The book wasn’t there the last time he passed through this wing of the library.
Or maybe it was—but unopened, unseen. Waiting.

The spine had no title. The cover was worn, as if it had weathered hands and years not its own. But when he opened it, the room dimmed around him—like the shelves themselves had learned to hush.

Light gathered at the pages’ edges like breath fogging glass.

He expected words.

Instead, he found moments.

A broken melody hummed beneath his ribs. A brushstroke that hadn’t dried despite being centuries old. A scream hidden in the white space between lines. A love letter torn in half but still glowing at the edges.

Each page pulled him deeper. Not violently. Not even gently.
Just inevitably.

His lungs forgot how to breathe evenly.
His eyes stayed open too long.
His hands hovered above the parchment, shaking slightly—not from fear, but reverence. He wasn’t reading anymore.
He was remembering things he’d never lived.

There were images he couldn’t explain.
A shoreline that sang.
A feather that bled ink.
A child’s laughter rang through his chest like it belonged there. Like it always had.

It was beautiful, yes. But it hurt.

Not the kind that bleeds.
The kind that undoes.

He had walked countless stories—seen gods fall, empires fade, love endure. But this?
This world saw him back.

He didn’t want to leave.

But he was afraid of forgetting.

He blinked for the first time in too long, eyes stinging.
The room was still dark. The page still glowed. His heart still raced.

So he closed the book—not to stop it, but to steady himself.
Not a refusal. Just… not yet.

It would still be there tomorrow.

And maybe, by then,
he’d remember how to breathe.

---

Playing through Expedition 33 gave me a massive iceberg to get to the bottom of—I honestly spent more time thinking about the game and all its meanings, then actually playing it. It stuck with me that much, and continues to do so. One of the things that I found interesting was an attack called Stendhal, learned by one of the party members. With the themes of the game, I figured it would be something related to art.

Marie-Henri Beyle, better known for his pen name, Stendhal, was a French writer in the 19th century. He was most well known for exploring themes of passion, introspection, and identity. While visiting the Basilica of Santa Croce in Florence in 1817, he wrote about how he became anxious and overwhelmed to the point where he nearly fainted while taking in the vast beauty and history around him. Stendhal’s words became the basis of what was later called Stendhal Syndrome, a kind of emotional overflow that’s rare and documented, but unofficial in medical standards.

Learning about this triggered a fascination within me, connecting it to the themes of Expedition 33, and to an extent, the Worldwalker’s identity. I’m not sure what it was that drew me towards it—it might just be that I’ve never heard of it before, and it was another thing that I learned about my favorite story of all time.

Many thanks to the always amazing  Kirena-Kaya —she’s always bringing out the best in her art, and I can’t thank her enough for her help with fleshing out these ideas I have.

Siber, the Worldwalker belongs to me,  Siber

Check out the artist’s post here!