Chapter Text
the library had gone unnoticed over time, carefully hidden underground by its mysterious creators.
absent from maps and impossible to track down even by soldiers or merchants, part of the constellation of people that marched the roads on a daily basis.
it's existence spoke volumes without ever being mentioned, as those who had heard of it took extreme care not to bring it up; scared or loyal? no one knew, but it worked.
‘the scarlet feather' could only be accessed in two ways:
by those curious enough to gamble with luck, sending a request for access to the library, and lucky enough to have received an invitation back from the scarlet feather— or by displaying an arcane mark in crimson ink, a privilege reserved for those who had heard the calling, hungry for knowledge, anxious to discover a hidden truth that could be contained by that mysterious place. the arcane mark would show up on the back of the person's hand.
the entrance to the crimson feather was located in the ruins of an ancient building, forgotten hundreds of years ago, before the roads between piltover and the outer domains of noxus had been gifted with those names.
behind the last standing wall, down that old cliff, the entrance was hidden. a narrow crack descended into darkness.
no doors.
no symbols.
not a single welcoming sign. a silent ruse, a riddle that did not seek to be solved.
announcing oneself holding the invitation or the seal in hand would cause the crevice to lose it's wall-state, becoming instead a staircase carved in ancient stone. and some thought it was a visual trick, while others chose not to think much about it.
the stone steps are illuminated by nothing other than the light coming from the outside. and there seems to be no end to them, as they soon become engulfed by darkness to those who are unlucky enough to not have a way of lighting their path.
down the stairs the air doesn't become heavier, but it gets colder with each step one gives. some, the few who have spoken of the place, say that it feels like descending into limbo:
“that is no hell. there is no fear to feel, no suffocating heat or unbearable cold, just an emptiness and silence that is frightening to break”.
and then, beneath miles of dark, cold rock, the scarlet feather library opens up like a gothic cathedral.
but those who expect a sepulchral silence are in for a surprise:
pleasant conversation and whispers fill the space. guests speak with people dressed in red, wearing the arcane symbol of the scarlet feather on a pin that keeps their cloaks in place, who are carrying stacks of thick tomes from one place to another.
the ceilings are supported by obsidian columns, bearing tons of stone as if it were a breeze. looking closely, one could see runes glowing faintly with a burgundy hue, reinforcing the security of the fortress of knowledge.
lanterns float in the library's skies, alternating between white and red flickering lights, providing visibility to the heavy shelves that run from floor to ceiling, showing books of all thicknesses and sizes.
they are available for visitors to take and read, each marked with a protective rune, to prevent the natural oils from visitor's hands, or any carelessness, from ruining their pages.
and those were not all the books there were, no. behind the dark wooden counter, where some red-clad workers worked with their heads buried in books and dust, more volumes could be seen, this time protected by solid glass doors.
these were important books, one of a kind, difficult to obtain or discovered and rescued from the elements or/and unscrupulous hands.
they were treasures for those willing to admire them.
and the ones that cared for them, although dressed in red, did not seem to wear intricate attire, like armor. only a dark red cloak and the symbol of the library; each dressed their own way.
they were called “keepers” or “protectors”, although in essence they were mostly assistants, and some librarians; being called protectors made them blush, they couldn't escape the titles, but being humble seemed to be a request to work there.
they allowed visitors to access everything they might want to know (even though books behind the glass doors could only be lent by the leaders of the scarlet feather, ancient protectors with black cloaks that rarely left their offices). protectors did not judge, their attitudes were kind and affable, some shy and the least a little surly.
welcoming visitors warmly, they always appeared to have been expecting them, never surprised by their arrival— some said the scarlet feather knew everything, after all.
but alas, no fortress is perfect, and this library wasn't the exception.
once a hundred tries, someone would manage to trick or sneak their way inside with cheap tricks. but the scarlet library had almost a life of its own. and it did not appreciate intruders.
it welcomed them with corridors that bent and repeated themselves endlessly; staircases that descended in infinite circles; mirages and altered memories. sometimes it even seemed to take pleasure in scaring them.
intruders would end up in a room closest to the surface, where every few hours a protector would dispatch them, leaving their unconscious bodies on some distant path so thatz once awake, they could embark on a confusing journey back the way they came.
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the scarlet library was the home of tess, our protagonist. one of the few people who had a room in the library: a librarian with thick glasses and brown hair, with a single blonde streak on their bangs.
born in one of the areas most affected by the war in noxus, they showed fascination for writing, infusing some of their make-up stories with magic, making these almost come to life for a few seconds in front of their parent's surprised eyes.
and this was the reason their parents took the first opportunity they had to to send them away from the conflict: a one-way ticket to “help researchers back on Ionia”, offered by an old man with a black cloak and kind eyes.
meals and all other living expenses would be taken care of for the, back then, thirteen year old tess.
“your child beholds a gift: the hunger for knowledge and the heart of a creator; we need writers back in ionia…” a white lie, enough to seize their desperate parents' reservations.
since then, more than ten years have passed, bringing us to speed. what had life in storage for tess in the present?
well… book hunting throughout runeterra, nonetheless.
though that is a story for another night, dear visitor. soon we will see more about tess' whereabouts.