After quickly traversing across the grand steps, I am almost upon the main entrance to my library.

  On tall, ornate, polished, reddish-brown doors of cedar—two huge wooden panels that would not have been out of pce serving as a gate to some rge, ancient, human city—and inscribed beautifully into them are words coming from one of the earliest human civilizations, With knowledge I conquer, with words I dominate.

  It often reminds me of a witty remark I had read more than sixty years ago, Conquer with a sword, rule with a quill. It was the bon mot of some human historian when commenting on how one could increase the longevity of his kingdom.

  With my bare hands, I easily push the giant doors wide open, leaving them such as I stride forward.

  The Pace is my design.

  Stretching before me is the Hall of Wonders: the main, central, huge walkway that extends through the middle of the Pace

  To my knowledge—and especially to that of almost all of my schors—a library quite like this never existed.

  The sea of books surrounding me is only possible due to special devices that have been and still are used to efficiently, immacutely, fruitfully, and satisfyingly print and copy a welkin-expanse worth of texts and scrolls; thus repcing the archaic, mistake-pgued, and slow way of handwriting.

  Despite this, the Pace has many codices, some older than even me. I find that handwritten works, although often archaic in text, are pleasing to me—to both possess and read. The exquisite penmanship almost gives each codex a personality unfound in the ways of printed works.

  There is one book in the library titled The Way of the Humankind. Written by one of my schors, it speaks of human pride and greed, teaches about the follies of seeking immortality, teaches against hoarding wealth and power through hereditary transfers of them.

  Most importantly, it teaches one about the transient and changeable nature of all things, and how one must adapt and embrace change when times demand it. The work also argues that there is no higher purpose in life than committing it toward the betterment of all of one's kind. The book has been printed into hundreds of thousands of copies; taught to younglings all over our realm as part of an obligatory curriculum.

  A device like no other, the printing press allows for a fast dissemination of knowledge. Many books have copies beyond number; the knowledge of the world is not concentrated in one pce.

  And we have thousands of these word-forging machines.

  Far cheaper than papyrus or parchment, a profuse abundance of paper ultimately enables the dissemination of knowledge across the world. And allows one to build libraries with books so plentiful that not even my entire lifetime—potentially spanning over dozens of millennia—would be enough to read them all.

  There are books of parchment and books of papyrus in the Pace, of course, but obviously in far smaller quantities.

  Much of humanity's ancient knowledge is here, often drowned by the works it inspired.

  A tall pale-blue form, ceaselessly I walk onward through the Pace.

  The world is at my feet.

  At a junction, embedded in the marble floor of the library, is the world's map. Beautifully depicted.

  The Crown of the World, stretching north to south, is charmingly shown. The expansive ancient forests are marked by adorable clusters of tiny trees.

  The huge continent is attacked on all sides by Alldora, the raging ocean: a resplendent fre of blues and raging whites.

  As I tread across the world, my heel nds on Parthios, my northern city.

  Clustered together, a group of silk-robed schors, tall and graceful, is moving in the opposite direction.

  ''...Maker...''

  ''...Maker...''

  I look them all in the eye and nod slightly at the cordial greetings and smiles coming from a dozen or so of my daughters, more than half of them holding books and scrolls.

  They are students of Helix Academy, a theological college located in the far outskirts.

  The Pace is never closed. Comings and goings happen day and night.

  The majority of my offspring are with human likeness, tall and sinewy.

  Blessed with life spanning several centuries, and wanting for no food or water, knowing no disease or aging, many of my blood spend their time on schorly pursuit and art, creating their footprint upon the face of eternity.

  And with little to no need for sleep, my progeny was prolific over the centuries since the library was built. Knowledge is built upon prior knowledge and it continues to bloom. Books on any topic imaginable, and many works of fiction; the Pace has it—a dream for those thirsty to read and a nightmare to sort.

  It would hurt one's neck to see the top shelves of my library.