Apocalyphra

The winds howled across the blue sands of the endless desert, a violet sky pierced by towering sanguine stones that bore the names of a hundred and one dead lords. Scaled hounds prowled with the arid gales after their scuttling dinner and in their wake left shallow footprints. Distantly sands curled by the coming cold winds spoke with frost and lightning that threatened to rend flesh from bone in an instant. High above in the sky stared a pale weak sun that languidly watched the desolated land.

A thin furred green figure stood atop a towering dune wearing robes black and thick as the sea; he almost appeared like a wraith, an omen of the night that would soon fall. He scanned the desert. A radar dish on his back circled upon his back while a whip like tail flicked in frustration, furiously scoring lines in the rock he strode. His breath grew thin, his talons tapping the stone fiercely until suddenly all movement across his body ceased. Through his scope yonder did the venturer find what he was searching for: the glimmer of chrome poking out of the face of a distant sand trench.

He leapt off of his perch and surfed down towards the structure, thoughts awash with legends and rumors, years of travel and coin that might have well been flung into the sun for all the good it did him. But when he approached the buried metal sphere, such thoughts melted. An alert in a harsh electronic tone burrowed into his ears, "Warning. Temperature drop imminent. Seek shelter immediately." He was running out of time, and his fur standing on its ends was all he needed to see to know that the storm was approaching. Hurriedly, he inputted scraps of a passcode into the surface of the sphere. After a few failed attempts, faint pink lines began to trace its surface. Before the storm's teeth claimed its next meal, the traveler found himself warped to a new location.

Unlike the vicious cold that nearly fell upon him, the serene sanctum was a gentle dry coolness - ancient machinery from before the calamity quietly hummed in such a way that made the wanderer wonder if the sound was intentional. As his claws clacked against the smooth paneling he begun to strip himself of his protective layers revealing to the glass eyes embedded upon the walls a grand tapestry. Laced through his fur were glyphs carved and marked telling histories that his people thought best not to lose. Joy lit upon his snout as he strode into the grand halls, his waning hopes finally proven true.

The librarian towered in the central chamber, three arms riddled with joints tending to the mazelike inner workings of the pristine archive. The chamber was circular with spherical cavities riddling its wall and ceiling; each one was lined with metallic portals bordered with the same pink glow from before, no doubt leading elsewhere. Leading to each of these chambers was a network of staircases bridges and ramps. The librarian's arms, sleek and splinter like, pierced unseen veils as if submerged into the air itself, only to be pulled out and repeat the process elsewhere. The wanderer's talons clicked ever so louder as he wandered further in with amazement plain upon his face.

A smooth metal beak shifted subtly towards the scrivener scavenger and spoke in a strange tongue effortlessly translated. "Speak," the machine bode as a perfect gesture banished the sand the wanderer brought in. "Speak or be rendered to ephemera."

He scrambled for his pack, pulling out a cobbled wood instrument which he begun to stroke in practiced motions. Melodies curled into the air carrying old tones in a strange cadence and rhythm.

"Curious - your language has mutated from the tones into song. You can read, we assume." The figure nodded. The librarian extended its third hand which he accepted and climbed upon, lifting him to one of the floors.

"When the sun ate itself, we were wondering how long it'd take for people to remember us. You've taken seven eons, but nonetheless we welcome you. What section will you begin with?"

A quizzical, singular note.

"Very well - the beginning."

The librarian's arm shot out towards a particular hub with the traveler clinging to one of the articulated digits, ears and tail flapping with the sheer speed. The metal limb effortlessly pierced an invisible membrane, and all at once, the traveler began to float. Weightless. Unceremoniously did he flail until he found his stomach and head once more. Pink text translated itself above each portal lining the spherical wall before his eyes, each one with a different topic: "Avianmorph Fluctations"; "The Decade of the Blinking Sun"; "Desertification - The Blue Sand Question". Every portal spoke of an integral keystone to the world he found himself.

The librarian poked into the area. "Through every portal, you will find all of the knowledge collected before you. Paper, simulation, audio logs, and any other form that could be salvaged."

There was nothing for a few awe filled moments before the silence was broken by a flurry of excitable tunes. A metal hand was raised, and the intonations halted.

"This world," began the librarian, "wasn't kind, to knowledge. Your ancestors, even in their different shapes, still held thoughts that persist to this day. That stories are dangerous. That history is best to let repeat. But when the sun went pale and their technology crumbled, secretive actors created this place. This room holds a mere fraction of all of their knowledge, and sadly only a single grain of all of their stories. Take whatever you can carry."

The adventurer was surrounded by legacy drenched in old chrome. His eyes wandered across his skin marked with his people's stories, and looked to the walls that were lined with those of the ones who came before. The weight of ages fell upon his shoulders; spurred on by the pressure, he'd reach to a portal. It consumed him in a single flash.

Weeks would pass. A small camp had blossomed within the main atrium beneath the towering guardian of the old library. One bedroll became two. Two brought three and three brought lanterns. Pale golden light hung with the pink neon hue as the camp expanded. The librarian would smile if it could - the traveler had brought in more of his people, their skin covered in so many stories. Weeks became months which turned to years as for the first time in ages the library crawled with stone shelves and carefully preserved texts; wooden slabs, stone tablets, linen scrolls and all manner of things preserved. These scholars would continue to plumb the portals as the venturer had first done, but now the librarian had new material to read.

Months turned to years. The initial wonder of the discovery however never faded, as it bloomed over and over again with each new reader. Each new story, each new eye that laid upon the lines and texts. When the two had a private moment to spare, the librarian would bow.

"Thank you, stranger. From our heart, we thank you. We aren't aware of your rituals, but allow us, a gift."

Its arms would extend and pierce the unseen veil once more. And when new explorers eventually would discvoer a city that spiraled around this gleaming archive, they'd find countless texts and worlds. And though he had long turned to dust and his people had moved n and changed, readers and scholars would read the tale of the Second Librarian, and how he discovered the old stories.