A lifetime between the shelves, but precious little to show for it. I knew more than all my peers—still do, I reckon. But as the breadth of my own knowledge grew, so too did the gap between it and the infinite wisdom that exists under these skies.

  There is respect and honor to be had for anyone in their pursuit, but if there is one thing I have learned in all these years—the single shred of true wisdom I finally managed to eke out at the end of my life, it is this:

  Vain is the pursuit without purpose.

  I am knowledgeable in many matters, and countless subjects. Like an unshackled beast, I absorbed all the information I could no matter what nature. Voracious in my quest, I never stopped to ask myself… Why? What is it all for?

  The sun was at its zenith and Cira was nearing the end of this tome. Once a teacher, the author who refused to share his name lived his life very much like Old Roberts, she thought. Curiously enough, there was no mention of the Order of the Lost Archive. As the pages were so old she had to touch them delicately so as not to turn them into dust—a lesson she learned after destroying the corner of the title page—she thought maybe it predated the Order.

  Alternatively, this man from the ‘Kingdom of Yon’ could have had access to an entirely different entrance to the Archive in some distant sky long ago.

  As far as mysterious lands go, the Village of the First Mark was like a whole other world. Despite one man succeeding where all of them continued to fail in perpetuity, there was an unspoken camaraderie among the residents. Their pursuit of knowledge was what guided them, and they lived to that end within these shores. There was no hint of jealousy or greed.

  After yesterday Cira was beginning to think the first mark was a test of how pure her desire for wisdom was. It was only the natural course after watching Roberts’ face in the moments leading up to his first bestowal.

  But that’s not quite right, is it?

  The man in this book lived a very similar life to Roberts in that he spent his life turning pages. One could argue teaching was a small contribution to the world, but he looked back on it as meaningless. He had nothing to teach, really. Only the words of those who came before him to impart on future generations. That wasn’t true insight. Despite all he had learned, nothing of his own existed.

  That’s what drove him back into the archive. Scholars of Yon were only allowed to enter once per year, so he came up with a plan. If he just never left, he wouldn’t have to wait. He had entered more than twenty times already, so it was a place he was familiar with.

  The plan was simple. With two years of provisions in his storage ring, he would enter the archive and leave the following year after the others entered.

  After a while, he realized he had lost track of time. More accurately, hardly a quarter of his rations were left. Normally the archive would be filled with his peers when they entered, but he hadn’t seen a single one.

  Each day he ate less food and drank less water, hoping to make it to the next opening of the doors. Three times a day, he walked through any halls accessible to him in search of others, just in case they arrived when he didn’t expect. Still, no one ever turned up.

  The nameless second mark had begun a tally when back when he realized he missed the first date, but on the day his food finally ran out was somewhere within the third year. He had missed both opening ceremonies following his entry to the archive and the future looked bleak.

  Water could keep him alive for a small while longer, but not enough to make it through another year. There was only one thing to do while he withered, and read he did.

  Curled up against the corner of two bookcases, he pored through every tome in reach. This went on for days, which quickly turned into weeks.

  Again, this man lost track of time. The hunger subsided as if he was devouring knowledge itself for sustenance. Eventually his canteen ran dry, and he found the thirst only lasted a few days.

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  Beyond that, he could exist by simply scouring the archive. Once there were no more books within reach, he found the strength to crawl a few more feet to find more. Soon enough he could stand and reach the higher shelves, even take a book over to the table and sit in a chair if he tried hard enough.

  At last, he had finally found the secret. No other scholar of Yon had stumbled upon such a revelation. It belonged to him, and him alone. The depths of wisdom his people could reach would expand infinitely if they knew what he knew. True wisdom was in his hands at last. This discovery was what his pursuit of knowledge was for. His purpose.

  Oh, but how wrong I was, dear reader. Dear plunderer of wisdom, you must know how wrong I was. When I ran out of provisions, I thought my pure hunger for knowledge kept me alive. That the only way to reach the depths of the archive was to surrender oneself to it completely. If one could do as I did, the Archive would naturally provide what they lacked.

