Opening the door, Vargra stepped into the solar, Solas following closely behind.
The moment he crossed the threshold, a subtle scent of rosemary greeted him—fresh, clean, and intentional. The space was compact but refined. Along the walls stood polished closets and large coffers, each arranged with meticulous care. A tall standing mirror gleamed near the far wall, its presence practical and poised for inspection of attire.
In front of the mirror sat a modest chair, clearly meant for the purpose of donning shoes. A peg rail ran along the adjacent wall, hung with cloaks, belts, satchels—and even shoes, their laces tied neatly and looped over the pegs. The room had the controlled order of a military officer's quarters, wrapped in the elegance of nobility.
Without hesitation, Vargra crossed to one of the coffers and knelt beside it.
"I believe I have boots that may suit your taste."
She began searching through it with quiet precision, while Solas took a slow turn around the room, letting his eyes wander over its details. High above, narrow rectangular windows lined the upper wall, their glass tinted a muted grey, allowing only a filtered light to slip through.
"I see you favor tinted windows," he said softly.
Vargra didn't look up. "Yes. I prefer not to be seen—or watched. Privacy is a kind of armor."
She paused, then rose to her feet, holding out a pair of brown leather high boots.
"Will these do?"
"They will," Solas replied, stepping forward. He took them gently from her hands and moved toward the chair by the mirror.
Lowering himself with slow grace, he pulled each boot on with practiced ease. They fit snugly, perfectly—as if they had been waiting for him.
Perfect.
He stood, lifting his gaze to the mirror. His reflection stared back—composed, regal, sharpened by clean lines and purpose.
"I look good," he murmured under his breath.
He turned his gaze back to Vargra, his reflection still faint in the mirror behind him.
"Back to what you said earlier. Selqorra, was it? How long has she been queen?"
Vargra paused, as if counting in her head. "One hundred and twenty years now."
Solas blinked. He stood still. "…You said one hundred and twenty?"
"Yes," she replied flatly, as though the number was unremarkable.
That answer gave him pause. A reign that long should've meant frailty—near death. And yet…
He barely had time to dwell on the thought before Vargra added with quiet weight, "Though don't let her age deceive you. She is still young. And a powerful fighter. More powerful than anyone in Elara."
Still young…?
Those words echoed in his mind, refusing to fade. If a hundred and twenty was considered young here… then what counted as old? Time, it seemed, moved differently in this world. Aging clearly did not follow the rules of Earth.
And then there was that thing—that girl who had pulled him into this place. Whoever, whatever she was… he needed answers.
"I assume you have a library somewhere in this manor?" he asked, his voice calm but thoughtful.
"I do," Vargra said, her expression unreadable. "Is there any reason you ask?"
Solas looked toward the window, the filtered light catching the edge of his cheek. "I wish to learn," he said simply. "Everything I can."
She let out a soft hum of satisfaction, as if savoring his answer. "It's downstairs. I'll show you the way."
She moved toward the door, opening it and leading Solas out of the Solar and down the corridor.
***
The moment they stepped into the library, a calm silence greeted them, wrapped in the scent of aged paper and ink.
The room was vast, carved like a shrine to knowledge itself. An arched ceiling stretched high overhead, where a long golden chandelier hung, adorned with glowing yellow crystals that bathed the space in warm, golden light.
Towering bookshelves lined the walls from end to end, filled with neatly arranged tomes. In the center of the room stood a handful of small tables, each surrounded by chairs—quiet sanctuaries for reading and thought.
Solas glanced at the seating. "I thought you were more of a loner," he remarked.
Vargra gave a faint shake of her head. "I am. The building came this way—I simply didn't see a need to change it."
"I see." Solas moved toward one of the bookshelves, scanning the spines with sharp interest, his fingers lightly brushing the bindings. He was searching for something—anything—that might help him understand the world he'd been thrown into.
From behind him came Vargra's voice, low and smooth. "What exactly are you looking for?"
"History," he replied, eyes still on the shelf. "Magic. Anything you believe would be of interest."
Vargra stepped beside him, reaching up to a higher shelf with practiced ease. She pulled out a thick volume bound in deep red leather and handed it to him.
"This one contains foundational knowledge on magic. I'll find the others while you read."
Solas accepted it with a nod and a soft smile. "Thank you."
He crossed the room to one of the tables and took a seat, placing the book before him. Opening it, he realized he had begun at the back—the book's format was reversed. With a slight furrow of his brow, he flipped to the correct side and found the table of contents.
One entry caught his eye.
Astrum Vitae.
Without hesitation, he turned to the corresponding page.
Opening the page, Solas began to read from the top.
Astrum Vitae: The Birthlight Affinities A person's Birthlight determines their Affinity—whether they were born under the Sun, Moon, or Eclipse defines the raw domain of magic they can access. Some are naturally able to wield this magic, while others remain dormant, unable to channel even a spark.
⸻
Solar — Elemental Affinity:
Flame, Light, Gravity
Lunari — Elemental Affinity:
Ice, Illusion, White Flame
Umbrae — Elemental Affinity:
Shadow
⸻
Most known Affinities fall within these categories. Umbrae, however, remains shrouded in mystery, with only a rare few born beneath an Eclipse—its true nature still not fully understood.
Yet beyond Affinity, there exists something more—an Aspect.
A latent power awakened not by birth, but by truth, trauma, or belief. These Aspects can manifest uniquely: summoning spirits, warping reality, or other phenomena yet unnamed.
Solas read carefully, absorbing the revelation: magic was real, and tied deeply to the nature of one's birth. But a question pulled at him.
He had arrived under a night sky. Would that make him Lunari?
Or did it matter that he wasn't born of this world at all?
Perhaps it depended on the moment he entered this world… or maybe on when he was born back on Earth. If that were the case…
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a book hitting the table beside him.
He looked up to see Vargra, setting two more books down with practiced grace.
"I brought everything I thought you might find useful," she said simply.
Solas reached for the top book. The title was etched in gold:
Folk and History of All Caelith
Caelith, he thought. That must be the name of this land—or the region he now stood in.
Opening it, he flipped to the table of contents, fingers running over the page until something extraordinary caught his eye…