For some time, I walk, I walk.

  Vantium's library is allowed to most; however, there are sections where it is not so, sections where only a select few may tread. And one special room in the library is allowed to none but me.

  Lancet arch door of pure oak marks the entrance to my private study.

  The room is specially designed to isote the outside noise. Necessary, for even through an armspan of the wall—and distracted by reading—I would be able to hear a bird's wing fpping or nearby conversations.

  Strategically pced paintings of ndscapes with clear skies, and thick tapestries, richly decorated with swirling green and yellow floral motifs, help to additionally remove any sounds from the outer world.

  Books on Genesis and its many symbols, as well as architectural literature and philosophical works, dominate the room's two-ceiling-high shelves. A dark mahogany mezzanine cuts the shelves through the middle.

  A small katadron statue of Acrona, emuting the one found within the eastern outskirts, stands upon one of the taller shelves; her glossy features delicate and fragile.

  The room I spend much of my time in has rich furnishings of gilded stonewood and walnut, as well as a collection of gorgeously illuminated historical and literary manuscripts.

  Many of the furnishings were gifted to me by the craftsmen from all four corners of the Realm. I sometimes offered crystals, paintings, or various works of art in trade but since everything is accessible in retive abundance to any kindred—from clothes, musical instruments, and of course books—there was never a reason for barter. Usually, once they are done with it, almost everyone returns the item they take, leaving it in one of the massive storage units located in Vantium's southern outskirts.

  I pause to stand before a top-to-bottom stained gss window.

  It is a window only in name. Behind it is a hidden carved space that holds many Ambers. Their golden light hits the gss, making the depictions crisp and bright.

  Embellishing and outlining the stained gss window are the Genesis symbols, stylized greatly.

  The humanoid figure of Baur, my firstborn, takes up most of the colorful space. He is pced in the center, standing proudly, with hands holding a book near his abdomen. In the mbent image, Baur is dressed in the finest damask silk garments—obviously something our captors would never provide.

  Baur possessed a type of intelligence different and far greater than that found in most humans. Not only did he see details most would miss, but was also able to grasp the broader patterns.

  It was Baur's work on the Genesis process that eventually emboldened the humans to attempt at becoming a god.

  Humans described Baur as physically unremarkable, like a scrawny boy of below-average height.

  Had my boy been able to wield Genesis, he would now stand where I stand, and the skies would have been blue. Of that I have no doubt.

  I look around me and exhale deep, the familiarity of the space calming my mind.

  The entire room is agreeably lit.

  This space, besides being my main reading room, is also one of my favorite ateliers.

  At the center of the room is a very rge bck walnut table—dramatically sshed through the middle with a thick, uneven, pure-bck stripe surrounded by stretches of dark brown, contesting lines.

  At the moment almost all of its glossy surface is covered.

  Strewed across most of its middle is a jumbled pile of stacked papers—scores of them half-rolled and a few fully spread. Some show marked up architectural drawings, mostly of structures that are unfeasible with any known construction method, while others feature diagrams, sketches of my crystalborn, Genesis symbols, scribbles, and notes.

  Above the pile and slightly to the table's right are three small bottles of ink and two scrolls. Even more to the right is a slim, book-sized box containing eight dip pens, with each pen having a uniquely shaped nib made of hepatizon or amarium—and there is also one fountain pen, a thing very dear to me.

  The fountain pen has an extra fine aurichalcum nib, etched with simple spirals and a triskele symbol in the middle of the nib. It was a gift from Kali for my seven hundredth birthday. Unexpected, considering I do not celebrate those, ever. The pen itself came in a strong leathery pouch made of Wraith's skin and, to make things even more over the top, the pouch was in a pale-glowing katadron box. After thanking her, I made a point of saying it was just another day like any other and that there was no cause for celebrations or presents. Then I did something foolish, tried to return the recherché gift, but she just left the chamber in a huff, ending the matter.

  Ah, yes.

  The table's left side is suffocated with trinkets: a small wooden chest, some red chalk, a sandgss, a sizeable thick gss goblet filled with spherically carved shining Cobalts and Ambers, tiny cy jars, some more scrolls, and a small tower stack of fat, coin-shaped osmium weights for holding paper—the weights glistering bluish gray.

  An unstable hill of about seventy-seven books is on the far right side of the table.

  I am messy.

  A well-used stonewood drafting table sits tucked in a corner. Next to it is a cylindrical basket with rolled sheets of paper.

  Making architectural drawings, from stylobate to raking cornice, is an excellent pastime. I have even made designs of structures that are impossible with our current materials and building techniques.

  Nevertheless, impossibility is but a very low probability. Today's impossible is tomorrow's ordinary.

  Located against a wall and behind my main table is one of my favorite pieces of furniture in this room: a walnut credenza. It was crafted by a talented carpenter, John of Akti—our western city.

  The credenza is made out of straight-grained, deep brown walnut; it has nine drawers positioned around a small door, with a thin yer of dense, white granite on top. The marquetry design has a honeysuckle pattern found in the corners of each drawer and one spiraling one located in the middle of the door—formed by tiny human figures as if emerging from nothingness.

  I prize the credenza for its function; a thing simple, elegant in design, and decorated tastefully.

  Pced on a small table, a chessboard with most pieces still on it lies tucked away to the side of the room. The board is of polished katadron, and the pieces are made of amarium and hepatizon. I make a move with my metallic-gray pawn.

  I py against myself. One move a day, a month, does not matter. I keep the game going.