Simon had always enjoyed wandering around the Abandoned Library. There was something fascinating about it: the quiet corridors, the smell of old books wafting through the air and the sunlight breaking through the broken windows. That evening, together with Marta and Kuba, he entered through a narrow window that had not received a new pane of glass for years. They knew the place almost by heart. But there was always something there that they had not yet discovered, some endless row of shelves or a creaky new door. This time their attention was drawn to an old map stuck to the wall in the Hunter's Hall - that's what they called the room full of faded portraits. "Look, there's a maze drawn here!" - exclaimed Martha, smoothing out the paper. The lines tangled, forming an irregular pattern, and someone had marked the centre of the map with a bizarre symbol resembling an eye enclosed in a circle. Kuba, known for his pragmatism, just shrugged his shoulders. But Simon noticed something else: under the map on the wall, a rectangle slightly lighter than the rest stood out. After a moment of scratching and pushing bricks together, a section of the wall gave way, revealing a narrow spiral staircase leading downwards. They didn't hesitate for long. Torches from their phones illuminated the dark steps, and the echo of their footsteps echoed off the endless walls. When they descended to the very bottom, a doorway appeared to their eyes - elaborately decorated with symbols and covered with a mosaic of glass shards. Without hesitation, Martha touched the handle and the door opened wide with a deafening clatter. Behind them stretched a corridor whose walls pulsed with soft light and whose floor shimmered like liquid crystal. Fragments of memories, fragments of childhood dreams, voices and images floated all around - the flash of Simon's bicycle, Marta's colourful umbrella, the echo of Kuba's laughter. They wandered ahead, and with every step the corridor changed shape and colour. Once they were over the precipice of a bridge made of moving books, once among trees whose leaves smelled of paint and paper. Everything seemed possible in this place. At one point, the corridor split into three different passages. From each came a different light and a different sound: from the first came the melody of a child's music box, from the second the sound of waves, from the third the gentle rustling of turning pages. "Which way shall we go?" - asked Marta, not taking her eyes off the walls, which began to be covered with short messages written in a familiar script. Simon felt something move just behind them....