The Dungeon’s Scribe

The forest seemed to hold its breath as Mahogany led the way through the underbrush, his hooves light on the moss-covered ground. The trees towered above them, casting long shadows that danced in the fading light of dusk. Behind him, Guusje followed, his eyes scanning the path for signs of danger. His new companion, the goose, waddled beside him with an air of self-importance, its feathers slick and clean despite the dirt of the dungeon ahead. They hadn’t named the goose yet, though Guusje had taken to calling it “Buddy” for the time being.

And then, there was Fetch.

Trailing just a few paces behind, Fetch moved with her usual otherworldly grace. Her dark eyes flickered with a mischievous light, her hooves barely making a sound as she weaved in and out of the shadows. Born in the dungeon, Fetch always seemed to have one hoof in the realm of reality and the other in some faraway place no one else could see. She hummed a strange, tuneless song under her breath, occasionally muttering to herself or the dungeon—no one could quite tell. But despite her quirks, Mahogany knew better than to doubt her intuition. Fetch could sense things none of them could.

“The library is close,” Fetch murmured suddenly, her voice lilting like a soft breeze.

Guusje glanced over his shoulder. “You sure?” he asked. His goose flapped its wings idly, almost as if agreeing with Fetch.

Fetch tilted her head to the side, her eyes narrowing as if she were listening to something far away. “I can feel it… like an old memory trying to wake up.”

Mahogany nodded, trusting her instincts. The three of them had ventured into the dungeon to seek out the forgotten mage’s library—a trove of knowledge lost to time, buried beneath the layers of the dungeon’s endless labyrinth. Legends spoke of the dungeon’s scribe, a figure who had once chronicled every event, every battle, every secret that transpired within its walls. But then the scribe vanished, leaving behind only echoes of his knowledge scattered throughout the ruins.

They needed that knowledge.

As they pressed forward, the dense undergrowth began to thin, and soon, they found themselves at the entrance of a large cave. It yawned before them, the entrance wide enough to swallow the three of them whole. Inside, the air smelled of mildew and forgotten things, of dust and decay. A chill crept through the cave, colder than the evening outside, as if the very stones themselves held onto ancient memories, unwilling to let them go.

“We're here,” Mahogany said, more to himself than the others.

Guusje tugged at the leather strap of his pack, adjusting it on his broad shoulders. The goose honked softly, its head tilting toward the cave, almost as if it could sense the danger lurking within.

Fetch, her eyes locked on the cave, whispered, “The books are waiting.”

With a determined nod, Mahogany stepped forward, leading them inside.

...

The cavernous library opened before them in an unsettling stillness, the silence broken only by the sound of their hooves echoing against the stone floor. Collapsed bookshelves leaned against one another like weary giants, their wooden spines splintered and twisted with age. Ancient books—more like tomes—lay scattered across the ground, their once-vibrant covers now faded and brittle. Dust hung heavy in the air, and the light of Mahogany’s torch flickered, casting eerie shadows against the walls.

Guusje bent down to examine one of the books, its pages yellowed and curling at the edges. He lifted it carefully, but before he could inspect it further, Fetch’s voice cut through the silence.

“Be careful,” she said, her tone uncharacteristically grave. “They don’t like to be disturbed.”

Guusje’s brow furrowed. “Who? The books?”

Fetch nodded, her eyes fixed on a particularly large tome that sat atop a broken shelf. It was bound in cracked leather, its pages tightly pressed together as if holding something back. “They’re waiting… for something.”

Mahogany knelt beside a nearby shelf, brushing dust from the spine of an old, forgotten tome. “There has to be something here about the scribe,” he murmured. “Something that will tell us what happened to him.”

Fetch’s gaze shifted, her eyes distant once again. “The scribe is gone… but his words are not.”

As if on cue, the room seemed to stir. The scattered books began to shift, a low hum filling the air as the pages rustled and whispered. Mahogany shot up, his muscles tense, while Guusje stepped back, his goose flapping its wings in alarm.

“Fetch?” Guusje asked, his voice tight with unease.

But Fetch was already lost in her trance, her eyes wide as if seeing something beyond the physical realm. “They’re waking up…”

And then, without warning, the library erupted into chaos.

