We Could Be Heroes 20/30
Title: We Could Be Heroes 20/30 (ish!)
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, John/Nick, Gwen/Rhys
Characters: Jack, Ianto, Gwen, Rhys, John Hart and a cast of (probably!) thousands.
Spoilers: Set after Exit Wounds. Sequel to 'Will My Arms Be Strong Enough?'
Rating: Adult - it's going to get very dark in some places.
Warnings: Slash, language, angst, dark themes.
Summary: What caused the written word to be hated so badly?
Disclaimer: I'm a student. I don't own Torchwood.
The Master List (as it stands) is here: anduria-trianys.livejournal.com/27610.html#cutid1
Chapter 20
Nick leaned against the wall, listening to his heart pounding in his ears as he looked around, unsure whether he should feel more shocked or impressed by this room. He had never seen so many books in all his life, and certainly never in one room, not even when he had made an unexpected trip to the British Library back in his earlier days at university - although, in fairness, and unusually for him, he hadn't always been entirely focused on books at that time, especially considering who had accompanied him on that trip.
He shook himself. Now was not the time to be dwelling on his past regrets, or to be wondering what might have been had certain events not intervened. In spite of this, however, he did briefly find himself remembering something Jack had once told him about parallel worlds, where something that happened in the world that someone knew might have happened differently, or might not even have happened at all. Maybe there was one such universe where circumstances that had dictated events in his past had not in fact taken place. Maybe there was even a universe where he had never ended up in London during Canary Wharf and even one where he had never joined Torchwood.
I wonder what that could have been like; maybe if Dan and I had never split up, I would never have ended up going out with Alison or marrying her, and then I might never have had reason to have been in London when the battle happened. I might never have found out the truth about what Ianto did for a living.
He rubbed his head violently until he could almost smell the friction the motion was creating. Now is not the time to be wondering what might have happened between me and Dan. We had some amazing times together and I do still have a bit of a soft spot for him. But what's in the past stays in the past; I have to focus on my present first. And, at the present, I'm at least three thousand years out of my time, alone and John might be dead for all I know. He sighed softly. But I also know that, if he were here instead of me, he would be doing everything he could to have some fun in the face of adversity. And here I am, in the kind of place that I thought I could only dream about! Well, bring it on!
With a grin spreading over his face, he took several running steps until he stopped in the aisle between two heavily stacked shelves, his heart pounding in excitement. At this moment, he felt like he was five years old on Christmas Day, when Ianto's father had gone out specially and come back with an enormous stuffed dragon and a box of second-hand children's books, which, years later, he had found out had belonged to his own father. Even then, while his relationship with his father hadn't been easy, he couldn't deny that he had been extremely touched by the gesture.
He remembered how he had felt as if there was something fizzing in his stomach from the excitement of that moment when he had unwrapped the books one by one. But now, he knew that nothing could compare to what he was feeling now. Far from a simple sensation of having eaten a few too many fizzy cola bottles, he now felt as if fireworks built on adrenaline were leaping and exploding inside him, making him feel as if he could do anything; as if he was on top of the world. Books did tend to have that effect on him.
The energy inside him was calling out to be released in the most ridiculous way he could possibly think of and he knew that he could do nothing except oblige. So, without even stopping to think, he took several paces back and then, after executing his run up, proceeded to carry out a series of cartwheels and back-flips down the aisle until he came to the other end and struck a pose where he was down on one knee with his hands in the air and his head thrown backwards.
“Yahoo!” he shouted out, casting his eyes up to the domed ceiling and rolling to his feet as he struck a standing pose which - he thought - made him look like a gymnast. “Bring on the books, my friends!”
He felt, rather than heard, a ripple of amusement breathe through the atmosphere as if the room was laughing at him. But it was a friendly laugh rather than a mocking or cruel one and Nick felt completely at ease in this place. He always did feel that way whenever he was surrounded by books, but now, after having been caught in the middle of so much hostility, even from people who were supposed to be his colleagues, being in a place like this was like being welcomed back home again after a long absence.
For a brief second, he felt rather sad at the thought of being back home with his friends and his family. As fascinating and, in some ways, amazing as the 51st century undoubtedly was, he missed hearing his son's laugh and watching him pushing his little cars all over the carpet. He also missed reading the children a story before he put them to bed and watching them sleep with thousands of stars shimmering above their heads from the lamp he had found at a car boot sale a few months after Trevyn had been born.
