The library was quiet.

  Casimir’s eyes moved slowly across the spines—children’s books, lined in garish colors. Then one spine caught his attention. Wedged between two cheerful titles was something wrong.

  Something that didn’t belong.

  A thin, dark volume.

  Forgotten Soldier — Berend Vos.

  “You ever hear of that one?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost serene.

  Marcin leaned in. “No. Weird title for a kid’s book, isn’t it?” He tugged it free. Dust spiraled up like smoke. He coughed softly, then smiled uneasily. “Maybe it’s not for kids after all.”

  He flipped it open—and the smell of old paper filled the air. It was printed like a vintage storybook. The pages were aged, thin, and written in block text. There were illustrations, too—but each page grew darker than the last.

  What began as sketches of a young soldier among mountains turned into scenes of winter, blood, and a faceless figure kneeling in the snow.

  “This is… definitely not for children,” Marcin murmured.

  “What’s it about?” Casimir asked.

  Marcin began to read 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 a 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.” Marcin frowned. “That’s… eerie. What kind of children's library section leaves this lying around? Probably a prank. A student must’ve—”

  "Berend Vos,” Casimir interrupted softly. “I’ve heard that name before.”

  “Really? Who is he?” Marcin inquired.

  Casimir didn’t answer. He just gently took the book from Marcin's hands. His hand lingered on the cover, tracing the small black creature on it—fluffy, long, thin eyes, standing upright. It almost looked… familiar.

  He turned the page.

  Then another.

  And another.

  His expression didn’t change—but something in his eyes did. They sharpened, then dulled again, like a reflection flickering in dark water.

  Marcin shifted. “Casimir?”

  Casimir’s hand trembled faintly as he turned another page. His breathing was shallow now—his gaze locked to the ink as if the words were speaking to him.

  “Casimir,” Marcin said again. “You okay?”

  Casimir didn’t answer.

  He flipped another page.

  'It came from somewhere across the ocean…'

  The line was written in strange, crooked print. Marcin leaned closer.

  'In the deep, deep woods, hidden deep in the mountains,

  where even the birds don’t sing,

  lies a mountain wrapped in silence—

  and a tale with a sting.'

  Casimir froze.

  His pupils dilated. His fingers began to shake violently—the book quivering in his grip.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Marcin took a step forward.

  “Casimir?”

  Casimir’s breathing hitched. He pressed a hand to his mouth, but a small sound escaped—half gasp, half sob. He flipped to another page, desperate, like something inside him had to see what came next.

  The words blurred, melting into images—the lab, blood, a gun, a child holding it with trembling hands.

  Casimir blinked. The library faded. He saw Ten, the little boy who was once him, tempting Nine... The little girl... Natalie...

  “Good,” he had said. “Now point it at me.”

  A gun in her hands. Nine's hands were shaking.

  Suddenly, he remembered a past, before the lab, before being reborn as Experiment 0.1.0; The mother wanted to see the end with her son,

  The woman’s scream echoed inside him—his mother’s scream. Sasha Bielska's scream. Something she had told him.

  “You can’t go,” she pleaded, her voice thick with emotion as she stepped forward, reaching for the sleeves of his coat. Her hands were cold, trembling as if they already knew what was to come. “Please, don’t go. You don’t have to fight. We can leave—” She took a deep breath, “We can go to Sweden. We’ll be safe there, I promise. I’m begging you, come with me.”

  His lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyes avoided hers, as if looking at her too long might make more tension build.

  “Mother, this is my duty,” he said, his voice firm but quiet, “I can’t run. I can’t leave Poland. I need to be here. I need to protect this country.”

  “Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

  She reached for him, but he pulled away, stepping back from her grasp.

  “Please don’t go...” But he was already walking toward the door. He didn’t look back.

  "I’ll fight for you," he said over his shoulder, the words empty and heavy. "If I don't, who will? Right!? Oh, and Mama? Remember my name if I don’t return, okay?”