Books shot off their shelves like birds of prey, their pages flapping furiously as they filled the air with an otherworldly screech. They swooped down on the party, their covers slamming shut with terrifying force as they aimed for their heads. The noise was deafening—each book screamed its contents in languages none of them could understand, the words pouring out in frantic bursts of sound.

Mahogany raised his arms to shield himself as a tome slammed into his shoulder, the impact knocking him to the ground. Guusje swung his pack around, swatting away a particularly large volume that had been aiming for his head. The goose honked angrily, flapping its wings in an attempt to fend off the flying books.

“What the—?!” Guusje cried, ducking as another tome flew past his ear. “Fetch, what’s going on?”

Fetch remained unnervingly calm, her eyes glazed over as she watched the books circle above. “They’re telling their stories… all at once.”

Mahogany gritted his teeth, batting away a smaller book that had latched onto his arm. “Stories or not, they’re trying to kill us!”

Suddenly, one of the larger tomes—a massive, dust-covered book bound in black leather—dropped from above, slamming into the ground with a force that shook the entire room. Its pages fluttered open, and a deep, resonant voice echoed from within.

“The Scribe must not be found,” it intoned, the words heavy with ancient power. “Knowledge brings ruin. Knowledge brings death.”

Mahogany’s heart raced as he scrambled to his feet, his eyes darting around the room. More books began to gather, circling the massive tome like vultures around a carcass. The air was thick with the sound of their shrieking, and the walls of the library seemed to close in, the shadows growing longer and darker with each passing second.

“Fetch, we need to get out of here!” Guusje shouted, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of the books.

But Fetch was transfixed, her eyes locked on the massive tome as if she were seeing something none of them could. “The Scribe…” she whispered. “He’s still here.”

Mahogany exchanged a panicked glance with Guusje. “Fetch, now is not the time for riddles!”

But Fetch didn’t move. Instead, she stepped forward, her hoof outstretched toward the massive tome. As she did, the circling books seemed to hesitate, their frenzied movements slowing as if unsure whether to attack or retreat.

“The Scribe’s words…” Fetch murmured. “They’re cursed. Bound to the dungeon. He tried to record everything, but the dungeon wouldn’t let him.”

Mahogany’s breath caught in his throat. “What are you talking about?”

Fetch turned to face them, her eyes wide and unblinking. “The dungeon doesn’t want to be known. It’s… alive. The Scribe wrote too much. He wrote the dungeon’s secrets, and now it’s trying to erase him.”

As if in response to her words, the massive tome let out a bone-chilling screech, its pages flapping wildly as it began to rise into the air. The other books followed suit, their covers snapping open and shut as they swarmed toward the party.

“We have to leave, now!” Mahogany shouted, grabbing Fetch by the arm and pulling her back toward the entrance.

But just as they turned to flee, a deafening crash echoed through the library. The massive tome had slammed into the floor once again, blocking their path with its towering form. The air around it shimmered with dark energy, and the words it had spoken earlier seemed to hang in the air like a curse.

“The Scribe must not be found. Knowledge brings ruin. Knowledge brings death.”

Guusje’s goose let out a frantic honk, its wings flapping wildly as it tried to escape the chaos. But there was no way out—every path was blocked by the swirling storm of books, and the air was thick with the scent of old paper and magic.

Mahogany’s mind raced. They were trapped.

Fetch, her voice eerily calm, whispered, “It’s not going to let us leave until we make a choice.”

“A choice?” Guusje asked, his voice trembling. “What kind of choice?”

Fetch’s eyes met Mahogany’s, her expression unreadable. “Do we let the knowledge be lost… or do we try to save it?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of their predicament. The books circled faster, their shrieks growing louder and more frenzied. The massive tome loomed before them like a sentinel, its pages rippling with dark energy.

And then, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, Fetch added, “If we try to save it, we might never leave.”

Mahogany’s stomach dropped. The Scribe’s library was a prison, and they were the next captives.

Guusje tightened his grip on his pack, his eyes darting between Mahogany and Fetch. “So what do we do?”

The books screamed their unintelligible languages, growing closer with every second. The goose honked in panic, as if sensing the weight of the decision.

Mahogany took a deep breath. They had to make a choice. But as the books closed in around them, the answer wasn’t clear. And time was running out...