But he quickly pushed any maudlin thoughts out of his mind and started looking around the shelves surrounding him and was momentarily disappointed when he realised that he could not understand the language that the signs were written in. Those feelings quickly faded, however, when he remembered that his wrist strap would be able to act as a translator. Grinning anew, he reached out and ran his wrist over one of the signs on the shelf. After a moment, the translation came up: 'Twenty-second century.”
“What on earth does that mean?” he wondered, frowning. “I sincerely hope it doesn't mean that this place takes you to a portal into a different century...although that might be an opportunity for me to get home if I can find something from the twenty-first century.”
However, before he had the chance to be puzzled at the nonsensical nature of the idea of having a portal in the middle of a library (or to kick himself for forgetting that nothing was impossible in a place that, so far, seemed to be lifted straight out of a science fiction film), he caught sight of another sign hanging from the top of the shelf. He wasn't sure if the signal from his vortex manipulator would reach that far, but decided that it wouldn't do him any harm to at least try it out and see what would happen. Looking up, he stretched out his arm as far as it would reach, even stepping up onto the second shelf to get a bit more height, a motion that shocked him as much as anything else. Had he been back home, he would never even have considered doing such a thing in case he damaged some of the books, but here something seemed to be telling him that what he was doing was not only accepted, it was normal, amusing even.
With a grunt, he swung himself up so he was crouched on one of the middle shelves, still hanging on to one above him with one hand as he held his other wrist up to the sign above him, squinting slightly in the flickering light of the star lights above him. He blinked and raised his eyebrows when his wrist strap finally showed him the translation of the sign.
Literature of Times Most Ancient and Revered.
That meant that the signs saying 'Twenty-second century' wasn't put there as an entrance to a portal or anything supernatural like that. It was simply fulfilling the function it would have been put to in any library back home; it was notifying readers of what books were stocked on those shelves.
“Well, shit,” said Nick weakly before his hand slipped from the shelf and he lost his footing on the shelf below and went crashing back onto the floor, landing hard on his back. He blinked sheepishly through his lop-sided glasses as he sat up and as he did so, the mood seemed to shift to one of a combination of sympathy and teasing humour at his slip.
“What?” he asked the room as a whole, trying not to be annoyed. “This century hasn't made an awful lot of sense since I've been here; you're expecting me not to be surprised that something actually does make sense for a change?” Gingerly, he stood up and straightened his glasses. “I feel like bloody Alice in Wonderland,” he muttered to himself. “But, since I'm here, it would be pretty ridiculous not to look round.” He picked out a book and scanned the title on the spine. “Great Art from the 20th and 21st centuries,” he read aloud. “That might be a laugh.” He flipped through the book, slightly amused to recognise several works in that book, especially considering that they all had rather acerbic captions underneath them - clearly, the author had a rather low opinion of anything that didn't imply sex or debauchery.
“Typical 51st century, I guess,” he muttered to himself, and was just about to close it, when his wrist strap picked up the words, 'However, the anonymous drawing over the page is what I, the author, consider to be one of the greatest works of the 21st century. It was found in an abandoned flat in the year 2050 in what was then known as the city of Cardiff, in Wales. No one has yet been able to discover who the artist was, but the techniques shown in the artistry show it to have been drawn at least forty earlier than its discovery date. The subject of the portrait has never been identified, but the smooth pencil lines show a great sense of tenderness and affection from the artist.”
Nick blinked. “There's an undiscovered artist living in Cardiff who becomes famous three thousand years later?” he spluttered. “Wow - I wonder what the picture is!” Quickly, and with his fingers trembling so hard he thought they might drop off, he turned the page.
He couldn't believe his eyes. It was a pencil sketch of him lying naked on a bed, his hair spread all over the pillow behind him! But not only that, he could actually remember when it had been drawn; that New Year's Eve the first time he and John had...Nick felt himself grow hot all over at the memory. At the risk of lifting lines straight out of Titanic, it had been quite possibly the most erotic moment of his life...up to that point.
He bit his lip and tried to focus on the translation of the writing below the picture, to see it as a piece of artwork and nothing more. But even before he started, he knew it was a hopeless task; the book was trembling in his hands as the memory of that night filled his mind. He could almost taste the rich dark chocolate as it melted over John's back, feel the soft sheets slipping over his skin, smell his lover's unique pheromones as his excitement and arousal grew...
