On my way towards the BetaX2 -the field I had come to know as well as if it had been my own home- I carefully studied the map indicating the entrance to the library. The map had been drawn for me by the peculiar old man I had encountered years before. Although it had been a long time since then, I could still discern the faint smell of his cologne; the smell exuded, even up to that day, the provocative chills of adventure.

And that was the reason why I brought the map with me in the first place. All those years made me know the way through the lilies by heart. So rather than its primal, orientation- helping function, it was the emotional one which convinced me that morning to take the map with me.

As I was passing the wrecked combine harvester for the billionth time, I couldn't help but notice the seemingly permanent appearance of the lily field. Even without the blossoming flowers and even after a heavy rain, the picture in front of me seemed to be the spitting image of what I had seen the previous years: three miles of light brown soil bordered by all kinds of agriculture machinery, hiding somekind of secret in the seeds and emanating a radiant pale-orange wave of energy.

On my left, clouds were gathering above the peeks of the mountains, where oak and beech trees stood tall and firm, resembling the backbone of those courageous enough to speak up for themselves. On my right, the Imperial estate, also known as The National Royal Museum. And right through the middle of the field, a 4 meters wide path led to the offices of the few white collar workers.

From the far right of the office building to where I was standing, two thirds in, there was an imposing elm tree, surrounded by bright orange fireweed. Opposite to the tree, a long forgotten path marked the entrance to the woods.

It took me about half an hour to get to its starting point and by that time, the 6 o'clock sun had already been positioned so as to cast a shimmery, fragile light on the bluebells and clovers lining the path. Up until four years before, I had used to think that every bluebell flower was housing a fairy. One time, I actually saw one...sort of. If I concentrated long enough on a spot where I felt that the energy was more dense, I could distinguish the outline of a compact shape, which was usually an entity. One time, I was convinced that azure sparkles escaped a bluebell and followed me home. They couldn't talk but they were happy, they might as well have been laughing. Of course, when I told my parents about this, they thought someone had played a joke on me and decided to reinforce our security system. It was not impossible to see energetic fields, but it was impossible to see mythical creatures....as if I could have really bought that....I still didn't. According to them, entities as such did not inhabit our community and the only way for us to see foreign souls was through astral projection, which everybody knew was dangerous and forbidden.

Coming back. The actual entrance of the library was shrouded not by the lilies, but by the ruins of what had used to be The Gardens of Lorac the First, thousands of years before. The whole area, going from the margin of The Royal Museum up to the mountains, had used to be intricately designed with fountains, rose passages and exotic plants.

While Lorac welcomed his thirty-eighth year of ruling, hazardous complots were being planned against him and his family, just because of those underhanded dynasties who wanted to take their place.

A few months later, hundreds of people burned to death, including the King and his two daughters. The Queen was the only one of the royal family to escape the fire; she had been lucky enough to be gone to her other residence, the smaller palace which, later on, ended up being a library. No one knew exactly what happened to the Queen after that, but some said that she had eventually come back to the throne and ruled her people until she gave her last breath.

Nevertheless, Her being such a strong and wise woman inspired the powers that be to transform her home into a library; the tunnel I was to walk through that day was the very secret passageway which connected the grounds of the two castles.

Five minutes of walking and I could finnaly see the marvelous white fountains emerging from the evergrowing weeds. The marble was wrecked but they were still imposing. Right in the middle of the clearing, a wishing well seemed to be waiting for some daydreamers to toss a coin, regardless of the passing of time.

And there it was.

Underneath the wild roses, the contours of a wood hatch could be seen. After getting the flashlight out of my backbag, I lifted the lid and climbed down the stairs. While I was moving forward, the smell of dirt and pesticides became almost intoxicating. The chilly air was my only relief.

Although the tunnel was deep underground, its walls and top were giving a dim, magical light to the old stone pavement.

The passage went straight alongside the lily field, then took a sharp left towards the mountains.

It took me less then half an hour to see the rusty, metal gates which led to the swirling stairs of the castle. They were open to the sides and though I tried to convince myself I had been the one to leave them like that, I knew there was no way I could have let that happen. Something was wrong.

I took out my phone, but, of course, there was no signal. Taking a deep breath, I started climbing up while holding tight to the mint spray I had found in my bag, as if it had been the perfect weapon to save my life. After a dozen or so of stairs, the door leading to the basement came into view, but I kept walking. When I got to the next floor, I stopped and listened carefully as to distinguish any kind of sound behind the door. Everything was silent. Everything. Because so much information and, consequently, so much energy was concentrated in one place, usually I could have heard some sort of a buzz, a mental buzz. Or the ticking clock from the next floor tea room. I could already sense that something terrible was going to happen. The urge of going back was getting stronger. Even so, I ignored it and opened the door.

Although I was familiar with the narrow hallway in front of me, I was taken aback by the thousands of candles lining its walls. Ten meters ahead, the hall widened and I could see the huge round table, in the middle of a room.

The last time I'd been there, two weeks before, I had been able to see only due to the dim light which entered through the coloured-glass apertures and the table had been covered with a white cloth. Now the whole area looked like somesort of sanctuary, but instead of the smoke of the candles, I could only smell the sweet scent of lilies.

It all happened in the blink of an eye.

A vicious scream eventually tore down the silence. The high notes were almost savage, but somehow, I could understand them. There were no words, but the extreme pain and fear which they were emanating resembled something I could fully relate to. Flashbacks flooded my mind, flashbacks of the woods, of me and him, me running and of lots of tumultuous feelings. I felt as if I had been drugged, my legs could no longer hold me, hands were all around me, panicked looks and shouted orders. Just before everything went black, I saw what I had always dreaded the most: the iciness of their eyes. Ashley Frostwire was leaning over me, holding me in place.

"Sweet dreams," she whispered in my ear.