Cool night air clung to Lucas. He moved through the deserted back alleys of the district, the heavy leather-bound volume tucked securely beneath his arm. Its weight felt significant, not just physical, but laden with secrets he suspected would reshape everything. His chosen sanctuary was a derelict bookstore, its upper floor mostly intact. Dust motes danced in the slivers of moonlight piercing broken windows. He climbed the creaking stairs, each step a protest against the silence. Inside, a makeshift shelter of overturned shelves and salvaged tarps awaited. He sealed the entrance, plunging the space into near-total darkness, then activated a small, self-charging light orb. Its soft glow illuminated the book, resting on a flat piece of plywood. Lucas’s fingers traced the worn cover. No title was visible, only strange, interlocking symbols carved into the leather. They hummed with a faint, almost imperceptible energy, a sensation only his heightened awareness could detect. The System hadn't identified it beyond

Chapter 20: The Book of Worlds