It was only a matter of time.

The pages were adrift in the trembling stale air left in the wake of the collapse. His vision struggled to steady itself as he faced what remained of the Grand Library.

Grand Librarian stood to the hollowing sight with a still mind and a frigid look. His mind nearly rejected the state of what was once their study, their work, and their home.

He could almost feel the ghosts of the candles he worked alongside calling out to him, the knowledge they shared now left to a sole survivor.

Alone, he stood in the hollowing remnants of the grand testimony of their history. A floor once pillared for its candle-made origins was faced with the decayed gaze of the Manor's wake.

He could notice but not feel himself stumble, struggling to stand as if he was about to fall over. He couldn't focus on any of it.

An overbearing dissociation ran course through his body. Cautiously, yet shakily, he let himself down into a seated rest.

He felt his reality's rationale sifting his wealth of knowledge to illuminate the way forward for him, a sign, anything.

It was just him, his thoughts, and his failings in front of him. All in the remnants of the Grand Library.
The last light to carry the words beyond the pages. ...It wouldn't be easy.
Not with the Manor aware.

The knowledge they saught was nothing more than a limb of sentimentality that the Manor was keen on severing. The cost of their discoveries were made clear by the extinguished lights of candles who would not know a life from beyond the pages.

Pages, now unbound and drifting in the air of black fog guided his attention to an opening revealed by a collapsed bookshelf, he embedded his remorse in the back of his mind as he dusted himself off and steadied his intentions.

Each step onto the faded, bloodless floorboards filled his mind with hesitation as he neared the opening in the wall, he made his way, stabilizing himself against once-filled shelves to stop just one step before the clearing.

There, he stood. A pursuit of memories caught him just shy of the passage, a premonition.

This entrance could not have been covered by the candles. The Manor would have found them much sooner, if so.
...
If he was to approach, it would be under precautionary measure.

In all his restless studious nights, not once had he seen any of the bookkeepers so much as approach this wall. Could any of them had known?

Cruel thoughts in hindsight filled his mind as he turned around in search of a better light source than his shaken flame.

His ponderings drifted to the thought of causation, the candles of the Grand Library knew it best not to attract the Manor's attention, and with what they understood, there was only one surefire way a candle could.

...

He stopped in his tracks of rummaging for a light, pondered for a moment more, and altered his course for what remained of his personal study.

Leaving the main concourse, he made his way down the corridors that were once lined with carefully organized resources, minding the newly formed gaps and cracks in the floorboards.

His steps grew larger in stride with a repeating thought that he clung unto. His focus couldn't spare the grim sight of the departed that littered the path through the halls of destroyed academia.

The final turn down the long hall of cases and study rooms showed him to his room, stopping only to throw away the debris built up below the door.

Freeing up just enough space to make the door accessible, he pulled out a small key from his inner coat pocket and shifted the doorknob to find he was met with resistance on the other side, managing to shoulder it open with a bit of force.

The dust gave way to the sight of his study.
It was in shambles.

His next steps felt weighted as he entered his private quarters, a room torn, disheveled beyond recognition. He stood in a somber solemn on the faded dusted rug in the middle of the room, taking it all in.

Pages littered the ground before him. If he had looked, he could still recount the books they belonged to and recall their contents in search of a way forward, but he did not.

No truth could ever mend what he lost that day.

His colleagues, his studies...
...
He had a responsibility, to carry on.

His desk waited at the back wall, it appeared shifted from the collapse, but otherwise it held up well against the rubble.

Approaching the front, he pried the drawer open to find his most important resource missing, his tome.

The rest of the drawer remained suspiciously intact, papers and stationery neatly stacked in spite of the quakes from the collapse, writing implements organized orderly...

...
Someone had broken into his study, and in doing so made a disparaged assumption of him under the cover of chaos.
They underestimated his position as a keeper, candles whose wick's capacity for memory was solely dedicated to the collection and memorization of knowledge.
...

He threw his arms onto the surface of the desk and cleared it of its contents in a continuous, driven sweep. He gathered the empty stock of bound papers from the drawer and hefted them onto the desk, closing the drawer with the hasty retrieval of an ink pen and well.

Still standing, he hunched over the desk and began documenting his recountings to the best of his ability, prioritizing notes most useful for survival in the halls.

A faint shaking could be felt, disrupting stray dust from the ceiling space around him, which only expedited his writing.

He knew he couldn't remain for any longer than he should, his hand, with precision, flickered the pen in a glide between the page and inkwell, jotting down words between line after line.

...
Another movement of the Manor, evoking more dustfall. His back sheltered the work from the debris above.
It was getting worse.