  When I first realized I didn’t need food or water any longer, I suspected I had been chosen by the Archive. That didn’t make sense though. I was extraordinarily average among my peers. When stripped bare of my vast swath of futile knowledge, I had no talent but my determination, ill-guided or not.

  Then I realized my method would die with me if I didn’t pass it along. If only I could make my way back to Yon. This is what drove me for the decades which followed as my body only grew weaker. It was not until then that I knew that the archive could not keep me alive forever—at least it would not. My hunger for knowledge had nothing to do with it.

  So many years passed that I refused to keep count after so many, yet I found no sign of an exit. Not a single scholar crossed my path and something altogether different dawned on me.

  The Archive wanted me here in the first place, and now it doesn’t want me to leave.

  Turns out I was chosen. Just not in the way I hoped. As if all I had learned in my long life was worthless, and the Archive wanted me to realize this for myself. Whatever wisdom I thought I possessed was never meant to see the sky.

  It was wrong. It was all wrong. I never really learned a thing—not one. All that’s left for me is to turn to dust alongside the books that decorate these shelves.

  What was it all for? For a while I asked myself that. My skin went pale at some point, and my hair grayed. I no longer possess the willpower to turn the next page, and the Archive has put less effort into sustaining my life.

  Have I truly become worthless under its gaze? Or perhaps I was all along.

  This is the fate of a nameless second mark who wasted an entire lifetime in the aimless pursuit of infinite nothings. No mortal could possibly reach the depths—that’s what the Archive wanted to tell me all this time. All these decades wasted buried in books, and I didn’t realize the truth until the moment I put one down.

  I would never speak these words to another, but there was one small thing I can leave behind. If nothing else remains of my legacy, I know that one day my final words will be read by a distant scholar in the vast sea of time. My hair falls out by the day as my skin grows thin and cracks. That aching hunger has returned but no amount of literature will sate it now. The clothes on my back are ragged and nothing but dust remains in my pocket. With nothing to my name and no triumphs to show after so long, I can finally surrender myself completely to the archive.

  Dear reader whose quest for wisdom has led you here, please don’t repeat my mistakes. Don’t let the endless horizon lead you astray. Never lose sight of whatever star it is you follow.

  Pursuit without purpose is tantamount to futility. Is there not a reason you sought knowledge in the first place? For me, maybe there never was… And that was my folly. That’s what the Archive kept me here to learn. It may sound bleak, but I finally have it. If I can so much as teach a single person what I’ve learned, that will be enough for me.

  Even if these foolish bones may never again see the light of day, I can only hope this meager sliver of wisdom I sacrificed everything for may one day see the sun.

  I can feel it now. The fire of my life dwindles and there is nothing left to keep me alive now that my objective is complete. I pray these bones never again see light, for if they do this book may never belong to the Archive.

  Farewell, dear reader, and I wish you all the best in your pursuit.

  Cira held the book in her hands for a moment taking in his final words. As if on cue, the book faded away into light, swept up into the sky.

  “Farewell, nameless second mark.” Apparently, his wish came true, though it felt strangely somber to Cira. She wondered how many times that book had popped up in the village. Had Roberts ever read that memoire?

  “Who are you talking to?” A familiar voice brought Cira back to reality and she found Eliza at the end of it.

  “Just a dead man.” Cira replied with a sullen tone, “Have you ever heard of the Kingdom of Yon?”

  “Hm.” Eliza rested her chin in a hand and drifted her gaze afar. “Can’t say that I have, but are you quite ready?”

  “Huh…?” Cira paused with one hand halfway to her next book, “For what?”

  The mage only scoffed, “You already missed class yesterday. Do you mean to miss it again? This village isn’t going anywhere.”

  Right… It’s good to get different perspectives on things. If I turned Eliza down and stayed here, I’d be no different than that nameless scholar. I can’t live like Roberts either—it would be a detriment to my pursuit.