It was just another ordinary day at St.
Marlowe Orphanage. December 21st.
The halls were quiet… until a small, sharp cry pierced the silence. Jonathan Heinrich. That was his name, stitched onto the blanket he had been left in. No one here had given it to him, and he never knew his parents.
He grew up surrounded by the echoing walls of the orphanage, yet never quite feeling at home. Friends were rare—Jonathan preferred the quiet corners of the hallways, where the only sounds were the footsteps of nuns and the occasional whisper of other children.
Then he discovered the library.
He was eight the first time he wandered into its hall. The shelves stretched tall above him, brimming with worlds he could escape into. The scent of old paper and polished wood wrapped around him like a warm blanket. He ran his fingers along the rows of books, imagining himself traveling to faraway lands hidden within each one. A pirate ship! A towering castle! A forest where the trees could talk!
But before he could lose himself in stories, there had been Sister Hannah. She was the nun who quietly watched over him from the shadows of the library, always patient, always kind.
He was six the first time she taught him to read. Small and timid, his fingers clumsy with the letters, Jonathan huddled in a corner, staring at a book upside down, frustrated and ready to give up.
"Jonathan," Sister Hannah said gently, kneeling beside him. Her warm hands guided his tiny fingers along the words. "Books are not something to rush. They will wait for you. You just need to be patient."
"I… I can't do it," he whispered, lips trembling. "The letters… they keep moving."
She smiled softly, her eyes both kind and firm. "The letters only move if you let them scare you. Read slowly. Sound it out. Imagine the story as you go."
Jonathan tried, stumbling over syllables. Sister Hannah leaned closer, nudging him gently. "Good. That's better. Again. This time, picture the words dancing into your mind, not leaving it confused."
Hours passed like minutes. His small voice grew steadier. He laughed when he realized he could read the first sentence all by himself.
"You see?" Sister Hannah said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Every story is a door. Once you learn the letters, you can open any door you wish."
From that day on, Jonathan never looked at a book the same way. Each page became a doorway, and each story a friend. Even when the orphanage walls felt cold or lonely, he carried that lesson with him: books were alive, and they would never leave him.
Over the years, Jonathan spent countless hours in the library. He ran his fingers along the shelves, muttered lines from the stories aloud, and imagined himself casting spells, commanding ships, or exploring enchanted forests. A wave of magic seemed to sweep the dust motes away every time he whispered a word.
"Maybe… magic needs more practice," he would murmur to himself, pouting at a stack of books that teetered dangerously.
Sometimes, she would scold him for being too absorbed in the library.
"Jonathan! Be careful, or you'll fall off the desk one of these days! Why don't you play with the other children for once?!"
He blinked up at her, heart racing, and quietly nodded. But the moment her back was turned, he returned to his favorite corner, flipping a book open with wide eyes. "Finally… adventure awaits," he whispered.
Though she scolded, he knew she cared. Her sharp words were always paired with guidance, and over time, he grew to trust her judgment—even as he ran his fingers along the library shelves, muttering lines of magic and imagining fantastical adventures.
She walks slowly in the corridor saying
"Ugh..this kid really gives me a headache"
Couples came to adopt children, smiles on their faces, hope in their hearts—but never for Jonathan. He was always too absorbed in the library, too lost in the rustle of pages, too shy to speak. So he quietly grew up, day by day, book by book.
Then came his eighteenth birthday. Sister Maria the one that found him handed him a small bundle.
"Jonathan," she said softly, "this is everything you were found with. I know how much you love books… maybe your parents did too. I hope this gift helps you find what you're looking for in life."
He carefully untied the bundle. Inside was a book, a blanket, and a letter—the first time he had ever held them. His fingers trembled as he touched the worn cover, traced the stitched letters, and unfolded the fragile paper. A faint smile appeared on his lips, tinged with sadness and hope.
"Thank you," he whispered.
For the first time, he felt the stirrings of a dream bigger than the orphanage walls.
Jonathan woke up the next morning, remnants of a dream still clinging to his mind. Memories of the orphanage washed over him—long-forgotten corridors, the quiet of the library, the strict but kind guidance of Sister Hannah, the faces of children he barely knew.
He thought of her again. She always watched over me… even when she scolded. She was like a mother, in her own way.
"I wonder if Sister is still alive…" he whispered. A thought that had never crossed his mind before.
At home, he sank onto the sofa and opened a book his parents had left behind. The story felt… strangely familiar. Life, choices, love, the reasons parents make impossible decisions—all reflected in the pages. Tears slipped down his cheeks before he realized it. He hastily wiped them away.
"Why… am I crying?" His voice trembled slightly. Sadness, yes, but also a sense of release. Somehow, reading these words helped him let go of the past.
Afterward, he went to the company and unpacked his things. He never saw the director again, but it didn't matter. He felt lighter. Freer. Tomorrow, he would finally do what he had always dreamed of—buy the library.
Back home, his heart buzzed with anticipation. He moved carefully, preparing, fixing everything in place, ready for the next day. A new chapter of his life was about to begin.
But he didn't yet know that news of volcanic eruptions in far-off lands would soon mark the beginning of a journey he could never have imagined.
Meanwhile, in a different library—or perhaps another dimension entirely—something stirred.
"A SUITABLE SOUL IS DETECTED. INITIATING ETERNAL LIBRARY," a voice echoed from a stone tablet, its letters glowing faintly in the dim, empty space.
The tablet chimed again.
"DETECTED COMPANION. INITIATING TRANSFER."
A black cat sat silently among the shelves. Its fur shimmered faintly under the soft, mystical light, and its emerald-green eyes reflected the glow of the tablet. The library was empty, but the cat's gaze was sharp, alert, and almost… knowing.
The stage was set. A new story was quietly beginning, far removed from Jonathan's world—yet connected in ways no one could yet foresee.