A fierce current suddenly flew through Nick's body, jolting him out of his musings. He squealed in surprise as he remembered where he was and looked around to see if there was anyone around who had given him such a shock. But the aisle was completely empty of life forms, other than himself, but he could feel a presence surrounding him and watching him with an invisible smile of amusement on his or her face. Blushing furiously, Nick shut the book and quickly put it back where he found it and leaned against the shelf to try and calm the surges of passion that were racing through him.
“I think I might go and look at something else,” he muttered, before turning away quickly and walking further down the aisle, occasionally pausing to check the labels attached to the shelves. Eventually, he stopped at the section containing literature from the thirtieth century and picked out a book which, upon closer inspection, he discovered was a book of poems from that time. Curious, he dropped onto the floor and opened the book. But before he could start to get into it, he was distracted by the sound of heavy footsteps coming his way. Instantly, he jumped to his feet and drew his sword as he saw something appearing. At the same time, a soft voice spoke out to him.
“Lower your weapon; I mean you no harm.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. I'm in an unfamiliar place and something's coming at me. I don't know who or what it could be, whether it's friend or foe and I'm being asked to lower my sword? He snorted softly to himself. Yeah, right - seriously, how stupid do some people think I am?!
To his surprise, however, he was greeted a moment later, not by the large and hulking figure he had expected to see, but instead by a woman who was so thin and pale she looked almost like a ghost; in fact, upon looking closer and seeing that she seemed insubstantial, Nick wondered if that was exactly what she was. But still, he took no chances. “Who are you?” he asked, stepping forwards and allowing the tip of his sword to shine in the light.
The woman drifted closer to him. “You can put away your weapon,” she whispered. “I said that I meant you no harm, and I do mean you no harm, Nick Jones.”
Nick stepped back sharply. “You know my name!” he exclaimed, so surprised that he actually dropped his sword on the floor.
“Yes. And I also know that the man in that picture was you.” She came over and smiled, a soft gesture that blew over her face like smoke. “I knew that you would come one day.”
“How?” asked Nick, now even more unsettled, though he did not pick his sword back up. “How did you know? Who are you?”
“I saw it,” she answered simply. “I saw you coming. I am what you might think of as a ghost or a shadow of the past.” She sighed softly and flittered amongst the shelves. “I remember happier days, when great readers like you would pour into this room to read with each other. Races from all over the universe would sit and read together, learning the words and customs of the ancients, so that they might learn from them. Learn from the past, live for the future, they used to say. It was like an intergalactic book-club, I suppose; a time when a place like this did not need to be hidden away from view and was not treated with such contempt.”
“What happened?” asked Nick. “Why did it all change?”
“The Great War happened,” sighed the woman. “I cannot tell you much; to speak of it is forbidden, even amongst the dead. But books and literature were outlawed to be spoken of or used, because they were believed to have brought a great evil upon the Neokin race.” She swooped down suddenly, her body - if it could be called that - barely inches away from Nick's. “I beg you, Nick, do not go searching for more information on this matter here; the very mention of the event could be enough to have you imprisoned and if word got out that you had come here, or that this place was still functioning, you could be seen to be searching for books and viewed as a threat - you would be killed instantly, without a trial - especially considering your status as a Time Agent.”
Nick shivered. “But how can I know that I won't be discovered here? How do I know that I'm safe?”
“This house reveals its true self only to those whom it believes to be true friends of the written word - to those who would see it protected rather than destroyed. If you are one such person -”
“Of course I am!”
“Then you will understand why you must not speak of this place until you are out of the Neokin realm. You will be protecting not only yourself, but also the history of several millennia.” She started to leave, but her last words echoed through the room.
“The written word was almost destroyed by war a long time ago. For it to happen again would be a tragedy to terrible to contemplate.”
Nick watched the woman fade away slowly, his heart racing at what he had heard. He knew some instances of historical destruction of the written word, such as the repeated demolition of the ancient library at Alexandria. But it wasn't really history that was running through his mind; instead, it was a fictional novel.
Sighing, he wandered back along the aisle, occasionally running his hand over some of the spines. Eventually, however, one of them fell on the floor right at his feet. He bent to pick it up, but his heart missed a beat when he realised what the book was.
“Fahrenheit 451.”
***
Next Time: So, Nick has discovered a few pieces of Neokin history, but now he and Orion must continue on their journey. Will they make it without too many problems?
