Bastian blinked, half expecting the spirit to vanish, to prove that this was nothing more than a figment of his imagination. But Gearlard lingered for just a moment longer, before slowly beginning to dissipate into the air, its form fading like smoke on the wind.
Bastian wasn't sure if he should feel relieved or unnerved. Just as he began to wonder if the whole thing had been a trick of his mind, his eyes fell on one of the scattered books, its title catching his attention.
"One Hundred Common Senses Children Must Know: Geological Vein Theory."
He stared at the book for a long moment, silent and unmoving. It felt a little too coincidental, as if the universe or something darker; was playing a game with him. But Bastian had learned long ago not to trust mere coincidences.
Shaking off the feeling, he gathered the rest of the fallen books and toys, meticulously placing them back on the shelf. All the while, the other elves in the library carried on as if nothing had happened, as if they hadn't even seen him.
To them, Bastian was invisible. It was the unspoken rule he had to abide by in this library; perhaps in all of elven society. Stay out of sight. Don't draw attention.
Ten minutes later, back at his desk, Bastian found himself flipping through the very book that had caught his eye. Despite its childish design, the contents piqued his curiosity.
The first line he read made him pause: "Children, do you know where elves go after they die?"
Bastian leaned back, staring at the page. Something told him that this was no ordinary children's book.
Bastian's fingers trembled as he turned the pages of the ancient book, the rough tear marks near the end catching his eye. The further he read, the more anxious and unsettled he became. This wasn't just an ordinary children's book filled with bright illustrations and simple explanations, it held a much darker truth beneath its surface.
The book had been penned as a colorful and engaging science guide for young readers, filled with vivid drawings and straightforward language. Yet, it was laced with strange, cryptic ideas.
"The shamans of the wilderness always talk about how 'the soul returns to the earth,' or how 'Mother Earth watches over you,'" one passage began. "It gave our alchemists inspiration, and so they dug into the earth, literally."
The book continued, asking its readers, "Children, do you think we could easily uncover the origin of the world? Well, surprisingly, we did. Perhaps the world's creators, those haughty gods, never saw a reason to hide it, nor thought us mere mortals could ever do anything about it."
The next few lines struck a deeper, darker tone. "Shamans said the soul returns to the earth, and they were right. Beneath the surface lies a dark river, where souls flow together like streams into rivers. And that's what we're here to explore today, what we call the earth veins, the very lifeblood of our planet."
Bastian's breath quickened as he read on. The book described how the energy, the souls themselves, would naturally gather at certain points in the earth. "No, these points absorb the souls like a ravenous beast. But when the energy builds too much, it's bound to explode… except it doesn't. Instead, it vanished, disappears into what can only be described as a void."
It was unnerving. The book lamented, "It's a pity that such an enormous amount of energy just 'evaporates.'"
But before the text could explain further, the story abruptly ended. Bastian frowned at the jagged tear in the final pages. The book wasn't trying to create suspense, it had been cut short. He flipped to the back, discovering a note scratched into the cover.
"The core of this book is based on The Veins of the Earth: A Theory of Geological Lines. For children seeking a more complete understanding, please consult the original text, available in the general knowledge sections of major libraries."
Bastian's eyes narrowed. "So the owl wasn't lying," he murmured. "The book exists, but it's not here."
What Bastian didn't know, however, was that the original volume had been recalled and destroyed over thirty years ago. The order had come from none other than the Sage himself, the author of the series. Only a few rare copies of the book survived, hidden in the private collections of elven nobles, with fragments of its content smuggled into more remote areas, where government orders hadn't reached.
Finding this fragment had been nothing short of miraculous, an incredibly lucky discovery, if it could even be called luck.
Bastian closed the book and returned it to the shelf. His face remained calm, but inside, a storm of worry raged. He stepped out into the cool air, feeling a rising sense of dread.
The northern lands were in turmoil. The old shamans had spoken of it, the earth itself was wailing. Something was deeply wrong. The natural order, the laws that once governed the flow of life and death, had been shattered.
The dead's souls should have traveled through the earth veins to their destined resting places. Instead, something had gone wrong. Souls no longer moved as the book described.
"There are only two possible explanations," Bastian thought as he walked, his brow furrowed. "Either the suction of the earth veins has weakened, and souls are wandering aimlessly…"
But then he remembered the empty, soulless eyes of newborns, the elderly collapsing without warning, their souls seemingly drained. No, it wasn't a matter of weakened suction.
"The earth is wailing," Bastian whispered to himself. The souls of the dead were being stolen, and the world itself was crying out in agony. But why, and by whom?
That, Bastian feared, was a question far more terrifying than any book could answer.
"The veins of the earth are pulling harder on the souls," Bastian whispered, his voice tinged with a mix of fear and confusion. "It's draining the last remnants of life, breaking the cycle of reincarnation and causing all of this chaos."
But something gnawed at him. If the earth veins were pulling more forcefully, why were monsters with lost and confused souls being born? Shouldn't all the remaining souls simply vanish into the earth, disappearing into the underworld?
Bastian paced back and forth, trying to untangle the mystery. Then, an unsettling metaphor crossed his mind. It wasn't elegant, but it made sense.
"It's like a clogged drain," he thought grimly. "Like...a toilet."
He winced at the crude comparison, but it fit. The earth veins were like a drainage system, and just like pipes, they had their limits. When too much pressure built up and the channel couldn't handle the flow, a whirlpool formed, stirring the waters into chaos. In this case, the whirlpool was made of souls.
This vortex of lost spirits now swirled through the mortal world, blurring the boundaries between the living and the dead. Souls could easily slip out of the body and wander, some never returning. The strange, undead creatures roaming the land were just the beginning, Bastian realized, the prelude to a disaster far greater than anyone could imagine.
And then it struck him, this wasn't a natural disaster. This was man-made.
"Could it be… the elves?" he whispered to himself, his pulse quickening as the implications sank in.
Bastian knew that of the four ancient tribes; elves, dwarves, giants, and dragons; humans hadn't even been born yet. Dwarves were masters of craft and metal, but not of the soul. Giants had their raw strength, dragons, while powerful, were far too traditional and conservative to disrupt the natural world this way.
But the elves, they were different. They had ambition. And more importantly, they had the knowledge and the magic to tamper with the delicate balance of life and death. The more Bastian thought about it, the more it made sense.
His mind wandered to the statues at the entrance of the elven cities, where their proud motto was etched in stone: "Nature is but a tool." The elves had long held an almost arrogant mastery over nature, bending it to their will. Was it possible that they had extended their reach even into the souls of the dead?
Bastian's chest tightened. If his suspicions were correct, he would need to consult the elder shaman. This was far beyond anything he could handle alone. The frost giants and other tribes of the North would need to be informed. Together, they could decide how to deal with this looming threat.
But deep down, Bastian knew the truth. If the elves were behind this, there could only be one outcome.
"War," he whispered. "War is coming."
The thought weighed heavily on him, but the more he feared it, the more inevitable it seemed. And as fate would have it, it came much sooner than expected.
The very next day, Bastian, along with his companion Drax, went as representatives of the giants to meet with the elven chieftain, hoping to negotiate a peace.
The tension in the air was thick as the two sides sat across from each other, the conversation strained from the start. But when the elves finally revealed their terms, Bastian's blood ran cold.
"What?" Bastian's voice shook with disbelief. "You're asking us to abandon our villages? To relocate to the base of your mountains and serve you, obeying every command of the elves as… as your slaves? Is that what you're proposing?"
The elven chieftain, his face unbothered and smug, simply nodded. It wasn't a slip of the tongue, nor was it a misunderstanding. The elves were no longer interested in hiding their intentions.