  “I want to see the end of the world with you! Live till the end with me!” The woman screamed.

  She wanted him to live to the end of the world... But what is the end, Nine? What is it? What was my true name?

  Oh, how dearly Casimir Bielska loved his mother; therefore, he must fulfill her request. He shall find her and see the end of the world with her. Then, commit suicide. What is the true meaning? Nothing. Oblivion. But the only meaning that exists for him is his mother's goal. They will be the last alive, along with Father... Kazou Kuroda.

  Casimir’s hand jerked—the book slipped from his fingers and hit the floor.

  KA-THUMP!

  “Casimir!” Marcin cried.

  But Casimir wasn’t here anymore.

  He was still stuck in his memories.

  Still watching the memories replay. Over and Over.

  "I was supposed to die at the lab that night. When I told Nine... But I lived… She needed to escape the demon… She was... She still is my mother...Before we were cloned... When I was her son... She begged me..." He whispered to himself, not being heard by anyone. "To see the end..."

  Casimir’s breath broke into short, panicked gasps. He stumbled back, knocking into the shelf. His voice came out as a whisper at first—cracked, fragile:

  “Nine…”

  Marcin froze.

  “What?”

  Casimir looked up at him, eyes wide, unfocused.

  “Nine…” he said again, louder this time. “Nine! Nine!”

  The sound ripped out of him, primal, echoing through the silent library. The scream was human, and yet—it wasn’t. It was like a memory finally waking up.

  Marcin caught him before he hit the floor, grabbing his shoulders.

  “Casimir! Casimir, look at me! You’re okay, do you hear me? You’re okay!”

  But Casimir was shaking violently, staring through him, lips moving fast.

  “The end… The end… The end! She wanted to see the end—she wanted me to live—she wanted me—”

  The lights above flickered. The shadows of the shelves stretched long and sharp, distorting like the inside of a nightmare.

  Casimir clutched at his scarf, gasping.

  Then—stillness.

  As suddenly as it began, the trembling stopped. Calm returning to him like the tide. His breathing slowed. His pupils shrank. Casimir looked down at the book lying open on the floor. A small streak of blood marred the page—his own finger cut by the edge of the paper.

  He stared at the line written there.

  So if you feel a tapping,

  Or hear a mournful moan...

  It might just be the soldier

  Looking for his home.

  Or perhaps, his Mother...

  Casimir’s lips moved silently.

  "I found my mother… She wanted to see the end. Now my father will see it too.." whispering to the page, voice distant and reverent: “You, me, and the end…”

  Then his eyes rolled upward, his body going limp. He collapsed into Marcin’s arms, unconscious.

  The silence that followed was almost holy.

  Marcin just knelt there, holding him, staring at the strange book still open on the ground. The black creature on the cover seemed to grin faintly in the low light.

  For a moment, Marcin just stared—paralyzed by the sheer wrongness of it all. Casimir’s head was tilted slightly to the side, lips parted, eyes half-lidded but not closed, like he had simply… stopped. His body lay slumped against the row of books, the brown volume of Forgotten Soldier open beside him like a corpse with its chest split open.

  “Casimir?!”

  No response.

  “CASIMIR!”

  Marcin’s voice cracked. He dropped to his knees, shaking his friend’s shoulders, fingers clawing at his scarf to make sure he was breathing. He was—but shallowly. Each breath came faint, unsteady, as if the air itself resisted entering his lungs.

  “Someone! Somebody help!”

  The sound ricocheted through the silent library. A librarian somewhere in the back dropped her stack of books. Footsteps echoed—two, then three—until students and staff rushed toward the aisle where Marcin knelt, his hands trembling, the fallen book splayed across the tile.

  Casimir’s head rolled slightly, a faint exhale leaving his lips. His eyes flickered once—half a second of consciousness—and he whispered something no one quite heard. Something that sounded like a number. Or a name.

  Then, darkness again.