He pocketed the inkpen and secured what he had written into his inner bookpocket, minding to watch the ceiling for falling debris, and made his leave as swiftly as he could amidst the rumbling.

The very floor trembled as he brushed past the entry, holding his coat tightly in a braced fashion.

His course was set back to the main concourse, his steps were locked in a careful sprint as he traced past the halls of clouded dust of what remained.

More debris from the ceiling space.

His eyes grew determined as he made the turn, the revealed passage meeting his gaze. He flinched with each rumbling of his surroundings as the weight of impending bookcases loomed over him like an overbearing valley of shadows.

But his eyes never faltered from the call of the unknown.

Each step pressed harder than the last as a groaning ambiance pounded through, giving way to greater dustfall. Floorboards were giving in, relenting the bookshelves from their steadfast positions.

What followed was a further aftermath of the collapse. One after another, an implosion. The shelves ruinated the floor in thundrous echoes that were finding their way to him.

His weight on a weak floorboard punched a gap below him, and sent him crashing through another with his shoulder's impact, though it was not enough for him to fall through.

He freed his leg of the fissure and glanced back towards the passage- a faint glow.

The moving glow of candlelight, descending beyond the passage.

He moved to follow but was impeded by the sight of a careening bookshelf just ahead of him, he rose to his knee and readied himself, shielding his eyes as it made impact.

The dust blew past him in a violent wave, and as it settled, he made no hesitation in vaulting over in spite of his condition. He held his shoulder tightly but nonetheless persisted.

He made a final strained pace towards the passage as dust and debris rained relentlessly, pulling himself into a leveraged sprint using the dividers of the shelves that remained.

His last effort carried him through the passage, where he fell to the clearing's floor at the top of a descending stairway, watching further ruin tear the Grand Library asunder.

On the ground with his back to the wall, it took him a moment to pry his eyes from the further tormenting sight of dust and decay.

Looking to his right, his head following his eyes, he met the sight of a wide, descending stairway, built into the inner walls. The space wasn't as confined as he would've imagined.

He placed his right hand on the wall, guiding it upwards to meet the railing of the stairway, shifting himself into an upright stance.

Starting off slow, Grand Librarian made his way down the steps cautiously, precisely, carefully. He studied the walls and steps with every stride, using the guardrail to keep him standing.

He made mental note of a peculiarity.
Despite the darkness of this passageway, it was well cared for, dusted, and mended to, just as the Grand Library once was.

He continued down until he found his path illuminated with a narrow passageway, a door waited for him at the end.

Taking the next steps forward, his eyes caught a glimpse of a light to his right, at the far end of another passage.

It seemed likely it was the same glow he saw moments before.
...

His focus turned back to the door at the end of the straightaway, fixated on what lied beyond.

Following his steps were more quakes, crying out to him from outside the inner walls. The calls of the Grand Library.

His will was fastened upon his emergence in front of the door, he twisted the handle to find it was left without a lock to keep him out.

He stood a brief moment with the doorknob fully turned, steadying himself for what he would find at the other end.

Shielding himself up against the door, he carefully pushed it open with his shoulder, taking slow, sheltered steps as the room revealed gradually.

...

What stood before him was a secluded study, one that very much took after the structure of the standard personal studies that lined the Grand Library. It was upkept the same, and remained organized as per the code.

He took one last glance behind him and made his way inside, scanning the corners of the room to confirm nothing was watching him. His attention picked up a page sitting on the desk at the room's end.

...
A familiar page, one from his tome.

He squinted discerningly as he picked up the page, this was indeed his writing set in front of him, as if left for him to find.

Turning around with the page still in grasp, he observed the room, hoping to feel a sense of familiar history, but there was nothing to feel here.

Then, a realization.
...
Maybe... it was best this wasn't familiar.

Pocketing the page with a sidelong glance, his interest had locked on to the study's collection of books. He had vain hopes that some of the Grand Library's wealth of knowledge survived the collapse.

He moved over and reached for one of the covers and flipped between its pages...

The words were entirely incomphrensible, warped by the Manor.

He could no longer trust what was not his own recountings.

He recoiled, dropping the book to the floor and without hesitation, he ran, exiting the room, continuing his way down the other turn within the walls.

Sprinting down the corridor, his mind was racing for what comes next.

He knew if there was any chance that the Manor had spotted him, he would need to go into hiding to protect what remained of the Grand Library.

His responsibility, to safeguard that which would protect the candles to come.
The knowledge of those before them.
He would keep it safe-
No matter the cost.