pages. Summoning circles. Gates to other worlds. Magical incantations.

Her lips twitched into a smirk.

“Yeah, right. Like any of this crap’s real.”

She laughed quietly, a sharp sound that echoed slightly in the empty aisle.

Still, something about the book fascinated her. Maybe it was the mystery, or the fact that no one else seemed to care. She pulled out a black marker from her bag, sat down cross-legged on the cold tile floor, and propped the book open before her.

She scanned the pages one more time and picked a random circle. Her fingers trembled slightly as she began to copy the complex symbols onto the tiles beneath her. Circles overlapped, runes intertwined—each stroke precise and careful, like she was piecing together a puzzle she didn’t quite understand.

The light flickered overhead, and a cold draft brushed her neck, but she ignored the unease creeping in.

An hour slipped by. Her knees ached, her hands grew stiff, but she didn’t stop.

When she finally rose, the pattern sprawled before her like an alien sigil glowing faintly in the muted light.

Amelia took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. The air smelled sharper now—electric, like before a storm.

She glanced at the book again, then back at the floor.

“Well, this is either the biggest waste of time or I’m about to see something seriously fucked up.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, but the library swallowed the words whole.

Steeling herself, she cleared her throat and read aloud the incantation printed beneath the symbols:

“Aperi portam, lumen noctis,
Claudere finem, mundi fractis.”

The ground beneath her feet pulsed with a faint glow, soft violet light weaving through the circles she’d drawn.

Amelia’s breath caught. Her heart raced with a thrill she hadn’t felt in years.

“Holy shit. It’s actually doing something.”

The glow intensified, the symbols shimmering and shifting like they were alive.

Her excitement soared, tempered by a small, stubborn voice inside that whispered caution.

Suddenly, a tiny violet dot flickered in the air just a few feet in front of her. It hovered silently, pulsing gently, fragile but unmistakably real.

Amelia’s pulse quickened. She blinked, staring hard.

“No way...”

The dot began to grow, slowly at first, then faster, stretching upward and widening. The glowing shape morphed into something unmistakable—a tall, rectangular door framed in shimmering violet light, intricate patterns swirling just beneath the surface.

The library around her seemed to blur, the scent of old paper fading as the door grew larger, dominating her vision.

A cold, invisible force tugged at her chest, pulling gently but irresistibly toward the glowing portal.

Panic flared, but she shoved it down. “No, it’s fine. Just a weird light show. Totally normal.”

Her hands trembled as she grabbed the book again, flipping frantically through its fragile pages, desperate to find a way to stop what was happening.

The words blurred before her eyes. Nothing. No instructions. No warning.

The pull grew stronger, relentless now, like gravity itself bending toward that violet door.

Amelia’s breath hitched.

“No, no, no—this can’t be happening.”

Before she could struggle, the glowing door seemed to ripple, like a curtain being pulled aside. It reached out with shadowy fingers, swallowing her whole.

The book slipped from her grasp, thudding softly on the tile as Amelia vanished from sight. The glowing door shimmered for a moment before dissolving into nothingness, leaving the air cold and still. The ritual circle she had painstakingly drawn faded away, as if it had never existed.

The book lay open on the floor, its fragile pages fluttering gently despite the silence.

On the page she’d been copying from, the same intricate symbols glowed faintly.

And at the top, in faded but clear letters, the title read: “Gate to Er’kith.”