The library smelled faintly of old paper and pine oil—its vast halls bathed in the dying amber light of afternoon. Dust floated in thin shafts of gold above the shelves, catching the fading sun that spilled in through tall windows. The murmurs of students faded between aisles like whispers in a chapel.

  Casimir walked with his hands folded behind his back, posture perfectly straight, his blazer unbuttoned at the collar. His gaze traced the spines of books without really reading them.

  Marcin followed beside him, a stack of books in his arms, his expression somewhere between admiration and curiosity.

  “You know,” Marcin said, shifting the books against his chest, “you could at least pretend you don’t already know everything. Makes the rest of us feel better.”

  Casimir smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  "What do you mean?"

  "You got zero books." Marcin chuckled. "Makes you look like you've read them all and already know everything."

  “If I already knew everything, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

  “Right,” Marcin chuckled, “you’d be—what? Running a huge company? Leading a country? Solving the meaning of life?”

  Casimir tilted his head, considering.

  “I’m not sure the meaning of life is something to be solved,” he said softly.

  Marcin frowned.

  “That’s… depressing.”

  “Is it?” Casimir asked, running a finger along the shelf. “I think there’s comfort in it. If life has no inherent meaning, then we can give it one ourselves. For as long as we last.”

  Marcin smirked.

  "Hah! Philosophy majors! You guys sure are interesting! But remember, I'm a bio major! I don't know anything about existentialism!"

  Casimir gave a quiet laugh, eyes glancing toward him.

  They turned down another aisle, quieter now. A girl at a nearby table glanced up briefly, then lowered her eyes when Casimir met her gaze with a courteous nod. His presence was disarming—soft, charismatic, almost serene.

  Marcin exhaled.

  “You ever get tired of doing your major? Philosophy seems mentally draining... Bio is already a lot for me, but I can't imagine doing what you do.”

  “No, not at all,” Casimir replied gently, a serene smile across his face.

  “That's pretty admirable. Though we're in the same grade, you still seem years older.”

  Casimir’s lips twitched.

  “You are quite admirable yourself, Marcin.”

  They stopped near a row of old philosophy volumes—Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, Camus. Marcin set his books down. Casimir’s hand rested lightly on the top of Thus Spoke Zarathustra.

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  “Oh no,” Marcin groaned. “Not that one again. Tina made me read half of it! Apparently, her friend, who was also a philosophy major, forced Tina, and then Tina forced me."

  Casimir looked at him gently.

  “And what did you think?”

  “I thought Nietzsche needed therapy.”

  Casimir chuckled softly, his voice low and even.

  “Perhaps he did. But he also saw something others didn’t—the void beneath everything. And the possibility of creating meaning despite it.”

  “You mean the übermensch thing?”

  Casimir nodded.

  “Yes. The man who transcends morality, guilt, even God. Someone who lives purely by his own values… even if that means burning down everything that came before.”

  Marcin tilted his head.

  “I wonder if a true Ubermensch exists....”

  “I wonder too,” Casimir said after a moment. “It could be anyone.”

  A silence hung between them, soft and heavy. Somewhere, a chair scraped against the floor. A page turned.

  “You really think people could become that?” Marcin asked quietly. "I was just playing earlier."

  Casimir looked out the window—the sun was already gone, leaving streaks of violet cloud.

  “Possibly."

  Casimir turned back toward the shelf, then gently closed the book and returned it to the shelf.

  "Hmm..." Marcin muttered to himself.

  "Well then, shall we keep going?" Casimir asked gently.

  The two wandered toward the far end of the library—the section nobody their age usually went to. It was often ignored by the students and only visited when they students had a little sibling with them. A low, forgotten corner filled with faded colors and dust-coated alphabet posters.

  “Children’s Literature,” read the old wooden sign overhead.

  Marcin laughed under his breath.

  “Haven’t been in a children's library section since I was ten.”

  Casimir followed him silently, the faint sound of their footsteps echoing across the cracked tile. The shelves here were smaller, built for smaller hands. Some of the covers had cartoons—foxes, trains, clouds smiling at children.

  “You ever read these?” Marcin asked, pulling one down. “The Girl Who Talked to Rain. That one used to scare me for some reason.”

  “I think I remember it,” Casimir murmured, brushing a finger along the spines. “A story about a child trying to save a town from a flood, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah. She ends up talking to the rain, and it listens to her. But the ending was… weird.”

  “Because the rain never stopped,” Casimir said quietly.

  Marcin blinked.

  “You remember that?”

  “Some stories stay with you,” Casimir replied. "Don't you agree, Marcin?"

  They kept scanning the shelves. A stillness hung there, like time had stopped decades ago. Marcin crouched and found a few more, smiling with boyish warmth.

  “Tales of the Amber Field… oh man, that’s ancient. My mom used to read this to me.” Marcin chuckled.

  “Nostalgia is a beautiful thing,” Casimir said, eyes drifting along the spines. “It makes us believe the past was kinder than it really was.”

  “Totally! The beautiful memories are definitely loud."

  Casimir scanned the shelves, then something caught his attention—a thin, dark spine near the bottom row, wedged between bright, childish colors.

  He leaned down, his finger tracing the title:

  “Forgotten Soldier — Berend Vos.”

  It didn’t look like it belonged here. The cover was dull brown, the typography military and severe. The cover was designed with a little character on it, a unique one. It was a black fluffy creature, standing on two legs.

  “You ever hear of that one?” Casimir asked, his tone gentle but curious.

  Marcin squinted.

  “No. Huh. Weird title for a kid’s book, isn’t it? Perhaps it isn’t one,”

  Marcin tugged it out of the shelf. The dust came loose in a puff, glittering in the dim light. He flipped through it—thin, yellowed pages filled with blocky print, and there were pictures. It was formatted like any other children's picture book, but still managed to make his brow furrow.

  Each page was darker than the last. Each picture was darker than the last. It was almost as if the main character was descending into madness.

  “This is definitely not for children,” Marcin muttered.

  “What’s it about?”

  Marcin skimmed a few lines aloud, his voice low.

  "He fell beneath a pale blue sky, no hand to hold his own. The world forgot his heartbeat. The mountain kept his bones..."

  He flipped to another page.

  "No name was carved, no grave was built. No candle lit his death. And still he lies there, waiting, with frost upon his breath. Some say he had a name once. But the snow took it away. Others say he never did— And that’s why he can’t stay." Marcin frowned. “That’s… eerie. What kind of library just leaves this lying around? Maybe it's a prank? A student probably printed this and shoved it into this shelf.... Plus... Who is Berend Vos? Never heard of him."

  “Berend Vos,” Casimir said softly, almost to himself. “I’ve heard that name before.”

  “Really? Who is he?”

  Casimir took the book gently from Marcin's hands, scanning the text in silence. His expression didn’t change, but something sharpened behind his eyes.

  Are you enjoying the story so far?