The Silverstream Academy Library was a cathedral of neglect. It occupied the entire third floor of the oldest wing, its windows permanently streaked with grime, its air thick with the smell of forgotten knowledge and dry rot. To Elara Vane, it was a sanctuary; to Kael'thas, it was the first, pathetic vault he had to crack.
He arrived after his mandatory morning lectures—an excruciating three hours spent listening to a nervous tutor drone on about the "ethical deployment of a Level-1 illumination charm." Kael'thas had endured the drivel with Elara's face fixed in a mask of studious concentration, all the while mentally drawing up a schematic for a Level-1 illumination charm that would actually incinerate the tutor.
He pushed through the heavy oak doors, the action stirring up a cloud of dust motes that danced in the meager shafts of light. The Librarian, an elderly, perpetually hunched woman named Madame Roslyn, didn't even look up from her needlepoint.
"Vane," she rasped, her voice like crumpled parchment. "Be quiet. And don't spill anything on the 3rd Edict texts again."
"Understood, Madame," Elara's voice replied, the tone suitably deferential.
Kael'thas didn't head for the well-trafficked stacks of required reading. He bypassed the recent history, the sanctioned philosophy, and the Aetheric Fundamentals textbooks. With the aid of Elara's memories, he headed straight for the Restricted Archives—the back corner where books too old, too fragile, or too obscure for student use were relegated.
The shelf labels were hand-painted and faded: Mythological Era Treatises, Pre-Hegemony Lore, The Whispered Histories of the Southern Steppes. This was where the gaps in the world's officially sanctioned narrative began.
He ran his frail fingers over the cracked leather spines, his Arch-Fiend mind rapidly translating the archaic runes of the title pages, a process that would take a dozen human scholars weeks. He wasn't looking for spells; he was looking for the source code of the world's magic.
He pulled out a heavy tome titled "Theoretical Constructs of Elemental Manipulation" published nearly seven centuries ago. The pages smelled overwhelmingly of copper and dried ink. He settled at a solitary, dust-covered table in the corner, strategically positioned to see anyone who approached.
Kael'thas read.
He didn't read line by line; he devoured the text in entire paragraphs, his consciousness absorbing the concepts like a dark sponge. Elara's brain might be limited, but the processing core of an Arch-Fiend was not.
The current human magic system, based on 'Aetheric Theory,' was an elegant cage. It used a gentle, passive manipulation of the world's ambient mana, focusing on small, practical effects—light, heat, minor enchantments. It was safe, predictable, and utterly, nauseatingly weak.
Kael'thas, however, understood High Magic. High Magic was not about manipulating the ambient mana; it was about tearing the fabric of reality and dictating the terms to the Primal Forces themselves. His Arch-Fiend magic involved complex geometric equations etched in burning shadows and contracts signed in the blood of stars.
As he read the old treatise, a pattern emerged. The ancient text hinted at connections—at the idea of Force-Weaving—that modern, safe, Aetheric magic had deliberately ignored.
"These mortals," he internally sneered. "They treat the universe like a gentle pond, when it is truly a boiling ocean. They've forgotten how to command the storm."
He found a chapter detailing a concept called 'Resonance Signature,' which suggested that a mage's emotional state could fundamentally alter the output of a spell. Modern Aetheric Theory dismissed this as 'unreliable variable.'
To Kael'thas, it was a breakthrough. His Arch-Fiend essence, the cold, calculating fury trapped within Elara, was a perpetual font of high-level, destructive emotion. If he could learn to weave that force into a human spell, the result would be exponentially more powerful. He didn't need a powerful body; he needed a powerful motive.
I will not seek greater mana reserves. I will seek greater efficiency. I will turn Elara's limited energy into a demonic railgun.
Hours dissolved. He moved from the Theoretical Constructs to a slender volume on Ancient Runology, realizing the current human script for magic was a diluted, simplified form of the infernal runes he knew by instinct. By applying the original demonic syntax, he could drastically reduce the casting time of even simple spells.
Suddenly, a shadow fell across the page.
Kael'thas stiffened, his head snapping up, the raw, predatory calculation in Elara's green eyes momentarily startling.
It was Theon Graylock, the ambitious student he'd encountered in Elara's memory—a tall, handsome, annoyingly self-assured young man who represented everything Kael'thas was forced to pretend to be. Theon was the darling of the academy, already slotted for early entrance to the Aetherium University.
Theon smiled—a genuine, confident smile that Kael'thas immediately designated as 'High Priority Target for Humiliation.'
"Elara Vane," Theon said, his voice deep and smooth. "I almost didn't recognize you out of the 'Intro to Botany' section. What are you doing with the dusty relics?" He gestured to the ancient tome.
Kael'thas adopted Elara's stammering persona with a practiced ease that was horrifyingly natural. "O-oh, Theon. Just… just research. I was struggling with the latest Aetheric assignment and thought... perhaps a historical perspective might help."
Theon chuckled. "Trying to find an old spell to get a better grade? That's cheating, Vane. You should stick to the fundamentals. The Hegemony Guide is all you need." He tapped the old book with a knuckle. "These old treatises are full of dead ends and superstition. The Hero Faction codified the magic for a reason, you know. To keep the world stable."
Stability, Kael'thas thought, the word tasting like ash. Stability is the prison they built after they destroyed my kingdom.
"Perhaps," Kael'thas said, maintaining his meek expression, though his mind was already plotting Theon's slow academic downfall. "But… sometimes the foundations tell you where the builders cut corners. The theory on Wave-Form Nullification in this text is far more elegant than the modern simplified version."
Theon's smile faltered. Wave-Form Nullification was an advanced concept few undergraduates even attempted to grasp. He leaned closer, a flicker of genuine curiosity mixed with suspicion in his eyes.
"You've been studying that? That's third-year Aetherium work."
"I have trouble sleeping," Kael'thas lied smoothly. "I read."
Theon straightened, his confidence slightly diminished. "Well, don't strain yourself, Vane. You wouldn't want to burn out before you even get a chance at a proper university." He gave a dismissive nod and walked off towards the more populated, 'respectable' sections.
Kael'thas watched him go. Theon was ambitious, intelligent, and complacent. A perfect rival. An excellent yardstick against which to measure his exponential progress.
He returned to the book, the tremor of Elara's nervousness now replaced by the cold, exhilarating focus of the Arch-Fiend.
They think I am reading for a better grade, Kael'thas mused, turning the brittle page to a chapter on the long-forgotten art of Binding Theory. They think I am striving for their approval.
He was not. He was systematically dismantling the intellectual infrastructure of the heroic world that had defeated him. He was a student, yes, but he was a student of subversion. He was researching the weapon that would eventually blow the Hero Faction's carefully constructed world to dust.
The library was silent, save for the rhythmic clicking of Madame Roslyn's needles. Kael'thas smiled, a slow, terrifying thing that Elara's face was ill-equipped to handle.
I have found the key, he thought. Now, I begin the unlocking.