Testudo Deorum

There was silence in the library. Gleaming marble walls lined with bookshelves spiralled towards the heavens where an ornate stained glass ceiling glittered. Books and tomes from bygone eras sat gathering dust, undisturbed for centuries. No such a collection of literature had ever existed in this or any other world. And of other worlds there were many. Shining platinum sconces held eternally burning torches, their mystical blue flames illuminating every last corner of the seemingly vacant athenaeum.

Moving swiftly yet soundlessly, the soft padding of his boots muffling his footsteps, Qwaril Rincer scurried across the polished floor. Given the time, and the invitation, the young man would have perused the many volumes until his stubble became long and grey. Keeping on his toes, the cloaked and hooded thief almost leapt the stairs, his destination the overhanging platform many floors above.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, the multitude of steps taking their toll on his knees and lungs, Qwaril looked out at his prize.

Resting on a soft velvet pillow, beneath a tempered glass case atop a marble lectern, sat a book. By no means the most beautiful or decorative volume in the library's vast collection. It bore no title or artistic cover, nor any sign of significant value other than its particular placement. Just a plain dark leather, the page edges yellowed with age.

Licking his lips and taking a slow, deep breath, Qwaril lifted the case. Pressing his hand against the soft cover, feeling it's warmth against his gloved palm, he carefully lifted the book and cradled it to his chest.

His shadow stretched out in front of him, disappearing off the edge of the platform. Turning around, the young thief stared at the figure before him, not surprised to see them, only that it had taken so long.

A being of pure light, brighter than the sun yet somehow not blinding, stood at the platform's edge. Though no eyes were visible Qwaril could feel the figure staring into his very soul.

"So it is you who would seek to claim this," the voice came from everywhere and nowhere, echoing in the back of Qwaril's mind and ringing in his ears.

The thief said nothing. He had what he needed. Placing the book in the satchel nestled beneath his cloak, Qwaril backed past the lectern, his heels feeling for the edge of the platform.

"You know," the voice boomed again, "there is nowhere you can go that I cannot reach you."

Qwaril nodded. "I know."

Closing his eyes to the light, he took a breath and leaned back, falling from the edge and plummeting to the floor. With the air rushing past him, Qwaril twisted the crystal in his ring and the marble floor became a rippling pool, a lightless library reflected in its waters. Passing through the waters without so much as a splash, Qwaril landed on his feet, stumbling as the shift in gravity pulled him back down. The ruined remains of a once grand library around him, empty shelves gathering dust and cobwebs, Qwaril waited with bated breath. Silence. Releasing a sigh of satisfaction, the thief patted his satchel and walked towards the crumbled doorway and into the bitter night.