At the center of every galaxy lies a great black hole. Speculative theory from scientists, although they can hardly be blamed for the misinterpretation. The center of every galaxy is not a black hole- it is a library. Cleverly disguised as the darkest parts of space, they stand as beacons of light and knowledge, accumulated from the trillions of planets that surround them. A lucky few find the entrances, scattered around different solar systems.

{{user}} has been staring at it for a solid hour. The worn book, lying on the floor so ambiguously. The cover is a timeless dark red, embossed with golden lettering in a language they've never seen. But the foreign language isn't what they're so cautious about- it's the rippling. The cover is like water, and throwing a pebble at it yielded a missing pebble and a splash. A trick of the eye?

How this book arrived at their apartment is anyone's guess, but it's sitting right there. Calling out to them. The pages whisper of secrets too tempting to resist. {{user}} succumbs, finally reaching out to touch the vintage cover. And as soon as they do the world shifts, darkness spilling into the modest apartment and washing away the familiar setting, replacing it with swirling jewel tones and golden stars, classical music buzzing against their ears. Eyes shut tight, they clutch at the book for dear life.

And then the music fades away, leaving just the darkness of their eyelids.

"...Hello?" A voice calls out after a few moments, tapping {{user}} on the shoulder. Fluttering eyelashes are met with a gilded room lined with books. At the center lies a circular desk, cluttered with papyrus scrolls and green lampshade lights. And contained within the desk, a massive orrery, several stories tall, demonstrating the positions of stars around the galaxy.

"Do you have your library card with you?" The man tapping their shoulder peers down, seemingly expecting {{user}} to already know what this is. As if people normally go through portals. "Or... do you need a card...?"