A groan ripped from his throat as he brought his hand up, fire appearing between his fingers. If these creatures were attacking him, he’d-
An invisible weight slapped across the back of his head. He flinched, stumbling forward. His head snapped back - and his eyes found only empty air behind him.
“Let no harm come to those who walk these halls,” the voice said, with anger starting to lace her words. “Will the Librarian attack his own guests?”
Guests? Owl furrowed his brow, stumbling backward again. These creatures were no guests of his. He hadn’t invited them. So why-
“Pull yourself together and end this. Now.” Her final word was biting, and when she didn’t speak again, Owl lifted his head. Pull himself together, then?
Easier said than fucking done. Owl’s teeth cut through the soft skin of his lip, filling his mouth with the taste of blood. He forced his eyes back open, his head afire. Stretching one hand out, he fought, scrabbled for control. His arms quivered.
The palest, faintest shield he’d ever summoned flickered to life before him. The sight of it lit a fire in his gut. With his pulse thundering in his ears, he pushed - and watched it spread across the air, a barrier against the madness.
The ghostly figures swirling around him flew away with what sounded like irritated snarls, rejoining the storm. He watched them go, his confusion growing by the second. What were they? Why were they here? They’d almost looked like-
His eyes latched to something glowing at the very center of the destruction - a tiny, human-shaped figure, still as stone and glowing like a second sun. It had to be bright to be seen through the murk, he knew. And that made it-
A dreamer.
The truth slammed down onto his shoulders like an anvil, driving him back on his heels. The shield around him wavered, but held. He clung to the magic, horror wiping away any conscious effort he might have put in.
Because he’d realized it as soon as the word drifted through his mind. The rightness of it. The truth. There, at the core of all of the damage, was a dreamer, burning brighter and more fiercely than he’d ever seen from one of the lost souls.
Magic storms. With the last bit of context he’d been missing, half-forgotten memories rose up one after another to slam into his chest. He’d been told, hadn’t he? Dreamers had to be looked after. And if they didn’t-
If a dreamer was ignored, it’d try and find the answers on its own. The Library would respond to its distress in the only way it knew how.
Owl stared out across the rampant destruction of his home, aghast. Everywhere he looked, it grew worse by the second. The roof was mostly gone, by then. The walls were etched away, marred by sheets of fire that left only scarred remnants of metal and stone in their wake. The whole room was filled with books flying through the air, their torn and ruined pages forming together like a tornado of words.
This was his fault.
His thoughts raced in that quiet, horror-filled moment, spelling it all out. The way he’d gotten himself worked up over Olivia and Will. The way his thoughts had centered on them, or James, or Leon, and kept him away. He’d fulfilled his chores with Olivia, yes, but...but little else.
He’d let himself become distracted. He’d put the politics of being the Librarian ahead of the needs of the Library, and now...now, here they were. Now, Alexandria was scarred and bleeding. Now even his guests were trapped in the inner rooms, hiding from the chaos.
He’d let it all go straight to hell. He’d failed.
“It’s not too late,” the voice said again, but her words were oddly distant, like she’d gotten farther away. “You’re the Librarian now, kid. Act like it.”
His vision narrowed, zeroing in on the tiny, fierce-glowing figure in the heart of the storm. It’s not too late.
He could still fix it.
The barrier around him fell away. He didn’t need it. The ghostly dreamers surged from the maelstrom toward him, sensing the return of their target.
Don’t worry, Alex. I can handle it myself. I promise.
The ground underneath him rippled, shuddering and reshaping as he grabbed at it. The fires in his skull reignited with fierce new life. And then-
When he lunged forward, his eyes glued to the dreamer, the ground under his feet bucked forward, pushing hard. In an instant he was airborne, launched into the thick of it. Fires shot past him, fires that licked at his jacket and his mask and left tiny networks of scars across everything it touched but didn’t burn.
I don’t want to be here without-
-but how long? You said-
The whispers rose higher, matched by the dimly-glowing shapes that he could see himself sliding straight through. They were thicker here, growing more real still. With each one that passed through him, he could feel a chill settle over him.
Even still. Owl brushed their words off as best he could, all his willpower focused on staying upright and moving closer to- to the thing at the center of the storm. Pages flattened against his mask, buffeted away almost before he could register it. Now and again, a book slammed into his shoulders hard enough to bruise.
Faster.
His foot brushed the ground - and it bunched up again, kicking at his heel like he’d stepped on a landmine. The storm whipped harder, pushing against him as he plunged into the heart. There were yet more ghostly dreamer-things here too, thicker than before. They formed a wall in his vision, grabbing at his arms and torso and-
The air went quiet around him - or rather, the air cleared. He could still feel the push of it against him as he stumbled to a stop. The wind still clawed at him, rocking him to and fro. But the flames had parted, and no spectral hands reached out to cling to his jacket. Paper drifted down around him, dancing on the turbulent
