Bark dragged the knife through his victim's belly until it exited his side in a gush of blood. A scream burst from the man's mouth as crimson ropes burst from the wound, winding messily to the floor like snakes escaping an abattoir. He fell to his knees, sobbing and grabbing at his innards in a vain attempt to remain whole. Bark shoved the mortally wounded man to his back, reached into the gory mess of his abdomen, and yanked out another handful of tubes as he shouted at the terrified face.

"Tell me how to open it!" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Tell me, and I'll end this quick."

Parish looked away as his colleague continued the bloody business, shuddering from his very core. He looked up, across the ancient stonework of the walls and hulking Runnwood beams that braced the ceiling. Bookcases lined the room like sentinels, guardians of the knowledge on their shelves. Light was funnelled through the thick walls by narrow windows like arrow slits, their shape designed to stop any direct light from hitting the tomes.

The Library of Antos came from a time before stories began, always a feature in fables. More ancient than civilisation, it was a reference point for all knowledge, and the First Age of modern history was counted from its discovery. Legend had it there were tomes here none could decipher ... as well as the treasures Parish and Bark sought.

Unfortunately, Parish's reverie left him staring at the pile of bodies his colleague was building, littering the floor in their plain, brown robes and horrific injuries. Custodians of the library, their only crime was being here at the wrong time. He sighed and closed his eyes, remembering the plan -- sneak in, take what they needed to buy next season's seed, sneak out again -- and realising Bark never had any intention of completing it peacefully. A fresh scream, wet with terror, sent revulsion rushing through his veins like icicles under the skin.

"By the Moons, Bark, he doesn't know anything -- none of them do. Just put the poor bastard out of his misery!" he turned to see a knife held beneath the librarian's pallid chin, shaking with the rage of the man holding it.

"Moons got nothing to do with this. They can stay out of my way. This is Depths business, and you enlisted. See it through, mare." He sheathed the knife, grabbing the man by his robes and pulling him up so their faces almost touched. "I know there's a room off this one with all the good stuff in it. If you don't tell me where the trigger is to open it, I'll leave you like this while I look, and find it anyway. Only difference is this pain lasts as long as it takes me, 'cause you aren't dying anytime soon. I know how to keep a man alive, boy -- what bits to leave alone, and how to cause the agony."

Parish turned away again as lunch made its way up his windpipe, and something caught his eye -- a book, wrong-looking, as though it lost its way. He strode over, noticing as he approached that its binding didn't have that organic look leather possesses. When he got there, the reason became clear. Drawing his sword, he strode over to his colleague.

"Finally, you join me," started Bark, but he stopped talking when Parish shoved him away from the librarian. "What the?"

"Shut it," said Parish, and stabbed his sword into the dying man's chest.

"Thank you," whispered the librarian as Parish pulled the weapon free. He nodded, holding the man's gaze until his eyes turned to glass. Then he wiped his sword on a small clean patch of the corpse's robe and closed its eyes.

"You bloody idiot," shouted Bark. "He was about to spill."

"He already spilled, thanks to you. I found the trigger."

He strode back to the fake-looking book, which sported a wolf's head emblem on the spine -- the sign of the Duelists. As he'd expected, pulling on the false tome released a mechanism, and the bookcase swung smoothly away from the wall, a section of stone attached to the back. It revealed a small room without windows, coated with more books. In the centre, there was just space for a desk with a single chair and a lamp. Parish squinted, making out a stack of parchment on the desk, resting in two piles as though somebody had been reading through them.

"Books!" roared Bark. "I came all this way for a heap of Depthsworn books? I can't sell these. What a waste of energy." He stormed from the room, snorting in disgust.

Parish sat in the chair and used his flint to spark the lamp to life. Sure enough, it was stocked with oil and ready to light, meaning this document had been of recent interest. He lifted the flipped pages, cradling them after a corner crumbled off, and turned them to see the title:

'Elements of Existence' by Kallim Mantis, court philosopher.

"Court Philosopher?" he mumbled. There hadn't been a court since the first age, more than two millennia ago. He placed the sheets back on the desk with extreme care and read through the exposed page -- something here caused the reader to leave without continuing. The dialect was archaic and obtuse, but it still made sense with minimal interpretation.