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, John/Nick, Gwen/Rhys
Characters: Jack, Ianto, Gwen, Rhys, John Hart and a cast of (probably!) thousands.
Spoilers: Set after Exit Wounds. Sequel to 'Will My Arms Be Strong Enough?'
Rating: Adult - it's going to get very dark in some places.
Warnings: Slash, language, angst, dark themes.
Summary: What caused the written word to be hated so badly?
Disclaimer: I'm a student. I don't own Torchwood.
The Master List (as it stands) is here: anduria-trianys.livejournal.com/27610.html#cutid1
Chapter 20
Nick leaned against the wall, listening to his heart pounding in his ears as he looked around, unsure whether he should feel more shocked or impressed by this room. He had never seen so many books in all his life, and certainly never in one room, not even when he had made an unexpected trip to the British Library back in his earlier days at university - although, in fairness, and unusually for him, he hadn't always been entirely focused on books at that time, especially considering who had accompanied him on that trip.
He shook himself. Now was not the time to be dwelling on his past regrets, or to be wondering what might have been had certain events not intervened. In spite of this, however, he did briefly find himself remembering something Jack had once told him about parallel worlds, where something that happened in the world that someone knew might have happened differently, or might not even have happened at all. Maybe there was one such universe where circumstances that had dictated events in his past had not in fact taken place. Maybe there was even a universe where he had never ended up in London during Canary Wharf and even one where he had never joined Torchwood.
I wonder what that could have been like; maybe if Dan and I had never split up, I would never have ended up going out with Alison or marrying her, and then I might never have had reason to have been in London when the battle happened. I might never have found out the truth about what Ianto did for a living.
He rubbed his head violently until he could almost smell the friction the motion was creating. Now is not the time to be wondering what might have happened between me and Dan. We had some amazing times together and I do still have a bit of a soft spot for him. But what's in the past stays in the past; I have to focus on my present first. And, at the present, I'm at least three thousand years out of my time, alone and John might be dead for all I know. He sighed softly. But I also know that, if he were here instead of me, he would be doing everything he could to have some fun in the face of adversity. And here I am, in the kind of place that I thought I could only dream about! Well, bring it on!
With a grin spreading over his face, he took several running steps until he stopped in the aisle between two heavily stacked shelves, his heart pounding in excitement. At this moment, he felt like he was five years old on Christmas Day, when Ianto's father had gone out specially and come back with an enormous stuffed dragon and a box of second-hand children's books, which, years later, he had found out had belonged to his own father. Even then, while his relationship with his father hadn't been easy, he couldn't deny that he had been extremely touched by the gesture.
He remembered how he had felt as if there was something fizzing in his stomach from the excitement of that moment when he had unwrapped the books one by one. But now, he knew that nothing could compare to what he was feeling now. Far from a simple sensation of having eaten a few too many fizzy cola bottles, he now felt as if fireworks built on adrenaline were leaping and exploding inside him, making him feel as if he could do anything; as if he was on top of the world. Books did tend to have that effect on him.
The energy inside him was calling out to be released in the most ridiculous way he could possibly think of and he knew that he could do nothing except oblige. So, without even stopping to think, he took several paces back and then, after executing his run up, proceeded to carry out a series of cartwheels and back-flips down the aisle until he came to the other end and struck a pose where he was down on one knee with his hands in the air and his head thrown backwards.
“Yahoo!” he shouted out, casting his eyes up to the domed ceiling and rolling to his feet as he struck a standing pose which - he thought - made him look like a gymnast. “Bring on the books, my friends!”
He felt, rather than heard, a ripple of amusement breathe through the atmosphere as if the room was laughing at him. But it was a friendly laugh rather than a mocking or cruel one and Nick felt completely at ease in this place. He always did feel that way whenever he was surrounded by books, but now, after having been caught in the middle of so much hostility, even from people who were supposed to be his colleagues, being in a place like this was like being welcomed back home again after a long absence.
For a brief second, he felt rather sad at the thought of being back home with his friends and his family. As fascinating and, in some ways, amazing as the 51st century undoubtedly was, he missed hearing his son's laugh and watching him pushing his little cars all over the carpet. He also missed reading the children a story before he put them to bed and watching them sleep with thousands of stars shimmering above their heads from the lamp he had found at a car boot sale a few months after Trevyn had been born.
