Adventurer Mollie and The Cloud Archive

More about Adventurer Mollie and The Cloud Archive

Chapter 9
The path was barely visible – a narrow strip of light stretching between heaven and earth. Mollie walked slowly, deliberately, with the book in his backpack and a calmness in his heart that wasn't silence, but trust. The higher he climbed, the quieter the world became. No wind, no sound, only the soft crackle of his footsteps on an invisible ground. Then the sky opened. Literally. Before him floated a vast building of clouds – round, arched, translucent. Towers of mist rose high, staircases of steam led to floors that were constantly reforming. And above it all: a soft chant, as if books were breathing. An archive. Mollie stepped through a gate of rainbow light. Inside, everything was soft, floating. No shelf was fixed, no aisle straight. Memories flitted through the room like butterflies, some rustling softly, others glittering with joy or floating sadly. A cloud-white librarian with glasses—half human, half mist—approached him. "Welcome to the Cloud Archive. Here we preserve what must not be forgotten." "Even what no one has ever told?" Mollie asked. "Precisely that," said the librarian. "It's the unnoticed memories that quietly guide our lives." Mollie pulled out the book with the gold cover. The librarian took it carefully, leafed through it—and nodded. "Plenty of space left," he murmured. "But the beginning is true. That's enough." Then he tapped a page with his finger. Immediately, a memory released itself from the book—like steam, like scent—and rose, slowly, deliberately, like a song that finally dares to sing. It became a cloud. And the cloud became a place in the archive. "It stays here now," the librarian said. "But you take it with you anyway." Mollie bowed slightly. Not because it was necessary—but because it was right. And then he continued to climb. Downward. Or perhaps inward.