Earth name and number:Earth Nova-25
Code name:(EN-25)
"George!come down here I have a surprise for you"
The voice he had grown to know as his father's echoed through the apartment, drawing him out from a world of pure imagination. Indeed, more often than not, he could be found lost to the world, off amidst dragons and knights, and at least one other mythical land altogether. He threw himself up in bed, landed both feet flat on the oak floor, and scurried down the skinny staircase.
He was an enigmatic boy now at ten. While most of his classmates were into video games, sports, or television, none of these fascinated George. He was into books, not any books, but those that spoke of far-off lands, enchanted creatures, and heroic quests. His room testified to this obsession, lined as it was with tightly packed shelves containing volumes telling tales of worlds of fantasy far removed from the small town in which he lived.
He hopped down the stairs and came into view to see his father, Thomas Rodriguez, standing in the living room, a hint of a smile on his lips. His father was a tall man with wide shoulders, a first smattering of gray in his hair, holding something behind his back; George could almost feel that same old glint of mischief dancing in his eyes.
"Guess what I have behind my back?" Thomas teased.
George furrowed his brow, trying to get some hint of what was concealed by his father. Little games like this were nothing out of the ordinary, and only one part of how he and his dad remained so close. He grinned, eyes slanting further into suspicion. "Is it… a book?
Slowly, Thomas made the big reveal, his grin spreading across his face. There, sure enough, in his hands was indeed a book. It was of an older tone, with leather for the covering, gold on the letters faded, and wearing down at places, which proved that many people had handled the book over generations.
"You got it, son. It's a book," Thomas said, pride and excitement in his voice.
Books were the treasure of George, and this seemed to hold secrets from another era. "Where did you get this, Dad?"
His father hesitated for a moment, seemingly unsure of how much he wanted to let out. "From the old house at the edge of town.".
George's heart sank. The whole town knew about the place. That old house sat at one end of his street and enjoyed a dubious reputation, fed only by stories whispered amongst friends. Every kid in that town swore the thing was haunted by strange creaks, bumps, and glowing eyes-lore passed hand-in-hand through schoolyards and neighborhood gatherings. It was with those stories he found himself-aloof of those superstitions for the reason mentioned above-tightening into the pit of his stomach as well.
"You mean the haunted house?" George whispered.
Thomas burst out laughing. "You are too smart for that ghost nonsense. It is just an old house, that's all. But inside I found this book, and I knew you would love it."
George was not so certain. A book from a haunted house sounded pretty exciting, yet it unnerved him rather easily. At the same time, his curiosity was much greater than his unease. So he reached forward and took the book from his father, immediately feeling its heaviness in his hands. The leather was cold to the touch, and an aged-paper scent wafted from its leaves.
"Okay, Dad," George said, forcing a smile to conceal his unease.
"Now, go get ready for dinner," Thomas said, patting his son on the back. "Your mother will be late tonight, so it's just us."
George nodded and ran upstairs to wash up, his mind teeming with thoughts of the book. What tales would it tell? What secrets lay between the covers? He could hardly wait to find out.
Dinner whizzed by, and he hardly tasted a thing-just thinking of this book just resting between his lap and the table. Father didn't utter a word. He knew the books were like something important in his life. He didn't waste any time after dinner either. He simply bade a good night quickly to his father and rushed upwards, anticipation growing with every step.
Once in his room, George laid the book on his desk under the soft glow of his lamp. He peered closer at it, running his fingers over the cover. The title in faint gold read **AlbëToryl**. It seemed to him that the letters shimmered ever so little, as if they were alive. George blinked, wondering if his eyes played tricks on him.
Continuing his examination, he noticed something else: the images on the cover, depicting scenes of mythical creatures and ancient runes, were in motion. It was slow, barely perceptible, but unmistakable. The figures shifted, as if they were caught in some kind of magical stasis.
"Wow… this book is nothing of the world! It's as if I'm holding a living animation!" George whispered in amazement, his voice filled with awe.
His heart was racing in anticipation as he carefully released the clasp that held the book closed. The metal was cool and smooth, and it clicked open with a sound that echoed in the quiet room. George hesitated for a moment, his mind racing with anticipation, before finally opening the book.
Something magic happened the very moment the first page was opened. An image of a wolf leaped from the pages, not a pop-up illustration but a three-dimensional figure that seemed to materialize out of thin air. His eyes glowed with an eerie light, his fur bristling as he let out a terrifying howl. The sound filled the room, vibrating through the air with feral intensity, sending a shiver down George's spine.
George's heart was racing, and he was paralyzed with fear. He felt the wolf jump out alive, as if it could have freed itself from his book. Yet, before a thought could run through his brain, a great wave of giddiness crept over him. The floor seemed to surge up and knock him backward into the darkness; the world suddenly went black at his feet.
George. George!" A voice was calling him from far, far away, very muffled as if the other side of a thick wall. Slowly, the darkness receded, and George opened his eyes. He lay in a meadow. The sun drenched his face, and wildflowers blew in the breeze. Yet something was not quite right. There, too, was the wolf-a few feet from him-and regarded him with those strangely glowing eyes.
As the world came back into focus for George, the wolf seemed to fade away into the more reassuring silhouettes of his parents leaning over him in concern.
His mother's voice cut through the fog. "What happened, sweetheart?"
George blinked hard and tried to clear his head. "I… I was just tired, I guess. I didn't know when I fell asleep.
She looked around the room, noting the toys on the floor. "You must have been playing with your toys and dozed off." She pulled him to his feet and took him over to the bed, tucking him in carefully. "Goodnight, George," she said in a soft tone, speaking with warmth and love as she flipped off the light and wrapped him in the comforting blackness of his room.
In the morning, George woke up with the impression of a weird dream that had lingered in his mind since the previous night. The whole event sounded so unreal to him as he prepared for school. The day went about in a haze of routine: classes, lunch, more classes. By the time he returned home, bathed, and dined with his parents, the memory had become even more nonexistent, replaced by the comfort of normalcy.
Yet here it was awaiting him, after the return into this little room this night upon this little table beside his bed silent and yet promising much from the open cover its tugs on his curious nature were for the time resisting. George's fingers were just slightly trembling extended to the covers again.
First there was nothing in the room this time unlike all other instances. He had started reading, and the more ancient words began to draw him deeper and deeper. The story was appealing, full of strange creatures and epic adventures. Then, something weird happened: his fingers started sinking into the pages, as if the book absorbed him. Panicked, he tried to pull out, but the book would not let him go. It clung to the table as if glued to it and would not be closed.
Frantically, George tried to run, reach the door, and get out, but it was too late. His body began to be pulled into the book, bit by bit, until only his head and one arm remained, with his fingers hardly touching the handle of the door.
"Mom! Dad!" he shouted out in a shaking voice.
And with that last, heavy tug, he disappeared utterly into the book. The cover slammed shut with a loud *boom* that hung echoing in the air of the room, humming with the sound of silence.
The room fell silent, and the book was innocently laid on the table, none the worse for wear.