The wind didn't blow in Oakhaven anymore; it exhaled. Every gust carried the fine, grey powder of a world that had long since stopped growing. Elias pulled his scarf tighter over his mouth, tasting the grit of pulverized stone and ancient history.
He stepped over the threshold of the Great Library. The doors had been ripped from their hinges decades ago, leaving the entrance gaping like a toothless mouth. Inside, the air was still, heavy with the scent of stagnant time. Sunlight filtered through the holes in the vaulted ceiling, cutting long, diagonal shafts through the gloom.
"Is anyone there?" his voice was a thin rasp.
No answer. Only the sound of dust settling on his boots.