Without meeting her gaze, he said with a musing tone, "indeed I am, and I will continue for as long as it takes."
Sythrik strolled away, increasing their distance with deliberate steps, soon, only a shadow In her eyes.
Lynette chuckled, holding a fisted hand in front of her mouth. Her lips parted slowly, forming a smile in the process as she spoke, "what a weirdo."
…
Sythrik rummaged through piles of books, placing the needed ones atop a rounded wooden table with a mix of hurry and calmness.
"It seems this library is close to its limit. The books related to Ereshkigal are running low, and so is my stay here." He murmured to himself, as quiet as a whisper.
He sat down on a simple oak chair, flipping through pages with profound concentration. Some spoke nonsense, completely devoid of true knowledge about the book in question.
However, there was one book that seemed to differentiate itself from the others.
It was a dark leathered book, with golden symbols stretching across it's outer edges in the form of a square.
Sythrik's gaze lingered on a singular paper that reached slightly outside the cover. He flipped open the book, and saw that it was a page seemingly ripped apart from the book. No, it was more like a note. Its yellowish tone bore black ink. Soon, he realized that what was written was more like a warning than a story or fairytale.
He read it in whispers, just loud enough for himself to comprehend, "do not seek immortality without a path of your own."
Sythrik bore a confused yet believable expression, looking deeper in the warning's origin, "it seems a former seeker of immortality has left a warning for the newcomers… yet, its content is but nonsense."
Sythrik turned quiet for a moment, his dark eyes observed the text with great intent, searching for clues unanswered.
He let out a deep breath and spoke, "a path, huh?… That could mean anything!"
Sythrik calmed himself down and thought out the different possibilities, placing each finger between one another to then rest his chin on top of them. He closed his eyes and pondered, "a path of my own… it could mean treading this path of my mine alone, finding clues and obtaining it without a helping hand. However, I have been doing just that for about a year and a half now, and sadly have yet to see any real progress. Thus, I'll put that thought on hold for now…"
"It could also be something more metaphorical. For example, instead of a direction, it could mean conviction. Since conviction is related to the spirit, and spirit is the essence of life. It wouldn't surprise me if it wanted me to strengthen the soul one way or another before attaining immortality. Perhaps there are some after effects that require a strong soul… Since this is metaphorical, I'll leave it on hold as well."
He sighed before continuing, "If only he gave a little more information, maybe then I could decipher its meaning. Unfortunately, as it stands it is impossible. All I can muster is possibility and assumptions."
"Since it was a ripped out piece of paper, it was probably the most important piece of information within the book, one not to be skipped. Although, reading the rest hurts none. The day is still young. Reading the whole book, writing down useful information and setting some goals should be fine. Luckily my work can be somewhat adjusted depending on my own volition."
Sythrik folded the piece of paper and neatly placed it within his left pocket. He then pulled the book closer, flipping the pages towards the beginning.
While leaning slightly in, he, with keen eyes he memorized what he deemed valuable and forgot what he did not.
His eyebrows twitched into a frown after reading a singular text: "why are you still reading? A fool indeed, struggling just to bear a curse… Idiot."
Sythrik sighed, then clapped the book together deeming it worthless. He placed the books back in order, his memory unfathomable.
"What does he even know? He remains only a myth made by his own hand and ink." He snickered at the writer, finding him nauseating. A lingering ghost, subjecting him to a pitiful mockery.
Sythrik grabbed the last book and placed it on the shelf… standing before the book he had just placed down, he leaned in, resting in a pitiful manner.
He finally let go of his childish behavior, and answered the writer with his own opinion. Despite not seeing the writer, hearing, nor feeling the writer. He spoke, albeit to thin air, "I take it back. You are right. immortality is nothing but a curse, withering away the fragile meaning of life with each and every meaningless moment. And since death is no longer, a conclusion is amiss. A path without a destination is but an aimless traversal—meaningless" he exhaled, continuing his opinion with a clenched fist, "I know that death gives life its worth, but what worth is there in being forgotten? If the price for memory is eternity, then I'll gladly pay it in full."
"I will not be forgotten, nor will I forget myself."