Sleep was for those who were not the Keeper. He was a strange being who never seemed to tire, always moving between the shelves, replacing discarded or fallen books with a gentle hand. He always answered questions with a deep, but mild tone, never giving away any specific accent or lilt to indicate where he might be from. He could scribble on pages for a whole day and hardly move an inch while doing so. The mysterious nature of the library and its enigmatic owner was what kept people coming back. And they stayed for the questions. A question never went unanswered, provided that the person had something of value. What those things actually are was a mystery to all but the Keeper. No one was allowed to speak of what they gave to him, even if they could discuss the answer. The entire process was shrouded in secrets, but no one could ever question the Keeper on his strategy, for the librarian did not tolerate such a thing. Such knowledge was to be kept to those who could handle it. It was for that reason that the Keeper kept his practices to himself. There were people too weak-minded to know what the Keeper knew. But someone was determined to know the unknowable, for the Keeper's prized possession was stolen. Upon the discovery, the library was locked up. No one was allowed in, and no one knew why it was the case. If the knowledge that he could no longer answer questions escaped, he would be condemned by those who trusted him. He had sent a letter to one of the few Masters left in the world, a man called Yabaro. He was a man of vast magical knowledge and power who had the fortune of keeping an apprentice. He had requested the Master's help, whether it was granting him the knowledge of tracking his possession or some other way. All he knew was that the longer he was away from his possession, the worse for wear he would be.