But he quickly pushed any maudlin thoughts out of his mind and started looking around the shelves surrounding him and was momentarily disappointed when he realised that he could not understand the language that the signs were written in. Those feelings quickly faded, however, when he remembered that his wrist strap would be able to act as a translator. Grinning anew, he reached out and ran his wrist over one of the signs on the shelf. After a moment, the translation came up: 'Twenty-second century.”
“What on earth does that mean?” he wondered, frowning. “I sincerely hope it doesn't mean that this place takes you to a portal into a different century...although that might be an opportunity for me to get home if I can find something from the twenty-first century.”
However, before he had the chance to be puzzled at the nonsensical nature of the idea of having a portal in the middle of a library (or to kick himself for forgetting that nothing was impossible in a place that, so far, seemed to be lifted straight out of a science fiction film), he caught sight of another sign hanging from the top of the shelf. He wasn't sure if the signal from his vortex manipulator would reach that far, but decided that it wouldn't do him any harm to at least try it out and see what would happen. Looking up, he stretched out his arm as far as it would reach, even stepping up onto the second shelf to get a bit more height, a motion that shocked him as much as anything else. Had he been back home, he would never even have considered doing such a thing in case he damaged some of the books, but here something seemed to be telling him that what he was doing was not only accepted, it was normal, amusing even.
With a grunt, he swung himself up so he was crouched on one of the middle shelves, still hanging on to one above him with one hand as he held his other wrist up to the sign above him, squinting slightly in the flickering light of the star lights above him. He blinked and raised his eyebrows when his wrist strap finally showed him the translation of the sign.
Literature of Times Most Ancient and Revered.
That meant that the signs saying 'Twenty-second century' wasn't put there as an entrance to a portal or anything supernatural like that. It was simply fulfilling the function it would have been put to in any library back home; it was notifying readers of what books were stocked on those shelves.
“Well, shit,” said Nick weakly before his hand slipped from the shelf and he lost his footing on the shelf below and went crashing back onto the floor, landing hard on his back. He blinked sheepishly through his lop-sided glasses as he sat up and as he did so, the mood seemed to shift to one of a combination of sympathy and teasing humour at his slip.
“What?” he asked the room as a whole, trying not to be annoyed. “This century hasn't made an awful lot of sense since I've been here; you're expecting me not to be surprised that something actually does make sense for a change?” Gingerly, he stood up and straightened his glasses. “I feel like bloody Alice in Wonderland,” he muttered to himself. “But, since I'm here, it would be pretty ridiculous not to look round.” He picked out a book and scanned the title on the spine. “Great Art from the 20th and 21st centuries,” he read aloud. “That might be a laugh.” He flipped through the book, slightly amused to recognise several works in that book, especially considering that they all had rather acerbic captions underneath them - clearly, the author had a rather low opinion of anything that didn't imply sex or debauchery.
“Typical 51st century, I guess,” he muttered to himself, and was just about to close it, when his wrist strap picked up the words, 'However, the anonymous drawing over the page is what I, the author, consider to be one of the greatest works of the 21st century. It was found in an abandoned flat in the year 2050 in what was then known as the city of Cardiff, in Wales. No one has yet been able to discover who the artist was, but the techniques shown in the artistry show it to have been drawn at least forty earlier than its discovery date. The subject of the portrait has never been identified, but the smooth pencil lines show a great sense of tenderness and affection from the artist.”
Nick blinked. “There's an undiscovered artist living in Cardiff who becomes famous three thousand years later?” he spluttered. “Wow - I wonder what the picture is!” Quickly, and with his fingers trembling so hard he thought they might drop off, he turned the page.
He couldn't believe his eyes. It was a pencil sketch of him lying naked on a bed, his hair spread all over the pillow behind him! But not only that, he could actually remember when it had been drawn; that New Year's Eve the first time he and John had...Nick felt himself grow hot all over at the memory. At the risk of lifting lines straight out of Titanic, it had been quite possibly the most erotic moment of his life...up to that point.
He bit his lip and tried to focus on the translation of the writing below the picture, to see it as a piece of artwork and nothing more. But even before he started, he knew it was a hopeless task; the book was trembling in his hands as the memory of that night filled his mind. He could almost taste the rich dark chocolate as it melted over John's back, feel the soft sheets slipping over his skin, smell his lover's unique pheromones as his excitement and arousal grew...
