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The nonexistant book that probably won't ever exist. But whatever. I have no idea where this came from, but enjoy.

The old house deep in the city had been abandoned for decades; no one really knew what was keeping it there. Of course, it was never thought of to just tear it down; it was part of the country's history, after all. As long as it stood there, albeit a little unsteadily, it was a point of pride among the citydwellers.

No, no one would ever damage the chosen's house in any way...best to let it deteriorate itself, the governor had decided long ago. Now she was gone, and two of her predecessors alike came and went, and still the house remained. Hardly anyone knew why it was still standing, though the fathers and mothers passed the legend onto their children as faithfully as their own parents had told it to them.

Once upon a time, two of the greatest chosen ever born had lived in that house. It was beautiful all those years ago, though even then was old--once a library, the pride and joy of the city, a fire in the east wing had burned many of the records and research stored there. The irreplaceable information was lost, and no one had the heart to repair the beautiful building. So it stood, for deities knew how mnay generations, until a man and a woman, chosen and good friends of the current governor, offered to rebuild the damaged sector. Once repaired, the chosen took up the position of caretakers to the library, and made their home in its attic. No one denied them the right; twin chosen were rare and far between, and these two had earned the entire country's respect when they had been merely children.

Almost overnight, the library was back to its old self, as no one had ever remembered it to be, and the chosen had put all of their effort into maintaining the old building. Struck with disappointment about the lost documents, they, along with the country's brightest scientists and magicians, had vowed to restore it. Though everyone in the city had thought it impossible, more than half the information, as a result of many experiments, was returned to the library's archives. The chosen, powerful magicians themselves, were said to have cast strong spells around the entire grounds, a possible explanation to the reason the house was still standing today. No one had touched the contents of the old building since the day the chosen left, never to return. Now, it was merely a marker of a past golden age, but now and then the old legend would come up, and one could always overhear a proud city man telling the tale to the many tourists that passed through Merista's gate.

Of course, legends spawned legends, and not all of the people, visitors or inhabitants, heard the true story. A favorite was the rumor that the house held a treasure; the story told of all sorts of things, ranging from a chest of gold to magical artifacts of great power. And of course, all who heard this were curious to find out what exactly it was.

Children will believe anything, after all--many of the teenagers, bored after dark with nothing to do, often tried to break into the house and explore it. But the gate to the grounds, once open even at night, were now always locked and sealed with strong magic. Instead of admitting failure, the defeated would hold their head high and say that only the two chosen, or their descendants, could open the gate. Nevertheless, many tried, though all failed to get past the magical barrier.

But one night, when the sky was dark and rainy and ink-black clouds covered the moon and stars, a shadow passed in front of the gate. The phantasm paused, silver eyes glinting in the light of a single watchful star between the clouds. On a closer look, it appeared to be the shadow of a young boy, though absent of a caster. The shadow was lithe and graceful as it fell over the lock, and dark shapes of thin-fingered hands fell upon it. In a matter of seconds, the lock clicked open. So much for the magic barrier.

With the tiniest rustle of grass and fallen leaves, the shadow glided across the grounds, underneath numerous trees that sprinkled raindrops onto the ground below. It stopped feet from the front doors, warped and ill-fitting, but the crystal set in the wood was still clear and beautiful. The black figure seemed to peer inside, and then changing its mind, crept around the corner of the house to a window facing the edge of the city. The window opened silently, and the shadow crept in. The window slid back into place, and dusty, moth-eaten curtains fell over the glass.

The inside of the house was hidden under a thick blanket of dust, not a mark breaking the continuous presence. There was almost no light at all, save for an ornate mirror in the far end of the room that caught the silver eyes on its surface and reflected the light into the room, casting a faint silver over the faded chairs and empty grate. The door opened and closed, and the light disappeared.

The next room felt wide and spacey, as if the door had opened to the outside instead. But as the single star flashed out again from between the clouds, a room almost as large as the house itself came into view. High into the wall, windows of colored glass let the light in, showering the stone floor with multicolored starlight. The walls, fifty feet high, were lined with books all around, the only spaces uncovered being the double doors to the west, the door to the south, which had just swung shut, and two sets of carved stairs that rose to a second floor, also with walls covered in dusty tomes. Keeping to the edges, avoiding the light, the shadow crept up the stairs and headed to the left.

There was absolute darkness in the hall, wide though it was, and the floor creaked threateningly underneath as the shadow swept past doors, mirrors, artwork of all kinds. It seemed to carefully stay away from the center of the floor, where the wood was weak and threatened to break. With perfect confidence, the human-shaped patch of darkness turned right and kept on. But halfway down the corridor, it paused, coming back to stand before an oak door. Dark hands turned the knob, accompanying soft feet as they alighted the first step of a narrow staircase.

Endless stairs spiraled upward, the centers left untouched, but the edges were rythmatically covered in darkness as the shadow climbed. After an age, the steps leveled out into a central room, several nondescript doors lining the round walls. The shadow glided through one room, and the next, neither lost nor afraid in the least. As it entered a new room, rather small, it stopped dead.

The east wing.

The shadow was growing closer.

The east wing was purely for research, connected a floor below to the main library as a room to store notes, records, and supplies. This room was merely the atrium, the center of a web of laboratories and sound-proof studies. One branch of this room was solely the chosen's, forbidden to all except the two. There, it was rumored that the twin chosen conducted fantastic experiments, unimaginable to even Merista's greatest minds, though the door looked just like all the others as, despite obvious security, the lock clicked and admitted the dark stranger inside.

Phials and scrolls filled a shelf against one wall, and a wide counter ran along the other two, covered in glass instruments, quills, bottles of ink, scales, and a few books. There was nothing special here, but the shadow was undaunted. A featureless patch of wall seemed to interest it greatly, and it paused, fingertips sliding over the wall, feeling every crack and indent in its surface. Apparently satisfied, the hands came together, the fingers joining and the palms thrusting back. Several joints popped, the sound echoing in the gloom. The shadow waited, and a whisper seemed to stir the dust in the air.

A glowing symbol began to burn on the joined hands, the outline indefinite, and as the mark began to blaze a fiery red, the outline of a door flashed on the wall. The shadow pushed on the wall with its outstretched palms, and it slid inward and to the side. The air beyond smelled heavy and damp, but regardless, the shadow slid through. unheeded, the hidden door closed itself without a sound.

The room was bathed in purple light, and though it was not bright it seared through the darkness and floodlit the laboratory beyond the door. The purple aura fell upon the shadow, and in the brightness it took form; an elven boy, slim, with long flyaway raven hair and silver eyes that glowed bright purple in the light. The boy apprached the source of the light with caution, eyes shining in excitement. A doorway stood unsupported in the middle of the room, and through it the purple light shone like fire. The boy took a few steps forward, but paused, removing his foot from an object on the floor.

He bent to pick it up; a necklace, simply a medallion on a black ribbon. The medallion itself was wrought with the crest of the country, a circle half black, half silver, with a black or silver dot on either side. As he held it, the charm seemed to grow hot with intense power.

Grasping the medallion, the boy edged cautiously to the chasm, trying to see past the purple fire. A glimpse of green and deep blue was visible, but not clear...and then, the room seemed to pitch forward as he fell headfirst into the doorway.

Hay, I hope I didn't write this for nothing...it took one hell of a long time, ou know. *pouts*

aww, thank you! (>^-^<)

I don't think it would make a lot of sense until A) I write chapter one or B) you read Ametris, Sirtema, AND Lacausta. The first one is probably more plausible, but I'll hold off on that until I get more of Ametris written.

Thanks for the comment. heart