"You coming?" said Bark from the door. "We need to go, before a Two Moon patrol catches us. There's nothing here worth taking. Nothing I'm risking duelism for, anyway."

"No, wait. I think this is why there aren't many librarians around. Most of them left in a hurry after they read this." He turned to look his colleague in the face. "This may be a load of turd, but if it isn't, it's worth more than you can imagine. We only need to get it to the right person."

He snorted. "What's an old book got to say that's worth anything? I trust my hands -- what they can make and what they can take. There's no other way in this world."

Parish smiled. "If I'm reading it right, and I think I am, what it says is we're all doomed. It says something bad's coming, and it's been brewing longer than men have been killing. I know exactly who to take this to."

"Fine, but you're carrying it, and I'll beat the snot out of you if it's worthless."

"It's not worthless." He set about collecting the ancient pages. "Those guys you tortured knew that, and if we play this right, I'll prove it to you. Let's go, Brother. I just found our destiny."

*

Insights of Life, Insight 4 -- The Way
Kallim Mantis, Court Philosopher, First Age 115

The transgression of humankind is simply to be.

What grander thought than this? What greater feast on which your dreams to binge? Let us ruminate for a moment upon that concept; that life itself can be a fault. That, simply by existing, a race of beings can so imperil its own existence that it will, irrevocably, become extinct -- such is the flaw in its design.

Perhaps I digress here, but it fascinates me to wonder whether, within humanity, there exists the potential for a change adequate to the task of self-preservation. Do we ever, as a race, truly evolve into something different, or is progress simply the steady clarification of definition? If the latter, as I believe, is the case, then it is a finite journey, culminating either in a terrible stagnation of our species or our chipping away at ourselves so completely that we dwindle to conceptually nothing. As to why this is the case? Put simply; vanity. It is our wilful need to self-govern every aspect of ourselves, as though our miniscule years of experience are better justification than the comparative infinity with which existence is equipped, which so imperils us. Righteousness is the trait which curses our race and condemns us to evolutionary failure. This is what I seek to explain herein.

Life, as we so grandly name it, is governed by a force which I have chosen to call The Way. This, as my name for it suggests, is a descriptive urge which indicates to us how things are, and how they will be. Some would call it Destiny, or Fate, but The Way does not fulfil the philosophical criteria to be labelled with either of those names. It is inexact, indistinct, and somewhat ineffable, though I shall try. For the purposes of illustration, I will describe The Way as a parent to humanity. As a power, it possibly gifts us life and later revokes that gift. It gives us instincts with which to handle any situations we may find ourselves coerced into. As a force, it guides our souls on their intended paths, provides for us a physical and mental environment which nurtures our growth and sense of self, weaving a complex, many-layered cloth from the threads our lives describe.

However -- and this is the key point of my insight -- it is also subject to some of our whims, adapting the method of its implementation based upon our likely susceptibility and perceived need. In terms of such weakness is The Way fallible.

The Way is simply a part of the reality all about us, and functions both with and for us. It is a creation most likely of our shared spiritual awareness; the unstoppable power which emanates from every source of life simultaneously, and the implications which we unconsciously impose upon the definition of existence around us. I fear, however, that this explanation will not be adequately sensible to many humans, nor indeed prove suitably dire a warning. I am unclear even if any force exists which would be. Our very nature leads us not only to seek our own answers to any given questions or mysteries, but also to stubbornly reject the answers given by others of our kind.

I have a fear for humanity. A fear that, subject to our own insistence on self determination, we will cause The Way to flounder, that this may even be an inevitable occurrence in the future of our history. A study of prophetic texts indicates a general consensus that, two ages hence, society will hit a critical node. My research convinces me this is a reference to The Way.

We may bring about the means to our own departure from this world, be it by war or famine, pestilence or sudden, unexplained death. It is philosophically possible for our race to chronically affect this nurturing force, and thereby risk the ultimate closure. Indeed, I believe it is possible for humankind, in its psychological complexity and astonishing proliferation, to break the multitudinous lines of The Way completely. If that should come to pass, and may The Moons see that it does not, then nobody alive can know what will happen.