The library of Arcanis Academy wasn't a place of silence — it was a place of breathing stillness.
Every page, every rune-etched pillar, every floating orb of mana seemed alive, murmuring faintly in languages long forgotten. Shelves stretched upward until they vanished into the shadows above, where mechanical lanterns drifted like stars, casting ripples of soft light over dust and parchment.
Rivan stood at the entrance, a faint hum brushing his senses. The air here was thicker — saturated with mana so dense it felt like stepping into an ocean.
He exhaled slowly, letting his fingers trail over a nearby shelf. Even the wood vibrated faintly beneath his touch, responding to his presence.
This world wasn't just different — it was aware.
He found an empty table near the far wall, beneath a suspended crystal that glowed with a calm, golden hue. The surface reflected his tired face, the faint shimmer of mana still flickering along his veins.
He opened the first book within reach.
"Principles of Core Conduction."
The pages were old but not fragile, ink shimmering faintly like liquid light. The text was thick with unfamiliar theory — "resonance cycles," "channel harmonics," "soul frequency"— concepts that bent around his understanding like reflections in warped glass.
But one line made him pause.
"When mana fails to align with the vessel's origin, the result is instability — a flicker between life and annihilation. The rarest of these anomalies display what ancient texts once called Celestial Veins."
His heart skipped a beat.
He glanced down at his hands — faint gold light coiled beneath the skin like threads of fire. That same warmth that surged when he used mana, or when the voice whispered his name.
He flipped another page, faster this time, searching for more. But most references were blacked out — words scorched by deliberate magic, leaving scars in the parchment.
Only one note remained, written in rushed handwriting at the edge of a page:
"The Starborn carry the echo of creation — feared, forgotten, forbidden."
His breath caught.
That word again — Starborn.
He leaned back, pulse pounding, the sound of his heartbeat echoing faintly in his ears. Every time that word surfaced, the world itself seemed to react — lights dimming, air thickening, as if the realm didn't want him to remember.
Why does it keep showing up?
Why me?
A flicker of movement.
His eyes darted toward the shelves.
Someone — or something — had passed between the aisles. A shadow, tall and slow, vanishing before he could focus.
He stood up quietly. The air was colder now. Even the floating lamps seemed to hesitate in their motion. He took a cautious step forward, peering down the narrow corridor of books.
Nothing. Only stillness.
He turned—
"Careful, boy."
The voice came from behind him — calm, deep, and old enough to sound like it had lived through centuries.
Rivan spun around.
An elderly man stood beside a nearby pillar, his long robe the color of faded night. Lines of age cut across his face, but his eyes glowed faintly with a pale blue light — mana, pure and unrestrained.
The librarian.
His voice carried the weight of quiet authority, the kind that didn't need volume to command silence.
"Some books here," the man said, "don't appreciate being touched. And others…" — he glanced at the open page still glowing faintly gold — "…remember who's touched them before."
Rivan swallowed hard. "I didn't mean to—"
"—Disturb?" The librarian's thin smile didn't reach his eyes. "Knowledge wants to be disturbed, boy. That's what it was written for. But curiosity?" He paused, studying Rivan as though looking through him. "That's what gets people erased."
Rivan frowned. "I'm just trying to understand. This world. Why mana reacts to me. Why it feels… alive."
The man's gaze softened slightly — not with kindness, but recognition.
"You're asking questions that should have died a long time ago."
A moment of silence passed between them. Then, softly, the librarian said:
"Remember this — the world doesn't fear power, boy. It fears the return of it."
Before Rivan could ask what he meant, the man turned — and vanished into the rows of books, his presence dissolving like mist.
The lamps flickered once.
Then silence again.
Rivan stared after him, a heavy unease settling in his chest.
He sat down slowly. The open page had changed on its own, as though the book had decided to move forward without him.
A rune pulsed faintly at the bottom — a symbol unlike any he'd seen before, glowing in soft gold.
He hesitated… then reached out.
The moment his finger brushed the rune, the air snapped like lightning.
The glow expanded, filling his vision, and a voice whispered directly into his mind — soft, familiar, cold.
"You're looking in the wrong place, Arion."
He froze.
That name again. His name — not Rivan, but the one from the dream, from the observatory.
The glow dimmed. The book slammed shut on its own.
Rivan stumbled back, chest heaving.
The library's mana-lights flickered violently, dimming to pale embers before slowly recovering.
No one else reacted. Students nearby continued reading, their expressions serene, unaware of what had just happened.
It was only him.
Always him.
He pressed a hand to his temple. The whisper still echoed faintly in his thoughts, fading only when he forced his breathing to slow.
"Arion…" he muttered. "Who the hell are you?"
Rivan reached for the closed tome again, the faint mana still whispering around it.
His fingers hovered an inch above the leather cover when the air snapped—sharp, electric.
The pages fluttered on their own.
Dust lifted into golden spirals as the book stopped midway, the paper trembling as if alive.
Rivan took a step back, eyes wide.
Then, letters began to burn across the page—searing bright, bleeding light through the parchment.
"Do not seek the First Name."
The words glowed for only a heartbeat before fading into smoke, leaving behind the faint smell of burnt ink.
The glow in the library dimmed.
The crystals flickered out, one by one, until only the pale moonlight from the stained windows remained.
Rivan's chest tightened. The silence felt wrong again—like the room itself was holding its breath.
He closed the tome carefully, his hand shaking.
He didn't know what the "First Name" was…
but deep down, something inside him whispered—
it already knows yours.
--
Author Note:
Hey readers! In this chapter, Rivan dives deeper into the mysteries of Arcanis Academy and the strange power within him. The library isn't just books — it remembers, it reacts, and it hides secrets even Rivan doesn't fully understand yet.
That "First Name" warning… trust me, it's only the beginning. Keep an eye out for subtle clues — they might just be more important than you think.
Don't forget to leave a save if you're curious about what comes next — things are about to get even more dangerous.
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