A fierce current suddenly flew through Nick's body, jolting him out of his musings. He squealed in surprise as he remembered where he was and looked around to see if there was anyone around who had given him such a shock. But the aisle was completely empty of life forms, other than himself, but he could feel a presence surrounding him and watching him with an invisible smile of amusement on his or her face. Blushing furiously, Nick shut the book and quickly put it back where he found it and leaned against the shelf to try and calm the surges of passion that were racing through him.
“I think I might go and look at something else,” he muttered, before turning away quickly and walking further down the aisle, occasionally pausing to check the labels attached to the shelves. Eventually, he stopped at the section containing literature from the thirtieth century and picked out a book which, upon closer inspection, he discovered was a book of poems from that time. Curious, he dropped onto the floor and opened the book. But before he could start to get into it, he was distracted by the sound of heavy footsteps coming his way. Instantly, he jumped to his feet and drew his sword as he saw something appearing. At the same time, a soft voice spoke out to him.
“Lower your weapon; I mean you no harm.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. I'm in an unfamiliar place and something's coming at me. I don't know who or what it could be, whether it's friend or foe and I'm being asked to lower my sword? He snorted softly to himself. Yeah, right - seriously, how stupid do some people think I am?!
To his surprise, however, he was greeted a moment later, not by the large and hulking figure he had expected to see, but instead by a woman who was so thin and pale she looked almost like a ghost; in fact, upon looking closer and seeing that she seemed insubstantial, Nick wondered if that was exactly what she was. But still, he took no chances. “Who are you?” he asked, stepping forwards and allowing the tip of his sword to shine in the light.
The woman drifted closer to him. “You can put away your weapon,” she whispered. “I said that I meant you no harm, and I do mean you no harm, Nick Jones.”
Nick stepped back sharply. “You know my name!” he exclaimed, so surprised that he actually dropped his sword on the floor.
“Yes. And I also know that the man in that picture was you.” She came over and smiled, a soft gesture that blew over her face like smoke. “I knew that you would come one day.”
“How?” asked Nick, now even more unsettled, though he did not pick his sword back up. “How did you know? Who are you?”
“I saw it,” she answered simply. “I saw you coming. I am what you might think of as a ghost or a shadow of the past.” She sighed softly and flittered amongst the shelves. “I remember happier days, when great readers like you would pour into this room to read with each other. Races from all over the universe would sit and read together, learning the words and customs of the ancients, so that they might learn from them. Learn from the past, live for the future, they used to say. It was like an intergalactic book-club, I suppose; a time when a place like this did not need to be hidden away from view and was not treated with such contempt.”
“What happened?” asked Nick. “Why did it all change?”
“The Great War happened,” sighed the woman. “I cannot tell you much; to speak of it is forbidden, even amongst the dead. But books and literature were outlawed to be spoken of or used, because they were believed to have brought a great evil upon the Neokin race.” She swooped down suddenly, her body - if it could be called that - barely inches away from Nick's. “I beg you, Nick, do not go searching for more information on this matter here; the very mention of the event could be enough to have you imprisoned and if word got out that you had come here, or that this place was still functioning, you could be seen to be searching for books and viewed as a threat - you would be killed instantly, without a trial - especially considering your status as a Time Agent.”
Nick shivered. “But how can I know that I won't be discovered here? How do I know that I'm safe?”
“This house reveals its true self only to those whom it believes to be true friends of the written word - to those who would see it protected rather than destroyed. If you are one such person -”
“Of course I am!”
“Then you will understand why you must not speak of this place until you are out of the Neokin realm. You will be protecting not only yourself, but also the history of several millennia.” She started to leave, but her last words echoed through the room.
“The written word was almost destroyed by war a long time ago. For it to happen again would be a tragedy to terrible to contemplate.”
Nick watched the woman fade away slowly, his heart racing at what he had heard. He knew some instances of historical destruction of the written word, such as the repeated demolition of the ancient library at Alexandria. But it wasn't really history that was running through his mind; instead, it was a fictional novel.
Sighing, he wandered back along the aisle, occasionally running his hand over some of the spines. Eventually, however, one of them fell on the floor right at his feet. He bent to pick it up, but his heart missed a beat when he realised what the book was.
“Fahrenheit 451.”
***
Next Time: So, Nick has discovered a few pieces of Neokin history, but now he and Orion must continue on their journey. Will they make it without too many problems?