Pxan routine was of the most crushing. After a few days, his job as an archivist begun again and his life became: Police station, books and sleep. He didn’t had any hours to hang out making friends. He was stressed, sad and alone in a district that he didn’t understood.

He stood all day in the library in an isolated section, no one disturbed him, no one even came near him. It was rare that someone sat on at his table. He wouldn’t have minded if someone disturbed him, asked something, even if it was only for asking where is the bathroom. At the end of the first bookshelf first door left.

“Another leather-bound book...those are always strange” he had learned that all leather-bound books were classified under Rennaisance Philosophy...whatever that was. Already at the first page, he realized that this wasn’t going to be a light read. There was a picture of satan at the centre with Beelzebub and another demon that he didn’t recognize. Something was seriously wrong with this picture but he couldn’t understand what. He touched the page and the drawing felt strange at the touch, it was a feeling that he didn’t felt in a long time. It took him a few minutes to understand what was that feeling. That was hand-drawn using high-quality ink. He didn’t remember what was the last time that he saw non-industrial ink. It was prohibitively expensive...what was this book?

He turned the page and there was a little handwritten note at the margins >

He turned the page to discover that the entire book was handwritten. Those were notes, this was a notebook. He passed the next several hours trying to decipher the handwriting and wondering how something like this finished in the list. The book talked about rituals and magick but it seemed to allude to something else. At a certain point, the handwriting and the style changed and he became even more curious

…

The clock sounded eight times, it was time to go back home. He had made it about a third of the notebook and found it very interesting. Before he exited the library the librarian called stopped him.

>

Pxan raised an eyebrow >

He picked up the papers and returned home. He took a quick shower, cleaned a bit and just when he was falling asleep he remembered the papers. He picked them up with the intention of only skimming through them.

His hands begun trembling. He had to re-read the document very carefully to be sure that this wasn’t a dream of some kind of joke.

> were Pxan last words before passing a sleepless night, deeply worried about tomorrow.