When Argrave gained awareness of his surroundings once more, he stared at an old man behind a desk. The man wore a jet-black suit, and had one leg crossed over the other. His eyes gleamed gold, and he had a sharp beard and slicked back gray hair that accentuated his sharp and almost devilish features.
“I always knew we’d be speaking someday,” said the Keeper of the Annals. “The day that you were recorded within the Annals, I knew I’d see you here. I thought it would be in a more servile manner, granted, yet here you are all the same.”
Argrave tried to look, move, but both actions failed him. This man was the Keeper—he was the one who delivered knowledge onto the recipient in Erlebnis’ Annals of the Universe. In this condition, Argrave was unable to move, speak, or do anything at all, because he wasn’t physically here. Everything he saw was what he thought, and what he imagined.
“Sifting around in that head of yours was very entertaining,” the Keeper said, switching his crossed legs. “A shame I can keep none of what’s in there. But I’m not here to talk. I’m here to… contextualize,” the old man held out his hands. “Help you make sense of the records we have.”
The Keeper rose to his feet, striding around the desk until he sat atop the desk just before Argrave in his strange captivity. “Unfortunately, we aren’t privy to the details of the birth of the man you know as the Alchemist. We know him as Raven. He tells no one about his past, and any who might know it are dead or… indisposed. The information we possess leads us to believe we don’t know about his birth because it was insignificant. Because he was insignificant. He rose above that, obviously.”The Keeper reached out of Argrave’s view, and then grabbed something. He pulled a monitor on a metal arm down before them, and Argrave’s metaphorical eyes jumped out of his metaphorical head. But then, the Keeper was in a classic suit, clearly foreign to this realm—perhaps a monitor was not so far-fetched, as both were figments of his imagination meant to process the information the book imparted.
“This thing—so convenient,” the Keeper marveled. “A shame I cannot keep your memory of this. But enough talk,” the old man looked at Argrave firmly. “Enjoy the tale of the Smiling Raven… or as he was known before his immortality, just Raven.”
Just then, a black raven dove out of the screen at Argrave’s face. And the last thing he saw before his vision distorted was its beady gray eyes, closing in on his.
